I'm not sure just how long I spent in the car: it could have been twenty minutes, it could have been several hours, but many songs later, the unbearable heat forces me to evacuate the car. Pulling my earphones out and stuffing them in my pocket, I clamber out and shut the door behind me.
I've apparently been quite a while, because Amy and Andrea are back from the quarry with a ton of fish on them - probably enough for us all to be full this evening.
I lick my lips hungrily, imagining the taste of the dinner we'll be having tonight. It's something to look forward to, something to keep my mind off Atlanta and perhaps it'll make the sick feeling in my stomach go away. Hopefully.
"Whoa," I comment in admiration as I draw closer to the sisters. "You two have some serious skills." I compliment, causing both Amy and Andrea to smile.
"Thanks." Amy says, holding up her catch a little higher. I'd always wished I'd known how to fish, and now I was beginning to want to know even more. It seemed like such a useful skill, especially now, it seems imperative.
"Where did you two learn to do that?" Lori asks, sounding equally in awe as the rest of us.
"Our dad." Amy replies, smiling, perhaps in memory of him.
"Can you teach me?" Carl asks them, which I think is a good idea - the more people who know how to fish, the better.
"Sure! I'll teach you all about nail knots and stuff ... If that's okay." Amy checks with Lori, who seems to have no problem with it.
"I don't suppose you could teach me too?" I didn't think she'd say no, and luckily I'm right.
"Course, no problem." She grins, happily. "We can make a day out of it, it'll be great."
"Hey Dale!" Andrea turns to Dale, who slowly walks towards us. "When's the last time you oiled those liners? They were a disgrace!" She jokes, but Dale is too distracted, not acknowledging what she'd said.
"I, uh ... I don't want to alarm anyone, but ... we may have a bit of a problem." He turns towards the hills, looking distant.
A slight discomfort in my gut makes me feel wary, and a little on edge. It's then I see a man's figure, digging on the hill in the hot sun. On closer inspection, I realise it's Jim.
Everyone quickly decides to go up and see what was happening and why Jim was digging. Although Jim's digging hadn't phased me much, the feeling in my gut didn't go away.
I decide to stay and sit up on the RV and to keep a lookout, just in case. I watch using Dale's binoculars, but also look around the whole camp, down to the quarry, along the roads and back to Jim and the others. I look away again, scanning the camp and return my gaze to the hill to find Jim and Shane fighting.
It soon ends with Shane pushing Jim to the ground and holding him there, talking down to him. I look away, sit down on the RV and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I'm baking in the sun, and since we probably don't have sun-cream, I'll probably burn.
Hurrah!
Even when Mum and I were travelling across southern Europe, we hadn't experienced heat like this.
Jim had been tied to a tree to stop him from staying out in the sun and overheating. He, apparently, was scaring people. He hadn't scared me, but then again, I've seen more frightening things, and there are worse things out there than Jim. I don't pay much attention, since it isn't really my business and Dad had said not to get too close to anyone here - so I didn't, and I'm trying not to. Unsuccessfully.
I can't help it, but I feel tense. Maybe it's the waiting for Dad to get back, or the fact that Uncle Merle is also gone or that I barely know anyone here and I'm feeling lonely. Or maybe I'm missing Mum. Either way, I don't quite know what to do. I'm not supposed to get close to people, so I have nobody to talk to.
I decide to get started on the fish, because someone is going to have to cook them sooner or later - before they go bad. So, with the help of Carol, I get to work.
I like Carol. She's kind and sensitive and I appreciate that very much. Whilst showing me what to do with the fish, she demonstrates with her own, then helps me with mine. The short time we're together is sweet and calm; very different to what the world's like now, and it's refreshing.
That's before Carol is carted off by her husband. I try so hard not to listen to his harsh words and focus on deboning the rest of the fish and preparing them to be cooked. So when Carol returns with reddened eyes, she smiles when she notices I've turned to face her. I smile back, not sure whether to ask her if she' okay or whether to leave it.
"You alright?" I ask, after a moment of silently gutting fish.
Carol nods, obviously not wanting to talk about it, so we continue in silence for a long time before she continues showing me what to do, but it's no longer the same.
At nightfall, we're eating, and it's surprisingly good. I sit with the others by the fire as they talk and I listen, and though I felt a little out of place at first, it's quite nice. The fire, the people - it's how I had imagined camping to be. The talk's not even important, it's light and fun, teasing Dale about his watch and laughing about how Amy had tripped over, but managed to catch herself before she fell or hurt herself.
Amy soon leaves, "to go pee" she says to Andrea when asked, and makes a remark that makes other people laugh. I am, under the circumstances, feeling better. I still want everyone to be back, but I'm a lot more relaxed. I'd even put my gun in my backpack, which I'd put outside the RV. I'd kept my knife on me. I always keep it on me, even in bed because you never know when you're going to need it, or so Dad says.
Somehow I relax. I get comfortable and slowly get tired enough that I close my eyes and begin to drift off…
When somebody screams.
I jolt upright, wide-eyed, feeling the dread drop like a heavy rock in my stomach.
Amy had screamed. She's been bitten, over by the RV she's being attacked by walkers. And just like that, it's over for her. And they're suddenly everywhere. And everyone's screaming and running.
