eighteen
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↳ the black hole ↲

WASHINGTON D.C: It was a far step, and an even longer one by foot. With nothing but our own shoes to carry us through miles of empty road, the group—counting myself, became spiritless.

The hunger, the thirst; it hadn't come quick, but when it did, it hovered above our heads like a brewing storm. Crumpling our throats with thirst, hanging our muscles out to dry in the intense heat.

The dead had already began to follow. We were going only a couple paces faster than their lifeless shuffle, allowing them to trail behind like they were members of our group. They silently taunted us with their presence, but they were the least of our worries.

We were beginning to starve.

"You know," Noah began, keeping up with my steps as he looked to both Carl and I, "Its not so bad if you close your eyes. Swallow, tip your head back, and imagine taking a sip of water."

"It's spit. That won't help anything." Carl stated.

Noah tossed his arms to the air, before placing them on his head, and tilting his chin up. "Just pretend. Don't ruin it."

He had lost everything back in Richmond. The boy was supposed to reunite with mom, and his two brothers. But, after he came back empty handed, it wasn't hard to imagine what he had found. The first night after Tyreese's and Beth's service, all he did was wallow in silent grieving pain, until I swore he would never talk again. Him and I were alike in that sense.

However, in the morning, he was back on his feet. He was forced to live the next day as if it were any normal one. As if he hadn't seen the unburied bodies of his family.

In truth, it was any normal one. Our routine currently consisted of the following; wake up, walk, and accept the deaths being handed out so rapidly. We all wondered who was next, or fretted that maybe all of us would perish together. The thought was oddly romantic.

The weather in Virginia had taken action in the past days, the dirt sucking any bit of moisture from everything around. The leaves dried up like they did during autumn, only, It was much too hot for the season by now. Anything that had been covered in mushy green moss before, was crumpled into a wilting disease, turning the endless streets, shades of warmer colors.

"It won't be much longer." Carl said, removing his hat for a quick moment, and ruffling his dampened hair. "We'll find something."

He seemed to be aiming this comment at me. I looked up to him, nodding. It wasn't an action of agreement. It was one to make him believe I still held hope.

His hair was getting longer. The brown ends flipped up at his shoulder, and shagged at his ears, but softly, stretching across his forehead. To me, Carl Grimes resembled something gentle; something like a fawn. Brightened eyes, capable of seeing the bad, though never really overlooking the good either.

For my own hair, it was a couple shades darker than his. In time, it had grown quite a bit, reaching my mid-back, slightly above the dip at which my waist curved outwards. I had never grown my own hair this long before, always having liked to keep it tame at a few inches past shoulder length. Now, it was much harder to control than before. I had given up on trying to twist it up, allowing it to fall freely.

I hadn't minded it, or even given much thought to it, before the heat. The strands acted as a curtain between the two boys, and myself. I could sense the way the sunlight was attracted to the color, clutching it, and burning away at my scalp.

Ahead, the rest of the group traveled in small packs. Everyone made an effort to stay within close proximity. I didn't mind not being alone. It was such a contrast to last summer, after the loss of my sister. I couldn't remember much of it, besides the tormenting thought that perhaps I was the only person left on this earth.

Of course, that thought had been thrown out the window after I'd met the man my group refers to as the 'governor'. I knew him as Brian, and he'd brought me back to his camp. That group was all I knew for weeks. They were living along a riverbank. The people housed themselves in small RVs and tents, and often talked of a better life. I'd clung to their words—the things Brain told us we had to do to stay alive—even when it ended in the fall of the prison.

After that, I realized there was a better way of surviving. Rick and Carl showed me that it wasn't just about making it to the next day. . .it was about living the current one.

My thoughts finally came to a pause as I watched Daryl hand off his shotgun to Rick. He brought his crossbow into his hands, loosely holding it while Carol followed the man off the road, through the trees.

Daryl often trailed off on his own, but, never left the others for more than a couple hours at a time. I wondered if was because of Beth, if any sliver inside of him, blamed himself for her death. Of course, he must have known that there was nothing he could've done to save the girl. Still, the different colored laces tied around the bottom of his jeans that had once belonged to her, made me wonder, what all went on inside his head.

I blamed myself, too. I'd been the one to hand her the pair of scissors. I'd put that weapon in her hand, without question. She'd used it to protect Noah and I, and in return, lost her life.

That thought wasn't one that just went away. It was a heavy one—something that bubbled in my chest, and more often than not, made it difficult to breathe or speak.

