Jo wished she had a watch. She made do with tracking the sun's progress across the sky. There was nothing else to occupy her. She hadn't even seen a single walker. The quiet was eerie in its emptiness. To break it, she sang to herself, "I gave my woman half my money at the general store. Said buy a little groceries, don't spend no more. Then she paid ten dollars for a ten cent hat and got some food for a mean eyed cat."

She couldn't remember what came next. The song was one her father used to sing when she was knee-high, before Lee came along. She hadn't heard it in a very long time. Falling into the silence, she wondered if her father was still alive. God, she hoped not. The next bit of the song came to her. "When I woke up this morning, and I turned my head, there wasn't a cotton picking thing on her side of the bed. I found a little note where her head belonged, said dear Johnny, honey, baby…"

Even if her father was alive, the odds were slim of their paths crossing. She certainly wasn't going to seek him out. All the same, his old songs were a comfort. If she remembered them, if she didn't let them go, then she still had something of the old world. "Dear Johnny, honey, baby," she sang, "I'm long gone."

The sun's shadow dragged inch by inch across the pavement. Jo made up her mind that if Rick and the others weren't back by the time the shadow reached the train tracks, then she was going in after them. "C'mon, c'mon," she muttered, drumming her hands against the steering wheel. She didn't want to go into the city. Christ, she didn't even know where to begin looking for them. All her life, she'd lived a couple hours away, without having once set foot inside city limits. The shadow was close to the tracks. Going in after them was stupid. She had zero chance of survival. But what were the other options? Keep waiting here until she starved to death or head back to camp, leave them behind, assuming they were alive?

Option two made the most sense. If they were dead, she'd be waiting forever. If she tried to find them alone, then she'd be dead. If she went to camp, Shane would know what to do. Except she already knew what Shane would do. He'd say they couldn't afford to loose more people by sending another group into Atlanta, and that they couldn't weaken the camp, and they just had to trust Rick to come back from the dead twice. For nearly anyone else, Jo would've agreed with him, but she couldn't with Rick. It wasn't that she loved him any more than Shane, rather she owed him too much.

Stupid as it was, she knew what had to be done. Jo reached for the axe in the passenger seat. Her fingers curled around the wooden handle when sudden pain exploded across the back of her head.

The world went black.


Jo smelled smoke, oil, and blood. She assumed Atlanta was on fire again, but when she opened her eyes she didn't see the city, just trees through the windshield. The world appeared to have tipped over on its side. Soon, however, she realized that she and the van were what had been knocked sideways. The smoke wasn't from Atlanta. It was billowing out from under the crushed hood.

There was an unconscious man in the driver's seat. Jo couldn't see his face the way he was slumped over the middle console. Thankfully, he was wearing his seatbelt. It was the only thing keeping him from falling into the passenger seat and crushing her. Was he dead? Whoever he was, he had stolen the van, along with her, but not before he'd given her a hard knock on the back of the head. So if he was dead, then good.

Jo couldn't see the trees through the smoke now. It was time to get out. When she tried to move, though, pain erupted along the right side of her body. She looked down to the metal splinter stuck between her ribs. The sight, the smell of gasoline, made her dizzy. There was so much smoke. Taking shallow breaths through her nose, she gripped the shrapnel and pulled. Blood gushed from the wound, but she couldn't worry about that. Later, not now. Ignoring the pain, she twisted around until she was able to stand, with her feet planted against the passenger window. She braced one hand against the headrest as she pushed up on her tiptoes and reached for the man's belt buckle. She pressed the button and, still clutching the headrest, threw herself against the seat to avoid him as he fell.

Blood trickled from Merle Dixon's ear. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. Too bad, thought Jo, unsurprised that he was the one who'd stolen the van. She climbed to the open driver's side window, her only exit, and was almost through, when her foot slipped and she landed in a heap on top of Merle. His face was less than an inch from her's and his eyes were no longer closed.

