𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍
half of her beauty is her brain

CLARKE groaned as her head pounded harshly. And as she fluttered her eyes open, sunlight fluttered in, making her eyes snap closed. She blocked the sun with her hand before slowly opening her eyes again. Who the hell opened up the curtains?

She stumbled out of the bed, gripping her side as pain shot through her stomach.

"Fuck you, you worthless grace,'" Clarke spat out, glaring at her stomach. She was hoping that the wound would be almost completely healed by now because of Castiel's grace, but it seems almost usless now. Maybe it's because he's dead, but she is pretty sure that's not how it works.

Nonetheless, she forced herself to stand, spotting an outfit on the chair situated by the door.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head in irritation when she realised how girly the clothes were. Faded skinny jeans, a pink button up blouse, a pair of socks and cowboy boots with pink jewels embedded in them. It would have to do; she needed to change out of the clothes she had been wearing for the past couple weeks, anyway.

Clarke huffed and reluctantly grabbed the clothes, stumbling to the bathroom to the right. As she stripped herself of the clothes, she stopped and gazed at her body in the mirror. Her skin was pale and sunken in, making her bones more prominent. She used to be a size two, but now she was probably a size zero. As she gazed into her own eyes, she took notice of how there was no sparkle, no life, and no hope left; she was void. Her once bright and cheery blue eyes were now dull and lifeless with bright purple bags underneath. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks, but she knew she had most likely slept for two days in a row.

She shook herself out of her thoughts as she changed into the clothes the Greene's most likely left for her. Once she finished changing, she grabbed a hairbrush and started brushing through the rats nest she called hair. Afterall, she hasn't brushed it in weeks.

Before leaving the bathroom, she grabbed her combat boots and slid them on. Making her way out of the bedroom, she ventured down the stairs and out the front door without anyone glancing her way.

Once outside, she rose her hand up to her face, blocking the bright sunlight once again. She gazed around and spotted Rick and the group a few feet away, eating what seemed like breakfast. Too bad she wasn't eating with them; she had lost her appetite a while ago.

Sneaking a glance at the barn, she shuddered. Changing her course, she wobbled her way to the group. Upon my arrival, she was bombarded by two small bodies.

"Clarke!"

Cringing, Clarke let out a strangled breath and fixed her balance as she began to topple slightly. Her stomach felt like a freight train had just slammed into it. Determined to ignore it, she focused on Rick and Shane as they stood and made their way to her.

Clarke placed herhands on each of the kids shoulders and pushed them away from her as she turned to face Rick and Big Nose. Their arms were crossed and their faces held the expressions of a cop.

"Hershel didn't mention that you were up and walking," Rick spoke, his voice suspicious with a hint of worry coating it. On the other hand, Shane didn't look at all concerned for her. In fact, he looked like he wanted to kill her. He could and not give a single shit.

Clarke stood up straighter, clenching her hands into tight fists as she struggled to remain tough and not weak.

"Oh, you know how that old fart is," she mused, waving her hand around in a playful manner.

Upon seeing their unamused faces, she let her amused grin fall. As she went to blurt out yet another sarcastic remark, Glenn stood up and started pacing nervously.

"There's walkers in the barn."

Everyone froze.

Amd before Clarke could say a word, the group was up and running towards the barn in a wild manner with Shane in the front with a crazy look in his eyes.

"YOU cannot tell me you're alright with this!" Shane shouted at Rick who looked conflicted.

"No, I'm not, but we're guests here," Rick spoke loudly, anger sparking in his voice. "This isn't our land."

"This is our lives, man!" Shane shouted, swiping his hat off his head and running his hand over his bald head in frustration.

"Lower your voices," Glenn whispered, gesturing for the group to listen.

Clarke looked over at the barn with wide eyes, tingles of fear crawling up her spine the longer she looked. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out all the sounds surrounding her, but to no avail. Why am I able to hear Castiel's voice? More importantly, why did his voice warn me about the barn, about this place?

"We can't just sweep this under the rug."

"It ain't right," Clarke whispered, shaking her head, wrapping her arms around her waist, being careful of her stitches. They hurt and she could possibly pull them, but at the moment, she didn't care about that. "Not even remotely."

"Okay, we've either got to go in there, we've got to make things right or we've just got to go. Now, we have been talking about Fort Benning for a long time."

"Fort Benning," Clarke muttered to herself. She shook her head before continuing in a louder voice, "It's not safe there." Everyone turned to look at her in surprise.

"Yeah? And how do you know that?" Shane marched up to her, his brown eyes almost black in anger.