"Cyn?"

I turned my attention back to the boy beside me. He gave me a look, reaching into the pack he carried, and pulled out a yellow-green box with delicate pink roses swirled upon it.

"I never went to a girls birthday party, or anything like that, so I don't know the kinds of things they like." He handed me the object. "You think Maggie would like this?"

"A box? I—guess." I said, trying my best to not make him second-guess his thoughtful action.

He'd been doing the same for me. Picking up things from the sides of roads, like a pretty rocks, or lost memorabilia, and giving them to me. My pack was heavy with all the little trinkets he'd been handing me.

It was his way of trying to get a reactions from me. To talk, or to change my stern expression. And, I didn't have the heart to tell him that this object would probably just weigh Maggie's bag down, and make it even harder for her to continue on. Because the things he'd picked up for me, did make me feel better, even if they were taking up an entire pocket in my backpack.

He shook his head, "Open it."

I twisted the box around, now noticing the small hatch which allowed the top to open. I flipped the piece of metal up, caught off guard by the small ceramic ballerina popping up on it's spring. A music box. I tried to wind the back, but nothing sounded once I let it twist.

"It doesn't work anymore. I'm gonna' to try to fix it—I just want to make sure it's not a stupid idea."

I looked at myself in the decorative mirror, staring back at my reflection, before closing it, and handing it back to the boy right beside me.

"It's sweet." I assured him, my tone coming across a bit more gloomy than I anticipated. "She'll appreciate the thought."

"I thought it might make her happy. She hasn't talked much since—" He paused, deciding not to bring up what everyone was already mourning. "You don't either."

The next step I took felt like pins and needles prodding at my bones. "Theres not much to talk about anymore."

He brought an empty bottle from his pack, tossing it to the side of the road. It was taking up too much space. "Sure there is."

"Like what?"

"Like, life before, or something." He said, calmly.

My fingers to reached back to comb through my thick locks of hair. The dark roots, having been burnt by the sun all afternoon, were hot as my fingertips skimmed them, a sensation that was hardly comparable to the heat we had been facing these past days.

The tip of my boot accidentally kicked at loose gravel, sending the rock rolling away. "Okay."

His face lit up, ever so slightly.

"Did you play sports?" He asked.

"No."

He looked at the sky, thinking of the next question. "Did you like school?"

I shook my head. "No."

He looked to be trying his hardest to find an interesting topic. "What did you want to be, when you grew up?"

I shrugged. "Never really thought about it."

I thought I was going to die in that house. I'd never thought about my future. Never even thought about getting out of my home. Not when my baby sister was still that young.

He let out a defeated sigh, looking to me, to make sure that I had heard it. "Come on. There has to be something worth telling."

I took a second, before reluctantly pulling up my sleeve, revealing a healed scar along my elbow. It had long since turned white against my skin, though it was more purple-ish for the first few months. Scar stories were never boring. And I had many of those.

"Alright, fine." I continued, after seeing the small 'I'm following along' look from him. "I was six or seven when I got this cut. Me and some kids in my neighborhood were messing around in this huge fenced area behind my house. It had this huge 'do not enter' sign, and we thought it was just to scare people off, but actually, it turned out to be roaming land for a group of bulls."

A wry smile appeared on Carl's face. "You're kidding."

"I'm not." I replied. "We saw those things, and we ran for our lives. Crawled under a barbed fence to get out, and my arm got caught in it. That's how I got the scar."

"That's way better of story than the one I was gonna' tell you about my knee." His eyes traveled back ahead. "I scraped it on the concrete when I fell off my bike, after I ran into a mailbox."

"I wish I'd seen that." I remarked, a laugh attempting to leave my throat. It couldn't. "I think I win with my story, though."

Over our heads, both the sun, and the moon were now noticeable in the sunken sky. A thinly spread cloud stretched across our heads, creating a barrier between the heat and us. It was darkening, ever so slightly.

"What about when all of this is over?" He asked. "When things can be normal again?"

I took a second, to simply wonder about the boy beside me. That, following all the death we had faced; the destruction, he still thought there to be an afterwards.

I looked ahead. The air was cooling a bit. "I don't think this will ever end. We can't recover from this."

"Answer." Carl said. "It's just a question."

His voice was now a bit harsher, and I knew he needed me to show some kind of hope, before he himself lost it completely.

"Okay," I breathed out. "I haven't really thought about it. I guess the best option would be to find a boat, then live the rest of our lives on water."

