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"We don't need another person," Carl spat. He kicked the ground, watching the few leaves and grass fly forward a few inches. He was beyond frustrated."We should be focusing on finding the others, not…getting more members!"

"I understand where you're coming from," Michonne nodded, "but your father knows what he's doing. The girl seems pretty capable."

"We're fine on our own," Carl shook his head. "She's just another mouth to feed."

He was aware of Michonne's eyes on him, most likely surprised by his outburst. Honestly, he didn't even know where these feelings were coming from. Although he wasn't really on board with more members in the first place, he never reacted so…strongly against the idea. Michonne was right though; the girl was pretty capable.

He watched his dad across the clearing question her. Her expression remained impassive, with a few curt nods here and there. Black hair hung down her back, a few strands falling into her face. She didn't seem that much older than him.

Rick turned around, facing Carl and Michonne. He walked close, eyes trained to the ground. He definitely looked better with his cleaner white shirt, healed.

"I think we should let her join us," he began. "She knows her way around this town, and she can contribute."

"You think that's a good idea?" Michonne wondered.

'No,' Carl internally huffed.

"We'll see what happens." Rick motioned the girl over. "You said you know your way around town?"

Her head bobbed in accordance. "Yeah. I raided a couple old grocery stores. They should have more supplies."

He considered her, running a hand across the scruff on his chin.

New people were dangerous. New people got you killed. The mantra was not forgotten to Carl, and no matter what his father and Michonne decided to do with her, he would not let this girl ruin their chances of survival, knife throwing or not.

He shook his head, walking off a few feet to leave the conversation. This was absolutely stupid. What was his dad thinking? After all their experience with strangers in this apocalyptic world, he figured befriending some little girl was a good idea? Right.

Carl dropped his head back, blinking up at the leafy canopy above. The sunlight was dying, a few more beams filtering through. They had to move soon, or face the threat of unseen Walkers lingering in the forest.

He felt a pang in his chest suddenly, overcome with sudden emotion. It had only been days since the attack at the prison, only a few mere days since he'd last seen the group. Their group. They were more like family, but now the chances were they all died in the attack.

"Carl," Rick spoke, shaking him from his darkening thoughts. He was in a somber mood now as he turned to face his father. They were preparing to go. The girl, Ashley, stood to the side, her arms crossed in front of her.

"Let's go."


Patience was never one of her strong suits. Neither were uncomfortable silences. It was ironic, since she should have been used to the deafening silence now that the word ended. She hadn't talked to a human in a while, and she found she missed it more than she cared to admit.

As the four of them trekked through the darkened forest, the only sounds were the snapping of twigs and the crisp crunch of leaves under their shoes. She kept a sharp ear open for any approaching Zacks.

That was what she found herself calling them now. Two weeks prior, Ashley had broke into an old convenience store, scavenging for food. After one initial sweep, she figured the building was empty, and dug through the shelves.

A faint groan was heard down the aisle, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as she spun around. It had been closer than she thought, hobbling toward her with a distinguished limp. It used to be an overweight, middle-aged man, a tattered and bloody uniform adorning its rotting torso.

She pulled a knife from her boot with practiced ease, and with a flick of her wrist, the blade was lodged into its forehead. The thump as it hit the ground was loud.

When Ashley walked to retrieve her knife, she noticed the nametag.

Hi, my name is Zack was written in what used to be bold red print.

'He worked here,' she had realized, gripping the handle and dislodging the blade.

Ever since then, she had dubbed all of the undead as a Zack. It stuck with her.

Back to the forest, Ashley glanced up and noticed the clearing up ahead.

"We're close," she announced, her pace quickening just the slightest bit. Soon, they'd find food and shelter and hopefully settle for the night.

The sun finally set, bathing the small, abandoned town in darkness. It was easy to find a house. There were several of them lining every street that looked to be untouched by Zacks. Ashley figured the people who lived here had evacuated before many of them were overcome with them. It was good for them: it meant fewer chances of Zacks appearing.

An hour later, after the man, Rick, secured a medium-sized house, was when Ashley actually felt safe for the first time in a while.

They retired into the living room after finding several blankets from the bedrooms upstairs. She claimed one, finding a small armchair that she immediately curled up in. Her eyes felt heavy, especially with the flames dancing in the fireplace. They reflected off the walls hypnotically.

The three of them talked quietly on the other side of the room, occasionally shooting glanced at her, which she pretended not to notice. She was too damn tired to converse with them.

With a final, deep sigh, Ashley found herself drifting into a semi-peaceful sleep, something she hadn't done since this all started.


Screams.

It was the only thing she could hear. Who was screaming? Everything was shaking, the world was spinning.

Make it stop.

The groans continued on, and the scent of rotting, decaying flesh nearly suffocated her.

Just shut your eyes. It'll be okay.

Dead fingers fumbled with her pant legreaching Can't let them get me

No.

"Ashley, close your eyes."

She listened. What else could she do? More screams. The smell got stronger.

