DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE WALKING DEAD.

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"So, Lyla, entertain us."

I have my feet nestled into the dirty soil, enjoying the peaceful, calm feeling it gives me. My boots are flung to the side, practically falling apart. It's only when I hear Lori's voice that I even look up from the ground. She's sitting on the log beside me, Carl kneeling in front of her, as she firmly holds him in place, snipping the ends of his hair. The sky is a light purple now, preparing for the dark black night ahead. It's the most peaceful I've felt in a long time.

I kick the ground beneath me. "How would you like me to do that?"

"Where have you come from...where are you headed...the usual post-apocalyptic chatter," she replies with a soft smile. Carl shifts uncomfortably underneath her as the sissors snip the ends of his hair.

"Well," I begin. "I worked in Atlanta when everything began happening. Everyone kept saying to stay in the city." My toes curl in the soil, remembering the sounds of open fire in the streets. The cries of desperation and screams of distress. My head shakes, as I try and rid my mind of the images. "But that didn't work out so well. I knew that it was a bad idea the moment I heard of the army's arrival."

"You're lucky you got out," Lori replies, her mouth twisting into a frown. "It was a mess."

"Yeah," I sigh. "Lucky for me, I got out just before they started closing the city limits. Ever since then I've just been town-hopping. Trying to survive."

Lori doesn't turn to face me, as she pulls a stray hair from Carl's neat cut. "You got any family you need to find?"

I go quiet for a moment, and look around. Dale's up on the top of the RV, a pair of banoculors in one hand, a shotgun in the other. My eyes drift slowly to the dark mass of trees around us. They are probably walkers around. But they have a good system. The cars are tightly packed together, the guns are safely stored, but easily accessible. It's then that I realise that her question remains unanswered.

"No," I reply quietly. "Not really."

Lori's eyes lift for a second, before dropping her attention back to her son below. "We all have our stories." It's barely a mumble, just above a whisper, but I hear it loud and clear.

I try and break the silence. "So, what's your story, then?"

Before she speaks, Lori ruffles a hand through Carl's hair, before patting him on the shoulder. "Done," she sighs, leaning down to kiss him on the head. Carl makes a small sound of disgust, before jumping up and giving his mother a lopsided smile.

"I'm gonna go find Dad."

"Stay close."

And with that, he jogs away, leaving Lori and I in silence. She turns and smooths out the frabric of her shirt, before speaking. "We lived in a small town, not too far from the outskirts of the city," she explains. "Rick was working a lot, and I was busy being-"

"A mom?"

She smiles. "Hardest job of all. Anyway, Rick was injured in action. A shot to the shoulder landed him in a coma for months." A small but noticeable shutter runs down her back, and her eyes cloud for the smallest of seconds with a memory of what happened. I feel sorry for her and Carl, having the weight of something like that on your shoulders. "Things started getting bad, the outbreak started to spread...I had no idea what to do. It was a hard choice; should I stay and wait with my husband? Or leave with Carl and return when things cool down?" She shook her head. "I was at a loss. Lucky for us, Shane came. He and Rick are like this-" She holds up her fingers and crosses them together. Holding it for a moment, she let's them fall as her eyes drop with them. "Well...most of the time."

"Shane brought you out?" I ask, trying to urge her on.

"He said that everyone was moving to the city. There was food, shelter, and protection. It seemed the obvious choice." Her shoulders fall in a heavy sigh. "We never even made it near the city. The roads were blocked through and through. That's when..." She breaks off into a silence.

I remember it clearly. "...They started dropping the bombs in the streets."

She nods. "Yep. So, we found Carol and her family, before finding Dale with the girls, then we set up a small campsite just up in the hills," she says, pointing her finger East. Up in the valley, there are a few hills. Swarmed with trees and lakes, I understand how that could be a good hiding place. Away from all the destruction. "More and more people began to join us. We kind of had a little vacation spot going," she jokes. "It was just about one, maybe two months ago that Rick came to us."

I smile. It sounds like a miracle, really. "I can't imagine how good that must have felt."

"I couldn't believe it. I still can't." She looks at me, a gentle smile gracing her face. "I keep wondering what I did to deserve getting him back."

We both fall quiet for a moment. All I can hear are the faint sounds of crickets chirping, and the sound the winds rustling against the trees. The metal clinking and clanking from the small mechanic shop they having going around the RV. The sound of guns clicking together as someone checks them over. The sound of firewood being piled up and arranged.

I think of how lucky they are. Not in the long-term sense, obviously they've lost more than they can bear, and nothing is ever easy. But in the scheme of all that is going on, all the messed-up shit we have going on in this world, they were lucky enough to even survive at all. But to survive together, in this one big group of fairly tolerable people with supplies and care...it made them the luckiest people I'd met so far.

Suddenly, a twisting ache in my stomach reminds me of how hungry I am.

"When are we eating?" I ask, trying my hardest not to sound rude. It does come out slightly desperate, though.

Lori gave me an understanding grin. "Soon."

"I hope you like squirrel," I hear from behind me. A leg reaches over the log and hops over. Glenn sits himself inbetween Lori and I, removing his backpack and placing it on the ground before him. "That's pretty much all there is to eat nowadays."

"Anything's fine," I reply. "I can't complain, you're all very kind for letting me eat with you."

"It's no trouble." His eyes watch me for a moment, before narrowing in wonder. "So...you're really all on your own? All this time?"

I shrug. "I just never found anyone worth travelling with. I've always felt comfortable when I'm alone."

"Yeah, been there, done that," he replies, a slight bitterness lacing his voice. "When the outbreak started, I had to go the first few months or so alone. Then I ran into these guys," he says, pointing a finger to Lori. "I guess I'm just more of a people person. I don't think I would have made it this far by myself."

"Are you always on the move? Or do you have somewhere to go?"

Lori shakes her head. "We decided it would be worth heading to the CDC. It was as much of a dead end as anywhere else. We had a place on a farm for a little while, but there was..." She and Glenn look at each other for a moment, before letting their eyes drop. "An incident."

I decide not to press. There's no need to push these people to learn their unhappy memories when I'll be leaving soon anyway. The quiet soon turns awkward, and I can't stand it.

"Hey, mind if I use the bathroom?" I ask.

"Yeah, use the RV," Lori replies.

I jump up and swiftly walk away, leaving them alone.

As I make my way towards the Winnebago, I wonder what they could have done to be kicked out of somewhere. Sure, most people around nowadays where not the most forgiving, or the most hospitable in the first place, but still. It would have had to be something extreme to be pushed away from a safehaven. But even so, it's none of my buisness, and it doesn't affect me.

They're all very nice. I got lucky. If someone else had found me, I might not be in such a pleasant situation. But no, I won the attention of a small-town police officer, his family, and a group of friendly surviviors.

A harsh blow against my side makes me stumble. I whip my head around. "Hey!"

A figure turns his head over his heavily muscled shoulder. "Watch it," he snaps. I only catch his face for a moment, but what I do see, are a sharp, accusing pair of pale blue eyes and a scornful glare. From the bloodied crossbow hung heavily over the back of his shoulder, and the string of mangled squirrels dangling from his hand, I can only guess that this is the infamous Daryl. I try to recreate some form of a comeback in my baffled mind, but nothing seems to fabricate. But it doesn't matter anyway, because soon, he's turned away, stomping furthur into camp.

"Asshole," I mutter to myself. I jump into the RV and slam the door behind me.