He scrunched his nose. "And eat, what, fish? You'd spend your whole life eating that stuff?"

"I think sea vegetables are a thing, if you prefer the vegan option."

"I'd rather starve." He said, forgetting to add the key factor, that our group already was.

This being said, the pack of dead behind had already increased, drastically. With the absence of food, a void was created in place for the lack of nutrients we desperately needed. Neither Carl or I had taken a single sip of water, at least, not in the last few days.

We were all hanging on by a thread, and it was only a matter of time until that weak strand, would snap.

"No." I began again. "You don't see it now, but you would understand. Waking up to the ocean. Falling asleep to the lull of the water. Even if our world never changes, life would be easier like that."

The dead couldn't swim. We would be untouched by death. If we were far enough out from shore, we could entirely forget the destruction ever existed.

I listened to the gravel beneath our shoes shift with every small step, letting the fantasy of mine, slip away. I was well aware that we would never reach the ocean, with the way we traveled now. It had just been a quick thought - and really good one. In the end, all thoughts passed. In our world, we would never get what we wanted.

"It does."

▬ ▬ ▬

Rick's plan was smart, however, I couldn't say that I was enthralled. Judith, Carl, Noah and I were instructed to stay on the other side of the bridge, while the group took out the walkers that'd been gaining on us in the past couple hours.

I knew I couldn't take on the dead in my current state of exhaustion, but it was odd to not help. When I spared a glance at Carl, I noticed he wasn't fond of it, either. His eyes were glinting with disappointment as he bounced his baby sister in his sunburnt arms.

But the adults were struggling to fight off the walkers. I felt for the holster at my side, but didn't go far enough to take the gun out. If I were to fire it, I would risk blowing out Judith's underdeveloped eardrums.

"We don't need to." Noah said, eyeing my hand placement. "They can handle them."

"Just making sure." I responded, looking sideways at him.

If I were feeling like myself, I might've responded with something clever. Called him bossy, or told him I was only reaching for my gun because he was such a sore sight that I'd mistaken him for a walker.

But I couldn't. There was no humor left in me. That part of me seemed to die right alongside Beth.

Once the dead were taken care of, we met back with the others on the bridges end, then went straight back to walking. My calves felt like if they stretched enough, they would snap in the dry heat. A pink tan was beginning to develop on my exposed skin—which happened to be a lot. I was now wearing a white undershirt beneath my bomber, and jean shorts that cut off just above mid-thigh. They reminded me of the ones my mom was pictured many times wearing her teenage years.

I'd tried to take the brown leather jacket off, but every-time I went to shrug the sleeves, Carl and Noah would complain that my paleness was burning into their eyes. I assumed they wanted me to keep my arms covered for my own safety, but were too proud to admit it. I kept the jacket on anyway.

It wasn't long before Carl pointed out the upcoming 'traffic' on the road ahead. Cars were left unattended in a congestion of about seven or eight, some of the doors left wide open to tell me that whatever had caused them to flee, made them do so, quick.

Rick slowed momentarily, examining the scene in front of us. These cars were staggered with one another, like they'd all crashed into each-other. Daryl headed into the woods to scope our surroundings while we collectively scavenged through the graveyard of cars.

I approached a dented Chrysler. It was extremely weathered, the paint peeling back to reveal the build. Before opening any doors, I wiped the dusty windows and peered inside. Once realizing it was clear, I opened the drivers side, and crawled in.

I dug through the console, finding nothing but bills, and mail. It brought me back to a time when all of these small papers meant so much to humanity. Back then, my worries consisted of minuscule problems. If my father would be happy when he got back from work, what my mother was making for dinner, and which friend I would spend Saturday with so that I could escape my home for the day.

I would have never guessed, or even considered my future to be like what it was now. And the odd part was—I wasn't even sure my previous life was much easier than the one I was living now. It was different in many ways, yes, but the difficulty seemed to remain about the same. The fight for survival was amplified, but it had always existed in my life. Now, it was the dead trying to kill me—not the living.

I leaned back, tossing the papers to the backseat, and using this moment, to take in everything around me. I was sitting in the front seat of a car, and I was fourteen, most likely. I could've been doing things like driving by now, yet, I hadn't even gotten the chance to start a car before. Somehow, the thought of me driving made me slightly nervous anyways. Perhaps, some things were better off left undiscovered, like my driving skills.

