Denver is in the garden again, just like Carl knew she would be. When he spots her she is bent over a square container of dead leaves and worms, transferring the compost into a silver bucket with gloved hands. Her long brown curls are balled into a puffy side ponytail that dances on her shoulder as she tosses her head around, suspiciously examining the terrain every few seconds.

"You know, most people take a break sometimes." he says as he approaches her with an aluminum package in hand.

"I thought I'd give your dad a break. I know he usually takes care of this." she replies, occasionally stopping to look up at him.

"He usually has help. You could've asked."

"I'll ask for help when I need it."

"You don't always have to do things alone, Nala."

He uses her pet name, the one he gave her when they were kids. Young kids, not what they are now. There was something so innocent about it; so familiar yet so foreign. Denver freezes for a second, then looks at him. A sad smile tugs on her lips.

"That's the only way I know how to do things." she says finally.

"Did you eat yet?"

"No mom." she says sarcastically and points to the bucket, "Been busy feeding the pigs. What'd you bring me?"

She pulls off the gloves and moves away from the compost pile. He hands her the package and sits next to her, she takes it. She peels it open and starts eating the insides with her fingers.

"Something Daryl caught. Probably a deer or...something."

"It tastes like dear."

"Does it?"

Denver sucks the animal grease off her finger. "You didn't have any?"

He shakes his head passively, "Nah. I got that for you."

Her face turns red. In order to avoid food shortages in their community, every day the people are alotted rations, one serving once a day, anything else you had to get yourself. Through hunting, running, or just making friends. Carl had given her his daily ration. She didn't even think to feed herself, he thought to feed himself but then he thought to feed her instead. Maybe she was wrong, she thought, about doing things alone. She's never been alone, she's always had him.

"You need to eat too." she says and pushes the foil towards him.

"I'm okay. I'm not hungry."

"I didn't ask if you were hungry, I said you need to eat. We're going outside later, we need to be strong. Don't make me feed you like Judith."

He gives her a stubborn look, then concedes to hunger. They sit quietly and eat quickly, because they both knew it was almost time to go.

Carl was unafraid of the outside, he never had been the way most people are. He knew it was dangerous, but the danger never fully registered the way he figured it probably should. The truth is, he didn't think he was afraid of death or dying. Of course, he'd rather not die, but he wasn't afraid. The thought of his own mortality was ever present, he imagined death so much it felt something like a memory. Sometimes he wondered when it would come, how, or even if. He'd survived this long as a child, longer than so many others in his group. Longer than adults, people he loved, along with people he didn't know well; longer than his old pal Shane, who he doesn't like to think about at length, longer than his mom, likewise. The way this made him feel- he didn't want to consciously admit it but the truth lingered in his subconscious day to day: He felt untouchable. Not entirely invincible, but comfortable enough with his fate that the reality of death or dying doesn't rattle him much when thinking about himself, he was disconnected with his own mortality. It made him reckless, sometimes, but the impermanence of the people he loved was more than real to him: His sister, his dad, Nala, and everyone he's come to live with since the beginning of this- what's the word that Denver used? She had such an extensive vocabulary because she was always reading books from the Prison Library or ones she collects on runs. The two had changed a lot since the farm, interest wise among everything else. Denver had acquired a taste for pretty things and adult books- ones with no pictures and a lot of big words, no heroes or villains, sometimes, just information. He didn't know how she could stand them, he'd always been a fan of reading, but comics, things with minimal words and lots of pictures, or at the very least a definitive story line. Denver wanted to be wordly like her parents, so she read widely, never knowing just how intelligent she really is. She's so smart, Carl thought, but she may never feel that way since in this world she won't ever be able to grow up and take on a career that would undeniably confirm one's intellect to the world. She won't become a surgeon like her mom, or run the CDC, like her dad. It was never enough for her, he knew, but maybe one day it would be. Maybe, he hoped so-

Apocalypse. That was the word.

The two get up and start heading back towards the others.