"I was there a few weeks back. I went there to find—" she cut herself off, swallowing thickly. "—to find a few people I cared about. They weren't there; no one was. The whole place was blown apart with dead wandering about, feasting on whatever was still alive." She glanced at Sophia and Carl. "It's not safe there for anyone."

"Even if it was safe there, we can't go," Rick spoke up, quickly dragging Shane away from Clarke. She let out a relieved breath she didn't know she was holding in. She stood straight; she wouldn't show them how hurt and weak she really was right now.

"Why, Rick? Why?"

"Because Carl is still healing and Clarke just woke up and can barely walk straight," Rick informed them in a defensive tone. His hands were on his hips and his face was stern.

"Who cares about Clarke?" Shane hissed out. "Let's just leave her here."

Clarke's eyes narrowed and before she could stalk forward, a small hand gripped her arm. She glanced down to see Sophia, making her eyes soften. She pursed her lips in irritation. Before stalking off, she yanked her hand out of Sophia's and angrily gave Shane the middle finger.

"Yeah, yeah! Run off like the little bitch you are!"

Clarke froze mid-step, clenching her eyes closed tight. She tried to reel in her anger quickly, but the more his mouth moved, the more she wanted to grab her knife and stab him.

"Shut up, you dickwad!" She shouted, not glancing behind her as she began to walk again, her hands clenching and unclenching.

"What are you gonna do about it, you pussy!?"

"Oh sorry, that's right, you don't have a dick," she retorted angrily as she turned around and stalked towards him, steam practically coming out of her ears. She poked him harshly in the chest with her finger. "If you did, you would be able to say those 'rude' things to my face. At least I have the balls to do just that."

Quickly gathering all her strength, she punched him square in the jaw, knocking him back a few pegs. He grabbed his jaw in shock, glaring at her as he spat out blood.

"Oops, did I hurt you? My bad." She punched him again, this time in the nose. "I think your face needs a new arrangement, allow me."

Before she could punch the bastard again, her hand was grabbed as a thrashing Shane was pulled away from her by Rick. She turned to see Glenn holding her hand. "Let go of me!" She pushed Glenn away from her and stalked off again.

"You're welcome!" Glenn shouted after her.

"Well, you weren't thanked!" Clarke shouted back, continuing to stalk away without glancing at his reaction. She stalked into the farmhouse, glancing at the young girl with blonde hair sitting at a table in the living room with a slightly older woman with light brown hair.

They both turned to her and before they could say a word, she held her hand out, stopping them in their tracks as she marched to the bedroom.

A book was clenched in her hand as she sat on the bed, legs crossed Indian style. She had read To Kill A Mocking Bird many times, but it didn't mean it wasn't still interesting. This was one of the only good books in this house; all they had were bibles. There was at least two bibles in each room and it was driving her crazy that someone could still believe in God in this type of world. The world was ruined before the apocalypse, but now it was even worse.

In frustration, she let out an angry breath and closed her eyes, slamming the book closed harshly.

"Now, don't hate on the book," the voice of Hershel mused, making her open her eyes and turn to stare at him in irritation.

"Leave me alone," she told him through clenched teeth and opened up the book again, hoping he would get the message and leave. Of course, he didn't and it made her even more angry.

"Why won't you people leave me be?" She dumped the book on the bed and turned to watch as Hershel took a seat on the bed beside her. She sighed loudly. "What!?"

"You know, you remind me of my oldest daughter Peggy." Hershel took in a deep breath. "Peggy was much like you. Fierce, strong and very much sassy. She hid behind those traits. Behind all of those bold words, she was weak and she was afraid. And that's what got her killed." Clarke's strong facade faltered slightly at his words. "She — she became a cop and one day she had to deal with a man who abused and killed his own wife and child. And being the person she was, she tried to help him. She tried to make him see that somewhere deep within him, there was still something good. He killed her."

"Well, that's where she went wrong," Clarke spoke, confidence leaking through her words. "She was weak; I'm not." She stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Hershel behind.

"OH, here we go," Clarke mumbled with a sigh from her spot on the porch steps. Shane was marching towards them with a bag of guns on his back. She stood up and gripped the railing tightly, holding herself back from killing the idiot.

"What's all this?" Daryl questioned Shane, gesturing to the bag of guns. His voice was coarse like fragmented rock in hessian sack, moving and grinding against each other, and somehow, it complimented his ruddy complexion. He was tense as he stood in everyone's eye sight, his Georgian blue eyes narrowed as he stared Shane down.

"You with me, man?" Shane asked him, holding out a rifle.