I scooted out of the seat, shutting the door behind me. When I turned ahead, I caught sight on Maggie. I hadn't even thought about how she must have been feeling. I was selfish. I'd been hurting too much to think about the others who were affected by the events at Grady Memorial.

She'd lost her sister. I knew how that felt. I'd watched a walker dig its teeth into the crook of Allie's shoulder, and tear the precious skin right off her small bones. Now, Maggie was just another bystander to the black hole that was death. Taking our family. Our friends.

And I knew her pain, as it was a familiar feeling that resided inside me.

Beth was gone, and she hadn't been given the chance to say goodbye. She'd been told that the blonde was well and alive, and an hour later, she watched Daryl carry her sister's bleeding body out the doors.

That kind of damage was irreversible. I was never the same after the death of my younger sister. Maggie would never be, either. We would carry that with us, for the rest of our lives.

"Maggie?" I called out.

She was standing in front of a car's trunk. Her eyes were dull—just staring at the thing like it was speaking to her. I took a few steps at her, and as I got closer, I could hear something moving inside it. When I came to her side, I took note of the pistol she had pointed at the lock.

"I don't think you should be here." She turned, looking to me with tear-filled eyes. "There's one in there, and I shut it. It's still in there."

I took note of the jammed keys in the lock mechanism.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, looking over her exposed arms for any scratches or bites. "It didn't hurt you?"

"No, Cyn. I'm fine. It's just-" She stopped, putting a hand to her forehead. "I want it out. I shouldn't have shut it. I just couldn't."

"Okay." I said, moving in front of her to test the lock.

I didn't understand the reason of her frustration. But she looked destroyed, and I wasn't strong enough to not acknowledge her pain. I wanted to fix whatever triggered this response from her—prompting me to try the lock myself.

"Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe we just need to stop."

I twisted it again, ignoring her worry for me. I brought my gun to the lock, using the butt of it to smack down on the metal. This action loosened it, making it unsecured enough to pry open. I helped Maggie to the side, then lifted it.

I hadn't been expecting to see anything living inside, and I didn't. The woman inside, she was dead. No visible bites, however, rope was bound to her wrists and ankles. She had died in this trunk.

And by the looks of it, she'd been in here since the beginning. Maybe even before the world had gone to shit—before we all knew we were infected. She was docile. So starved that she didn't appear to have any inclination of hunger. My stomach lurched at the smell of the rot, but I kept my face calm as I used my pocket knife to put a dignified end to her.

My hands then gripped the edge of the trunk, starting to push it back down to cover her body.

"Wait." Maggie spoke up. "Leave it, please. Keep it open."

I nodded, stepping away, and leaning on the side of the car. We didn't see it the same. I'd wanted to cover her so that her body was safe from the weather. So that her bones could remain as proof she existed. Maggie, however, didn't want the woman to be locked away anymore.

She must have seen Beth in this stranger. The dead one had her same blonde hair. Her bound wrists and ankles must have reminded Maggie of Beth's own capture.

Before I was able to make a sad attempt at speaking, she was moving forward, and embracing me. Her arms wrapped around my figure tightly, her right hand, finding placement on my head.

"Thank you." She said, squeezing tighter, before releasing,

I released the breath I'd been holding. She kneeled to sit on the road, and I slid my back down the side of the car to join her. I was still off-guard from the simple action of her hug, but I wasn't rejecting it, by any means. I was digesting it.

"The hospital wasn't bad." I broke the silence. "It wasn't good—but it wasn't awful."

Maggie's eyes met mine. She looked at me like I had the answers she so desperately needed, so I continued. "We had meals twice a day. Comfy beds. Warm water to shower in."

Maggie nodded, but remained quiet.

I picked at my peeling cuticles. "When I met Beth, I thought she looked like an angel. That was my first thought of her. And the more I got to know her in the days I was there, the more she lived up to my assumption."

Maggie seemed to swallow the lump in her throat, her voice cracking as she finally spoke up, "Was she happy there?"

I nodded. "She made the most of it. She was so smiley, even through the hard parts. She was hopeful, too. The couple times I doubted making it out, she gave me faith."

The corner of Maggie's mouth lifted. I felt the tension leave my body. I'd been scared maybe this wasn't the best time to give her insight, but she seemed to be appreciative of it, like it was giving her some sort of closure she needed. I hadn't realized until now, that it was helping me too. Talking about it. Reminding Maggie, and myself, that Beth had stayed true until her last breath. She'd left this earth in such a noble manner.