Jo didn't waste any time. She leapt for the open window again. Merle caught her ankle. "Hell no, you ain't leaving me here!" he cried. She managed to shake him loose, scrambled back up into the driver's seat, and hauled herself through the window. She tumbled out onto the pavement. "Bitch, come back!" Merle's scream was part sob. "C'mon, you can't leave me!"

Jo stopped. Greasy smoke stung her throat, nose, and eyes. She hated Merle Dixon, but if she left him to die, she feared his pitiful cries for help would haunt her, and she had enough ghosts as it was. So she went back to the van. Drawing on the last bit of strength left in her, she pried open the driver's door and leaned down in. "Grab hold," she said, lowering her arms to him.

Merle reached for her. When he did, she reeled back in horrified disgust. Where his left hand used to be there was now nothing more than a stump wrapped in a bloody bandana. She forced down her revulsion. Later she could vomit, but for now she took his outstretched hand, the one remaining, and pulled with all her might. Merle spilled onto the ground. "C'mon," she said. He was only semi-conscious. She slipped under his arm to support him and began limping away from the van again.

Coughing, eyes streaming, she put as much distance between them and the van as she could, step by impossible step. About a hundred yards into the woods, she could go no further, and both she and Merle collapsed on a carpet of pine needles. Lying beside her, Merle curled up into a ball, clutched his bloody stump, and sobbed. Jo stared up at the tree tops. It felt like her side was splitting open with every breath she drew. The adrenaline wore off quick.

We're going to die, she thought, pressing her hands to her bleeding wound. Oddly enough, she wasn't scared of the possibility. The ground trembled. The van had blown.


Merle was passed out. Jo stood over him. What now? She couldn't drag him back to Atlanta and the amputee motherfucker had wrecked their only means of transportation. Black smoke curled up into the sky. She didn't know where they were, how far from the city, or how far from camp. Unsure what else to do, she checked her wound. It had stopped bleeding, mostly, but she suspected she might need stitches.

Jo nudged Merle with the toe of her boot. He grunted, still alive. She was careful not to look at his stump. When she did, she felt sick. Well, even sicker. She'd saved him, sure, but that didn't mean she wasn't tempted to cut his throat here and now. However, if she was going to kill him, it would have to be a fair fight. She wasn't entirely without honor.

They needed water. She found a branch to serve as a cane and set out in search of a stream, or a lake, or a muddy puddle. The deeper into the woods she went, the less sunlight penetrated the tree tops, and soon she was stumbling in the near dark. The thought of having to spend the night with a half-dead Merle Dixon, out in the open, was a nightmare come true.

Eventually she found a stream bed. It was mostly dry. There hadn't been any rain in weeks. She managed to fill up her canteen and then followed her own tracks back to where she'd left Merle. He was awake by the time she returned. She found him propped against a disease spotted maple. She dropped the canteen into his lap without a word, watched him struggle to twist the lid with one hand, and did not offer to help. He got more water on his shirt than in his mouth. After a few gulps, she snatched the canteen away.

"I weren't finished," he said.

Jo ignored him. She looked around for firewood, thinking that she should boil the rest of the water before cleaning her wound. Only she didn't have a lighter and she didn't know how to start a fire by rubbing two twigs together, so fuck it. She drank the last of the water. If she got an infection, oh well. She was probably going to die soon anyway. It didn't seem Merle could stand, let alone walk. Besides, where would they walk to? Had Rick and the others made it out of Atlanta? Would they think she'd abandoned them? The best thing would be to return to the highway, find her bearings, but just the idea was enough to exhaust her. She had used the last of her energy reserve on seeking water.

"What's the plan?' said Merle.

Jo glared at him. Finally, she spoke, "Well, I thought we could steal a car and then wreck it. How does that sound?"

"Give me a break. It ain't easy driving like this," said Merle. He held up his stump. "Purty, right? Did it all myself."

"Crazy bastard," muttered Jo.

"Had to get off that roof somehow," said Merle. "That old man's saw was too dull for the cuffs."