Gunshots are being fired. By Shane at first. The gunshots aren't the only sound. My heart's thumping a mile a minute and I bolt.
My legs carry me away into the trees, faster and faster, further and further away deep into the woods. I keep going and going, unable to stop myself in the panic I'd sent myself into, the pure fear that triggered the flight instinct and I can't stop, can't override the instinct until I'm alone, panting and crying in the dark.
I can't think.
I can hardly breathe.
My head pounds almost as strongly as my heart. I hadn't thought about how unsafe it was to be alone in the dark and now that's exactly where I am. Alone. Alone and afraid in the dark. All I'd done was react to things that were happening around me, and now nothing's happening, so I slow and stand to catch my breath. In and out.
In and out. In and out. Deep, ragged breaths slowly getting more controlled and less raspy.
I hear a twig snap and the moan of a walker behind me. My body decides what to do without me. I heave myself up a tree, grabbing branch after branch, trying to get as high as possible. I slip, my leg dangling right in front of the walker. I kick it in the face, causing it to fall to the ground and use the force to push myself up higher and haul myself to a temporary safety. I try to regain my breath again; in and out. In and out.
"Fuck." I mutter, trembling. It takes time, God knows how long, but I steady my breathing and try to think straight; it's a lot harder when you've got adrenaline coursing through your body, however.
A thought hits me; I can't hide up in this tree forever. The longer I stay, the higher the possibility that more walkers will find me. But I don't want to go back to camp. I can't. People have died, and I have no idea how many but I could have helped save them, even if only a little bit. I could have killed a walker, which could have saved someone's life.
But I had behaved cowardly. I can't go back.
Dad crosses my mind and I push my previous thought away. I need to get back to camp. I have no choice. Even if it's just for him. We won't be staying with them long anyway, I think, but I know the guilt will stay whether we leave or not.
Growling draws my attention downwards and I look to the walker below me, ignoring the foul stench it gives off. Before I do anything, I have to get rid of that walker. I can't use my gun, since it's still in my backpack at camp but maybe that's for the best, since the noise would attract more walkers - it also means that I have no choice in whether I go back or not.
So, knife it is then.
I shuffle on the branch, figuring out a way to get down when I hear a gunshot and flinch. My foot slips and for a moment I'm in mid-air, trying desperately to grab a branch on my way down but all I do is scrape my hands and arms. My feet hit the ground first, and though my knees bend, shooting pains are sent up both my legs as I fall forwards onto my arms and face then flat onto my stomach. The pain distracts me momentarily but when I feel something kick my foot I twist onto my back in fear.
The walker is right there.
I kick its leg, trying to get it away from me but it falls right on top of me but before it can do any damage, I pull my knife from my jeans and stab it in the brain with all the force I can muster.
Only when it falls limp on top of me do I start to calm down. I shove it off me and lie in the leaves. My head throbs menacingly, as do my knees. My arms and hands sting from being grazed and bruised on the way down, six or seven feet. Fuck it hurts so bad.
I lay there for a long while, trying to find the strength to stand or even just the motivation to sit up. My eyelids grow heavy but it strikes me then that it's still not safe. I won't be safe until I get back to camp, though even that was now up for debate.
I pull the knife from the walker's skull and wipe it on the corpse's clothing. It's still in my hand as I use the tree to haul myself to my feet and struggle not to cry out in pain when pressure is put on either knee. Slowly but surely, I hobble back to camp, towards the shouts and the gunshots that go silent as I enter the clearing where we'd set up. I hear weeping and indistinguishable shouts still, but quickly all goes quiet again.
My knees, which had been crying out for me to stop the whole journey back, suddenly give out. I fall to the ground, allowing myself to lay in the dirt because nobody is there to stop me.
Dad isn't here, Merle isn't here, Mum isn't here - nobody. No one can tell me what to do and no one is looking out for me. The thought brings tears to my eyes and I know it's selfish of me to only think of that when others are mourning the recently dead but like I said, nobody's here to stop me.
I close my eyes, allow myself to succumb to my shameful sadness and fear because I'm truly all alone.
"ABBY! ABIGAIL!" A voice shouts.
I open my eyes to the familiar voice.
"ABIGAIL!" The voice calls again.
I groan as I try to sit myself upright and wave a tired arm. "Here! I'm over here!" My voice shakes and is quieter than I would have liked. But it's enough because someone rushes over.
Someone cares.
My body topples over the other way in exhaustion. I'm picked up, and I think I'm hallucinating because I hear my dad's voice whisper softly to me. But I smell him too, so I can't be, it has to be him.
"Hey, it's okay, you're safe now." I bury my head into my dad's chest as he tells whoever he's with to pick up the knife that had been beside me.
A sob erupts from me. I can't help it, but I don't stop shaking and panting for a good while.
Dad doesn't tell me to "man up" or stop crying and though a part of me wishes he would because that's what Mum would do, I'm glad he just holds me. I'm glad he takes me away from everyone else so they don't see me snivelling because I don't need the added embarrassment of that too - behaving cowardly was enough.
The second I'm in the safety of the pick up truck, I'm asleep.