Maggie let out a shudder, her shoulders lowering.

"She was planning on going into nursing. Said she wanted to take care of our daddy, when it came time. That was the only reason. Beth was that kind of person."

"I picked up on that." I agreed. "I didn't know her long, but I saw enough to know that she only wanted to best for everyone."

Maggie sniffled, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I'm glad you met her, Cyn. She's not fully gone until the memory of her is."

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I won't forget her and what she did for me. Someday. . .if I ever have children of my own, I'll tell them about Beth."

She reached for my hand, giving it a small squeeze before her eyes averted to my unruly hair.

"I've seen you pushing your hair from your face all day, let me help. I can braid, used to do Beth's."

She took the hair tie that had been planted on her wrist for a while now—obvious from the red markings it had made on her skin. I obliged at her request, turning to the side so that the brunette to get a better start. At first, her fingers running through my tangled hair was an uncomfortable sensation. After a while, I could barely notice the feeling of her tugging at the pieces, twisting them into a single neat braid, moving from the start of my scalp, to the tied ends.

When she was finished, I ran a curious finger over the end of the braid, giving her a small thankful smile.

"Cyn?" Maggie asked, her voice shaky as she watched me come to a stand.

I turned to her.

She held hurt in her eyes as she came to a stand and said, "So much of you reminds me of her. Only—you have the ruthlessness that she didn't. Don't ever lose that. You need it to survive."

It seemed Beth's only merciless act was sticking a pair of scissors into Dawn's chest. She didn't know death like the rest of us. She didn't know how to kill and remain unharmed, because death meant more to her. Part of me believed that she knew her moment of relation would end in her demise—and that she was okay with that, because  she wanted to remain gentle until the end.

Killing Dawn, and surviving, would have changed her. She must have knew that better than anyone.

I nodded. "I won't. I promise."

We walked back together. We took our steps slow, our will to continue fading as the sun turned an amber color. When we approached the rest of the group, she took a seat near Glenn, and I sat in the open space between Carl.

The hunger had finally began hurting. It wasn't just discomfort anymore. It was real, genuine pain. A stabbing throb was setting into my stomach, the pain shooting uo through my raw throat, and across my temple. It was excruciating to sit with, but there was nothing to eat. That was—unless I felt like joining the Ginger sitting against a flat rock, indulging in a flask of fireball.

I decided would rather tough it out. I hated the scent of alcohol. Hated what it did to people. I felt myself fearing what it may do to Abraham. That fear came from a place of my own suffering.

Abraham wasn't my father.

"So, all we found was booze?" Tara asked, taking a seat near Rosita, who'd grown to be a close friend of hers.

"Yeah." Rosita replied, turning to Abraham, who sat far enough away to be oblivious to their words.

"That's not going to help him."

"He knows that."

"It's going to make it worse." Tara stated.

"Yes, it is." Her pigtailed friend replied, placing a hand under her chin, to rest.

"He's a grown man." Eugene pronounced. "And I truly do not know if things can get worse."

"They can."

They could, and they would. We were starving.

I turned my attention to Carl, who held his sister tight in his arms. Even Judith looked lethargic. I felt awful for the little girl. She'd been crying on and off every half hour. There was nothing for her to eat out here. You couldn't force worms in her mouth, like I'd seen Daryl doing earlier.

The thought drew a thick wave of nausea out of me.

Judith needed formula, or soft foods. But more than this, she needed her mom. I didn't know much about her, but I'd picked up on enough context clues to understand she hadn't made it. I didn't dare ask Carl. We never talked about the people we'd lost. It was too painful.

The clouds above had turned thick, painting the atmosphere dark grey. The sun was completely covered by now, occasional deep rumbles sounding out into the sky. Rick had said it would be moving this way, but there was no way of being sure. If we were lucky, it wouldn't go over us. Then again, the heat was scalding, and cold droplets against my skin sounded like more of a privilege than an inconvenience.

As if Eugenes last statement—'I truly do not know if things can get worse', had caused a butterfly effect, something worse did begin to occur. A loud rustle in the dry bushes caused us to turn at the sound. Some stood up, preparing their weapons, while Carl pulled Judith closer. I felt for my pocketknife.

What emerged from the bushes weren't walkers like I'd expected.

They were dogs.

Their unruly fur was tainted with drying blood, like they'd recently ripped apart one of the dead. Their snouts were covered in dark red, small bits of skin hanging from the teeth they bore. Their skin fit against their frame tightly, ribs visible in many.