"We came back for you. You're welcome for that, by the way. If you'd waited, you'd still have two hands, so don't expect any sympathy from me."

"How come you're the one sitting over there bitchin'? It's me ought to be doing that."

"You kidnapped me!" said Jo.

Merle shrugged. "I was doing you a favor. Could've left you for the walkers."

Jo fumed in silence. There was no point arguing with the man. Arguing wasn't going to solve their problem. Right now, she had to swallow her pride or die here with Merle Dixon; dying didn't particularly trouble her, she just didn't want his face to be the last thing she ever saw. "We should go back to the road," she said.

"That explosion probably drew every walker for miles," said Merle. "Besides, you don't look so good, sugar tits."

"I'm fine," she snapped. Merle grinned at her.

"You're a pig-headed thing, ain't you?" He wiped a glob of spit from his bottom lip. "Be smart, girl. We got a few hours of daylight left. Get some shut eye. I'll keep watch."

"You expect me to trust you?" said Jo.

Merle displayed his stump to her yet again. "I ain't exactly in a position to be out here alone. What good would killin' you do me?"

Jo didn't want to even consider his suggestion, but her head was so heavy, and she hurt so much. "I owe you one," he said. Frankly, he owed her more than that. She didn't trust him, not a smidge, but she was shutting down and there wasn't much she could do to stop it. Just as she was giving in, letting her eyes close, Merle spoke again. "Did my brother come lookin' for me?"

"Yeah," she muttered.

"Bet he threw a royal fit. Darlena always was too sentimental," said Merle, chuckling. That was not a word which she associated with the younger Dixon. Inbred, ass backwards, degenerate, but not sentimental. "What 'bout you, blondie? What the hell you doin' here?"

Good question, thought Jo. She had come for Rick and a whole fat lot of good she'd been to him. "I don't know," she finally said. "I don't know why any of us are doing what we do anymore."

"Nah," said Merle. "You're here to set a good example for your little bro, I bet. He's a good kid."

"Hey Dixon?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Merle kept talking. His voice seemed to be coming from further and further away. "It ain't easy being the oldest. There's the one thing we probably agree on, blondie. We do what we can for them, but there comes a time when all little chicks gotta fly the coop."

Jo didn't hear the end of what he had to say. She had already fallen asleep.


Lee was trapped in a ring of fire, screaming to her for help, but she was surrounded by walkers. She couldn't get to him. Ash covered the ground like snow and there was Merle Dixon, sitting in a tree, waving his stump at her. "Let him go," said Merle. "You gotta let him go."

Jo woke to something tugging at her foot. Thinking it was an animal, she kicked out. "Get," she muttered. A low growl answered her. A sound she had never heard any animal make. She sat up and opened her eyes. A man in a singed suit was chewing on the ankle of her boot. Well, he used to be a man, not anymore. The left side of his face was melted. Jo's instinct propelled her into action. She kicked the walker's head, reaching for her knife at the same time, and as she soon as she had the hilt in hand, she plunged the blade deep into the walker's filthy, rotting skull.

The walker slumped across her legs. Dead weight. As she caught her breath, she looked around for Merle, and found not a sign of him. She called his name as she freed her legs out from under the corpse. She called his name again, louder, even though she knew he was long gone. That son-of-a-bitch. Let him die out there alone. She had done more than enough for him.

With knife in hand, she set out for the road. Waking up to a walker attack had recharged her adrenaline. She crept past the smoking remains of the van and the few walkers still prowling around it. She ran in short bursts, but couldn't hold the pace for very long. Each step was a trial. Her wound began to bleed again. She chanted her brother's name to keep going. All day she walked without stopping, despite the pain, the hunger, the thirst.

The sky turned coal black. There were no stars, no moon, to light her way. She was certain she was close to camp. Nearly home, she thought. After yesterday, the quarry felt like home. Leaving a place, and not knowing when or if you'll be back, makes you realize what that place means to you. She didn't plan on leaving again. No more rescue missions. No more trying to play the hero.