Please, make it stop.

A particular scream caught her attention. She opened her eyes.

NO! MOM!

She was alone, now. Make it stop. Oh God, make it stop.

She curled up, wrapping around her knees with shaking arms. Dead fingers reached for her body, and the moans drifted from below.

She drowned in her own screams.


"Hey! Wake up, dammit."

Ashley jolted up, her neck moist with perspiration and her breath short. It took a second to register her surroundings. The living room, the dying fire.

The kid with the hat was scowling at her from his position next to her couch.

"You were screaming in your sleep," he scolded sternly. "Are you trying to attract Walkers?"

The judgment in his tone made her defensive, and she sat up straighter.

"What's your deal?" she demanded. She was tired of his cold attitude toward her. His dad and Michonne were accepting enough. Sure, they didn't engage in conversation, but it's not like they looked at her like some damn nuisance, like this kid did.

"I'm trying to survive," he spat. Carl returned to his initial position at the other couch, plopping down on the blankets. "I don't need your stupid dreams getting us killed."

Ashley rubbed her eyes and looked around the empty room. "Where are they?"

"Going on a supply run. They told me to stay here with you."

'Ah,' she realized. 'That's why he's so pissy this morning.'

"I don't need a babysitter," she crossed her arms across her chest.

"You think I don't know that?" his eyes shot over to her, narrowed in frustration. He groaned and then stood up, leaving the room without another word to her. Well, so much for that…

She sighed, leaning back against the couch. She didn't mean to scream. She's been having the same nightmare for the past few weeks, and they seemed to just get worse night after night.

Sunlight streamed in through the crack in the curtains, alerting Ashley of the time of day. She wondered what their next move would be. What did this group even plan to do? Did they prefer to move every night? Did they want to find a house to set down roots and stay? She did remember hearing Carl mention finding others. Maybe that was their incentive.

Before she could relax against the dusty cushions of the couch, she heard something. A scratching noise at the front door.

Shit.

Her spine stiffened, eyes darting down the hall. She didn't even have to think twice about reaching down into her bag and gripping the worn handles of her trusty knives.

Ashley carefully stood up, walking toward the chipped white door with clenched muscles. They needed to get rid of this Zack before its scratching attracted others.

The scraping ceased, causing Ashley to pause in the hall.

Her brows furrowed. Did she imagine that? It was hard to tell sometimes. For all she knew, she had been going crazy this whole time.

"Leave it alone," a voice spoke behind her. "It should leave after a few minutes if we're quiet."

Carl had his gun in his hand as he moved beside her, eyes trained on the door separating them from the Zack.

"You sure?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just go back in the living room and don't make any noises, okay?"

She huffed, turning on her heel and striding back to the worn couch. She didn't do it because the kid told her to, she just didn't feel the need to linger by the door. He wasn't the boss of her.

Carl entered the room after a moment, plopping down on the rug and checking his bag filled with more guns and ammo. It was clear his mood still hadn't sobered up since she joined them the day before. His shoulders were tense beneath his plaid shirt, and he still wouldn't look in her direction.

'Whatever,' she thought. 'If he was going to be stubborn, so be it.'

Did he think she would betray them or something? Sure there were some sick people in the world nowadays, but trust was important, too. It was impossible to survive on your own, that much was evident. Ashley prepared herself every single day she was alone to not see the next one. Solitary life didn't provide hope, and if you didn't have that, what did you have?

A thought struck her about two hours later. They were just sitting in the living room in silence. Talk about boring. Ashley turned to Carl.

"Can they handle the Zack when they come back without attracting more?"

His eyes narrowed in slight confusion and incredulity at her. "You named it?"

"No," she explained, forgetting everyone had their own names for the undead. She heard them call them Walkers. "I call all of them Zacks. Long story."

Carl seemed strangely put off at the thought of her naming the one zombie at the door.

'I guess it bothers him,' she internally shrugged.

"They can handle it," he answered her previous question tersely. "It should be gone soon though."

Another two hours later, and they were both on their feet, tense with apprehension. The scratching and groaning hadn't stopped, even more so, it seemed to increase in volume and consistency, despite them not making a sound in so long.

No words were needed when Ashley met Carl's eye. They looked navy in the slightly dim room, hardened with trepidation. Slowly, she gripped a few knives and followed the boy toward the front door. If they didn't put down the Zack now, who knows how many of them are out there now.

Carl reached a hand out, ready to swing open the door and shoot it in the head with his drawn gun.

Curiously, Ashley leaned left, taking the moment to move away the curtain and peek at the yard.

Her mouth felt suddenly dry.

"Carl, no-!"

Too late.

The door flew open, and Carl pointed his glock 17 with practiced precision, effectively killing the Zack scratching at the door with a loud BANG.

Ashley could sense the shock run through his body a mere second later at the discovery she just made, too.

The gunshot attracted more of them, all right.

Dozens of Zacks' heads on the street suddenly turned in their direction.


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