I flicked my blade out. It was no match against their sets of teeth, but it was all I had. Judith let out a cry, and they looked to her as if she were the easiest target yet. I gripped the handle of my weapon tighter, knuckles turning white. Carl seemed to be holding his breath, bringing her closer to his chest. He would make those animals tear him apart before they got to her.

Sudden silenced gunshots sent them one-by-one to the ground. A few pained whines came from the pack, another round of bullets flying at them to finish them off. The firing then stopped, and the gun was brought down to reveal Sasha behind the trigger.

Silence remained. I blinked, looking to Carl and Judith before flipping my blade back, and placing it into my pocket. Rick then stood, nodding at Sasha in thanks before stepping towards the tree line, and grabbing a stick. He cracked the thing on his knee, and it only took me a few moments to realize what he was making.

A roasting stick. Nobody looked at one another. There were no glances exchanged at all, because, there was no question. It was what had to be done. It was what we had to do. . .to survive.

Abraham stood up, collecting some larger pieces of wood. He brought them to the middle of us, digging in the dry dirt to make a small pit. I watched Daryl quickly unsheathe a thick knife, then turned my head to ignore the oncoming sound of flesh ripping, and guts hitting the ground.

I turned a blind eye. When the fire was started and the meat was prepared over flame, I didn't let the opportunity pass me by. I couldn't. It didn't matter how we got it, or what it came from.

It wasn't human, like what Terminus had resorted to. That was all that mattered. We were not like them. We would never be like them.

I was to last to be handed a stick, with a piece of meat skewered onto the end. I didn't know how to stomach the principle of it. I simply stared at it, rotating the stick in my hand, before looking around.

Some were already eating. Others were preparing themselves. Noah wasn't doing either—he was simply sat off from the rest, staring at the road, refusing to partake in this.

I began to set mine down too, before I heard Carl's voice.

He spoke low to me, like he wanted our words to stay between the two of us. "Just eat. Don't think."

I gripped the skewer. "I don't know if—"

"You can." He told me. "And you will. So will I."

He allowed himself the food, prompting me to lift my own. I looked back at him, his nod reassuring me that it was okay. That was all it took for me to do what I needed to.

▬ ▬ ▬

When the storm had started to sweep in our direction, we were met with a problem, of sorts.

'From a friend'

It was written sloppily, on a blank piece of copy paper. There were three big jugs of water, alongside enough small bottles to allow each of us to have our own. Like whoever had left this, had gotten a head count on us.

We'd been going back and forth for minutes after encountering this up the road, debating whether or not to drink it. We'd eaten, but that wasn't enough to keep us going for long. We needed fluids running through our veins.

"What else are we going to do?" Tara said, her dry throat noticeably coarsening her words.

"Not this." Rick replied. "We don't know who left it."

Eugene was the first to look unmistakably upset at his words. "If it's a trap, we already happen to be in it. But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend."

I tapped my foot anxiously along the pavement. I was split on this, completely. Nothing, no-one, and definitely not a stranger, would be allowed to call our group a 'friend' of theirs. Not after the things we had been through. After hearing about what had happened at the church, and what the people of Terminus had done to Bob.

On the other hand, the bottles could've been perfectly safe. Left here for someone else, who never made it. It might not have been ours. But it was in our path now, which meant we were entitled to it, if we wished.

"What if it isn't?" Carol said. "They put something in it?"

Eugene reached for a bottle, struggling to open the cap. This caused a reaction from the others, shouting, and telling him to stop. I, on the other hand, was just as curious as he was. Out of all the people who could die from the water being poisoned, I wouldn't have been completely shattered if, let's say, Eugene were the one to go. He hadn't done much at all for the group, besides lie to every single one of us about a cure, for his own sake of survival.

Deadweight.

He brought the bottle up, tilting it backwards, but not before Abraham could throw it out of his hands, leaving only drops on his face, and lips.

"We can't." Rick said, the group going silent at the redheads violence.

Thunder rumbled the earth again. But, this time, it was closer. It brought a breeze along with it. The wind ran through the trees as if it were using the leaves as an instrument. Everyone's head tilted skyward, expectantly. Before I could even exhale, droplets began hitting the asphalt, the pelts painting the road with black dots.