Her thoughts were like skeins of yarn, unravelling and tangling. Her clothes and hair smelled of gasoline. The gravel crunched and shifted under her boots. She tried to ignore the pain in her side as the gravel road levelled. Yes, she knew where she was. Camp was definitely close. What was she going to tell the others? Was Rick back yet? She hoped that Daryl hadn't made it out of Atlanta, because she didn't want to be the one to tell him about his brother, about the stump.

Jo veered off the gravel road onto a dirt path. Less than a mile to go, the final stretch. She started jogging and didn't stop this time, not even when she couldn't breathe. She saw light up ahead. A campfire, a beacon leading her home. Now she could see figures through the trees.

And now she heard something like the whine of a dying dog. Jo broke through the trees into camp and froze. There were bodies everywhere. Some of them she recognized, others she didn't. She found the source of the whining sound and it wasn't a dog. It was Andrea, and she was crouching over something, or someone, but Jo couldn't see the person's face, only their tennis shoes. She knew those shoes, knew who they belonged to, but she couldn't put the two together. She didn't want to.

Someone touched her arm. She reared, ready to strike. "It's me!" said Glenn, holding up both hands as if in surrender. Jo blinked at him.

"What…?" She couldn't find words. Those shoes might be anyone's. Jo swayed where she stood.

"Whoa," said Glenn, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Maybe you should sit."

Jo pushed him away. No, there was something else she had to do.

"What happened to you?" said Glenn.

"Merle," she managed to say. She couldn't take her eyes off of those damn shoes. It couldn't be.

"What was that?" said Daryl, appearing from the shadows. Jo barely registered him. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

"Lay off," said Glenn. "Now isn't the time."

Daryl shoved the kid aside and caught Jo by the shoulders. He shook her, but she still didn't look at him. Andrea was wailing even louder. "Where's my brother?" said Daryl, shaking her harder. She kept on staring at the tennis shoes. She didn't see Daryl's hand until it struck her across the cheek. Her head snapped to the side. "Where's my goddamn brother?"

"Let go," said Jo, pushing at him.

"Not until you tell me what happened to Merle."

"He's gone!"

"What d'you mean? Where?"

Before she could say, I don't fucking know, Daryl was yanked off of her. "What the hell you think you're doing?" said Shane. He had his gun on Dixon. The last time Jo had seen him so angry was the day he'd taken her father away for good.

"Bitch knows about my brother," said Daryl.

"Damn your brother," said Shane. "Weren't for him, we wouldn't be surrounded by our dead right now. Look around, man. Your brother worth all these people?"

"Hell with you!"

To hell with Daryl Dixon. Jo wasn't paying him any attention anymore. She clutched Shane's arm. "What happened?"

"Walkers," said Glenn.

"Lee?" she said, fixing her eyes on Shane. He didn't answer. She let go of his arm, limped past the three of them, and dropped to her knees by the nearest body. She rolled it over to see the face, not Lee, before crawling over to check the next.

"Jolene," said Shane, following her. She ignored him until he lifted her off the ground.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"I don't know," said Shane, reaching out to her. "I'm sorry, Jo. It happened so fast. I-"

Jo slapped his hands away from her. "You promised to keep him safe!" she screamed. "You promised!"

"I saw him," a small, little voice piped in. Jo spun to find Carl standing behind her. The boy was trembling, tears streaked his cheeks. "He was running away."

"Which way?" said Jo. She almost grabbed Carl, shook him as Daryl had done to her a moment ago, and just barely restrained herself. Carl pointed in the direction of the quarry. The lake, of course. She broke into a run, stumbled on a body, and would've fallen if Shane hadn't steadied her.

"We can't go rushing off right now," he said, squeezing her arm. "Jolene, think for a second, we don't know how many more-"

Jo drew the knife from her belt with her free hand and raised it at Shane. "Don't think I won't," she said. Shane let her go. She turned her back on him and plunged into the woods.