"Yeah." Giving a nod, Daryl grabbed the rifle.

"Time to grow up," Shane announced to everyone. He turned to Andrea. "You already got yours?"

"Yeah. Where's Dale?"

"He's on his way," Shane informed her, handing T-Dog a hand gun.

"Thought we couldn't carry."

"We can and we have to. Look, it was one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe. But now we know it ain't. How about you, man? You gonna protect yours?" Shane asked Glenn, holding out a rifle. Glancing at Maggie, Glenn nodded and took the gun. "That's it." Shane turned to Maggie. "Can you shoot?"

"Can you stop?" She asked him angrily. "You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight."

"We have to stay, Shane," Carl spoke up with wide eyes. Clarke gripped Carl's shoulder, holding him back from going anywhere near Shane.

"What is this?" Lori questioned in confusion as she made her way out of the house.

"We ain't going anywhere, okay?" Shane told Carl which made Clarke tighten her hold on Carl's shoulder. "Now look, Hershel, he's just gotta understand. Okay? He... well, he's gonna have to. Am I right?" He kneeled down in front of Carl which made Clarke tense. "Huh? Now I want you to take this. You take it, Carl, and you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes. You know how. Go on, take the gun and do it."

Before Lori could fully reach them, Clarke pushed Carl behind her protectively. She hissed through clenched teeth, "You back the hell away from him. He's a child. A kid, Shane. He shouldn't have to handle a gun and take care of his mother. His mother is suppose to take care of him."

How dare he try to hand a gun to Carl? He's just a kid. Granted, Clarke was younger than him when she first handled a gun, but that was their - her - life style. It doesn't have to be his. She understand that this world is dangerous and that he should know how to handle himself, but Carl has both of his parents.

"Oh shit."

They turned to see Hershel and Rick guiding walkers to the barn with snares. When Shane began to run towards them, Clarke knew that nothing good would come out of this confrontation. She searched herself frantically for her daggers and gun, but came up empty handed. She breathed out an angry breath, glancing over at the others to see them heading to Rick and Hershel.

She qlooked to where Shane had laid the bag and grabbed a rifle from it before quickly running over to the group.

"Are you kidding me? You see? You see what they're holding onto?" Shane questioned, pointing to the walkers as Clarke stopped running. Her chest was heaving up and down in a rapid movement and her stomach felt numb.

"I see who I'm holding onto," Hershel spoke, defending the dead.

"No, man, you don't."

"Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk."

"What you want to talk about, Rick? These things ain't sick. They're not people. They're dead. Ain't gonna feel nothing for them 'cause all they do, is kill! These things right here, they're the things that killed Amy. They killed Otis. They're gonna kill all of us." Shane's words made Clarke's blood boil, but there was truth to them.

"Shane, shut up!"

"Hey, Hershel man, let me ask you something. Could a living breathing person, could they walk away from this?" Shane shot the girl walker in the chest three times. There were shouts of disapproval, but Shane continued to ramble like a crazy man. "That's three rounds in the chest. Could someone who's alive, could they just take that?! Why is it still coming?" He shot it again. "That's its heart—" He shot again. "—its lungs. Why is it still coming?" He shot it again.

"Shane, enough."

"Yeah, you're right, man. That is enough." Shane shot the walker in the head and as it fell to the ground, so did Hershel who kneeled in shock. He gestured to me as he spoke again, "Enough risking our lives for a little girl who we don't even know! Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us. Enough. Rick, it ain't like it was before! Now if y'all want to live, if you want to survive, you got to fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here, right now."

"Take the snare pole. Hershel, take the snare pole. Hershel, listen to me, man, please. Take it now. Hershel! Take it!" Rick pleaded. Over it, Clarke aimed the rifle and shot the walker he was holding. "No, Shane!" That's when she realized that Shane was walking towards the barn doors. "Do not do this, brother. Wait! Don't do it!"

"Idiot!" Clarke shouted at Shane as he backed up and the doors opened, walkers piling out one by one and then all at once. "Fucking hell."

They all raised our guns in sync and started shooting.

Her sweaty, calloused hands grasped the rifle tightly as she shot. A jolt here and there was likely bruising her skin, but she didn't care; every fibre of her being was telling her to protect this group.

The gunshots as loud as thunder crackled into the air. When the last walker fell, the farm went silent as everyone stood in their place in shock. Heavy breathing, cries and sobs were the only sounds heard.

Clarke gazed around at everyone behind ber, finding their sullen and pained faces. She blew a piece hair out of her face, lowering the rifle.

The looks on their faces meant only one thing; they had lost all hope.