After the initial breakthrough, it began coming down harder, dampening our clothes. The sudden cooling atmosphere wiped out the dust and heat in an instance. The rain fell onto us, pattering and tapping as they made contact. It clung to my reddened cheeks, chilling my skin as it traveled down my neck, making a path down the ridge of my spine.

I shuddered. My legs were fairly bare, and they could feel every single sensation as the storm came down on us. The rain rolled down my calves, then made their way into my boots. My socks felt damp in an instant. I didn't mind one bit. The droplets danced along my scalp, patting into my the leather on my jacket, making soft songs along my shoulders and arms.

The drizzle was now a downpour.

Carl turned his head to the sky, quickly shielding Judith with a thin layered blanket around her, then grinning and opening his mouth, catching the droplets on his tounge.

I put a hand out, watching as the rain washed away the dirt from my palm. A rush of air left my lips, and I tilted my head back, letting the rain hit my face directly in hopes that it would leave my skin cleaner than before. The pellets ran along my lashes, soaking through the cracks in my eyelids, and creating a soft stinging in my eye. I didn't mind. I felt as if I were in a cold shower, letting the misery of the weeks before—simply wash down the drain.

Rick began placing our empty plastic bottles onto the ground, letting the rain gather into the bottom. It would be the freshest water we'd get our hands on in a long while. We didn't need to worry about the ones left in the road, anymore. We weren't at its mercy.

A clatter of thunder hit the air, and this time, lighting was noticeable, electrifying the clouds with streaks of white, and purple. Carl now reached for the sheriffs hat on his head, pulling it off, and placing it on Judith.

The clouds didn't look forgiving anymore. They looked angry.

"Let's keep moving." Rick said, another rumble shaking the ground below.

"There's a barn." Daryl retorted.

That was all it took for Rick to ask the angel man to lead us there. We entered through the line of trees, the forest ground still fairly dry from the shade the trees provided. Most of the water was being soaked up by the green above, the once dry dying leaves renewing with a newfound life. We left quick steps in the mulch as we ran for minutes, eventually approaching the safe-haven Daryl had spoken of.

The group took no time on entering with guns blazing, the remaining batteries in our flashlights being drained to clear the shelter entirely before we shut the doors in on us. Inside, it was much warmer. We all caught our breath as we looked around.

The ground was covered in itchy straw from loose bales. However, it was nothing compared to sleeping over rocks, like we had been. The roof provided all we needed, and it was secure, apart the small opening that water dribbled through every couple minutes.

With the storm still raging, it was clear that none of us would be leaving anytime soon. We took it upon ourselves to settle in, most of the group trailing to the far end where Abraham was setting up a fire. As others began setting down their things, Rick lit it, and the surrounding the area was flooded with warmth.

Carl trailed behind me, setting his pack down near my own seat. I wasn't sure when it had happened, or how, but it had. The point in which we had begun finding each other's presence. . .pleasant. It was so much different then when we had first met, the day he believed Judith to be dead—me being part of the reason, in his eyes.

I wasn't sure why he chose to move past it. If it had been reversed, I may have never forgiven him. Yes, his sister was alive, but he'd lost people that day. He wanted to kill me for what I'd taken part in, but Rick had stopped him. He'd hated me for a long time—only, somewhere along the way, there'd been a shift. I was the only other member of the group that was around his age. Maybe he'd felt lonely. Needed a friend, and deemed me worthy.

As hours passed, the two of us grew tired, the others voices blurring away in the background. Carl had asked me to hold Judith for a moment, to 'rest his eyes', and I agreed, well aware how it would turn out. When Carl had fallen asleep like I'd predicted, I was the one holding Judith while she thrashed around, then, eventually fell asleep.

When the voices had begun quieting down, the sound of thunder and rain kept me conscious. I could feel the gust of bitter wind sweeping between the wooden planks. The inside of the barn was creaking and howling from the external pressure. Every few minutes, flashes of light leaked through, the crackling sound of thunder following. The loudest were the doors. The chains Rick had put around the handles were the only thing keeping them from flying wide open. The noise, however, was unbearable.

I became overstimulated. I placed a bundled Judith down beside Carl, lifting myself up, and walking closer to the doors. My bare legs stung at the chill, my arms folded into my chest as I attempted to near the rattling door to get a small peek into the outside world. One I had gotten close, I slowed to take note of the angel man pacing back and forth from his perch.

Daryl. He seemed uneasy. I softly nodded to him, swallowing the building saliva under my tongue. I hated storms. Couldn't stand the noise. Maybe we were similar in that sense.

"You should sleep." He told me, his quieted voice coming across gruff.

"I've tried." I replied. "I can't. It's too loud."

He grunted in response, taking a seat on a hay bale. I took a step away from the small opening in the doors, shielding myself from the icy pellets. His eyes followed my every movement as if he were a hawk—watching like he thought he I'd walk straight out into the storm.

"You need to get something off your chest?" I asked, the exhaustion in my voice coming across in an accidental tone of annoyance.

Perhaps I was annoyed. I hadn't gotten a single moment alone in a long while. I was growing tired of being perceived wherever I went. I just wanted a little bit of space. Privacy.

"Nah."

I couldn't get a good look outside from where I stood. The doors still clashed against one another violently.

"You were there. With Beth." He said, pulling a cigarette from his pockets and placing it between his lips.

I twisted toward him. I wanted to say, thanks for the reminder, but I held my tongue. I knew he didn't mean it in ill-will. He spoke like he understood my pain.

Almost as if he were checking to make sure I was holding up alright.

He carefully used his tongue to push the cigarette to the opposing corner of his lips. "We went out everyday. Covered miles. Had no idea you were with Beth."

I unfolded my arms now. My throat burned and I begged myself to keep a neutral expression. "You went looking for me?"

His back rested against the wall, his posture slumping as he nodded towards a sleeping Carl. "Specially him."

"I—" I looked back, "Thank you. And, I never thanked you for putting a bullet in Dawn's head, either."

He looked to me. "You're a kid, you shouldn't be sayin' that shit."

"I'm old enough to make a judgement. She deserved it. You were the only one who didn't hesitate. So—again—thank you."

He took the unlit cigarette from his mouth, throwing the damp end against the opposing wall as he reached into his bag. "C'mere."

I followed his command, sitting on the empty space of bale he created for me. I watched carefully as he dug through his belongings, then as he pulled out an object.

A hunters knife. Lightened silver at the blade, with a slick stag handle. The tip was polished and clean, like it hadn't been used much at all.

"What's that?" I asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

He turned it in his hands, handing it to me. "Her knife."

I started at him momentarily, my mouth slightly agape as I took the weapon into my hands. "Why?"

Daryl's shoe kicked out at the dirt beneath us. "That switchblade in your pocket ain't gonna' do shit against the dead. She'd want it to be yours."

I didn't argue. I just twisted the object in my hands, watching the glint roll down the shiny metal. I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I didn't think he wanted me to, either.

Just before I stood to take a seat back by Carl, the storm went quiet for only a moment, and I could hear snarling beyond the doors.

Daryl noticed this, too. I watched as he approached the door. There was an instance, where his movements had come to a hault, and the next, he was pushing himself against the door. I suddenly watched how it retaliated against him, the double doors pushing in against his efforts. Through the small opening, I could sense the smell. Rot.

There were dead outside. Enough to cause a struggle in Daryl, which meant it must have been many. I quickly came to a stand, rushing beside him to push against the structure. I felt the instant backlash, my boots skidding backward as I tried to keep against it. It was then that others woke, or got up to the sound of our struggle, rushing to help.

I flipped my back to the door, using the strength in my elbows to push back. I grounded my feet to keep upright, the wooden structure clashing against my spine.

As the doors tossed back, I twisted my head to view the large opening it had created. My eyes locked onto the soulless creatures banging against the barrier. If not for the doors, they would have been on us. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting out a struggled breath. Their snapping teeth. The flashes that I could see even with my eyes closed. The freezing rain blowing through the gap that was growing smaller by each person who came to help.

I pressed my weight harder into the door, the reverberations beyond sending painful pressure up my back. The weight of the doors suddenly became easier to bare, and I was made aware of the boy who stood directly in front of me, hands pressed into the door on either side of me to provide stability for himself and I.

The growls became louder.

Lightning struck outside.

Thunder followed.

Blue eyes against green. I looked to him, not realizing the fear that overtook my expression completely.

"This door isn't going to open, alright?"

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7,914 words • 10:36 pm

so, lol, when i usually write, i was in the ER during that time, and i've been extremely sick all weekend, and through this monday, tuesday, and wednesday. again, sorry for the wait, i know how frustrating it can be. 🤕💔.

carl pull up all like;

now watch me whip
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now watch me nae nae
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WAIT ALSO I LOVE U ALL TYSM FOR 20K reads and 1k votes, THIS IS SO BIG FOR ME

sincerely yours,
nika.