We were driving for a few minutes before Mishonne punched the off button for the music angrily, turning around in her seat to look at the four of us. I was sitting between the left passenger door and the older man. We glanced at each other, making eye contact, then looked back at Mishonne. If things weren't so awkward, it would've been comical.

"Listen, we're going back to our camp. Were you three living in that warehouse?" she asked them.

The two girls nodded but the old man answered her, "Yes."

"How long have the three of you known each other?"

"Well these two girls are cousins, but I met them in our old camp. So a few months."

"What happened to your old camp?"

"We got separated during an attack."

"Walkers?"

"Yes."

"So it's just been the three of you together for a few months?"

"No. We had another man with us, but he was killed by walkers two weeks ago."

There was silence.

"Why have you guys stayed together for so long?"

"There's power in numbers."

"How many in your old camp?"

"Started with nine, I believe, had eighteen the day of the attack. We don't know if anyone else survived."

"Where were you located?"

"We set up camp in the woods south of the Tennessee border. We've made our way closer to Atlanta over the last few months, hoping to find our people. Or any people."

There was a pause. Mishonne made eye contact with Daryl. They said nothing but I knew that they were making a decision.

"What's your name?" Mishonne finally asked.

"Mark. This is Shawna," he said pointing to the older girl, "and Jessie," he said pointing to the girl with the axe.

Jessie. She was still holding her axe on her lap, bloody and sweaty. She just stared at Mishonne with no expression.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Mishonne asked them. Oh no. The Rick Questions.

Mark just raised an eyebrow, "Countless."

"How many people have you killed?"

There was a silence.

Mark raised his eyebrow, not saying anything.

For the first time, Jessie spoke, "One. My sister. She was bitten."

Mishonne nodded. Shawna answered that she hadn't killed anyone. Mark answered the same. For some reason, I didn't believe him. From what I could tell about Mark, he seemed like one of those dads that wore touristy-looking flower-patterned short sleeved button-ups with khaki shorts with lots of pockets, sunglasses and a baseball cap, with the classic white calf socks and old tennis shoes. You know the type. Really annoying and always talked on the phone during their kids' little league games. He seemed like a guy who would complain about his hot dog not having enough chili at a baseball game. You could tell that he had drastically lost a lot of weight since the start of the Apocalypse. He's the guy who you wouldn't think would make it, yet here he is, with a gun and a heavy knife.

I looked past him at Shawna. What about her, Carl? What can you tell about her? Hmm. She looked how Maggie looked a few years ago. Scared. This isn't what she's used to. She looked fairly young, but much older than me. She was probably a college student when this whole thing started. Probably on the richer side of the fiscal food chain. Not that it mattered now. She had clearly become strong, adapted to her surroundings. There was something else there, something about her that I just couldn't pick up. Something in her eyes, something she missed? I would figure it out soon enough.

I was saving Jessie for last. I liked psychoanalyzing people. I didn't get to do it too often, it's not like we meet people every day. I used to do it to the people in the prison, but it's gotten boring.

I looked at her facial features. The high cheekbones, the cracked lips, her gray-blue eyes. She wasn't scared. She was… sizing us up. That was it. She was hiding. The blank stare kept us from seeing what she thought. It was her camouflage. She was hiding in this group of three, hoping that we would go for the other two, giving her time to hide. But she cracked. She cracked when she mentioned her sister. She was nostalgic, she missed the Old World, even if it was just her sister she missed. Her knuckles were white, gripping the axe. It looked like a fireman's axe. Maybe her father's? A possibility that it belonged to someone she knew? She was nervous, holding onto the axe for dear life. She would never kill the driver, her answered proved that she was not a sociopath. She was scared now. She knew that we had seen past her camouflage. He knees were pressed together; she was trying to make herself small, still trying to hide. Introverted. I see it now. She's been in this mess since she was my age. This apocalypse has hardened her too.

Just then, she looked up at me. We made eye contact for a split second. I turned my head to look out the window, but I knew that she had seen me. I rested my head on my hand to watch the trees go by, hopefully I would stop blushing.

"…and this is Carl," I heard Mishonne's voice. I jumped at my name. Was she still talking to them? Was she introducing us? I guarantee that she didn't say her own name, just mine and Daryl's. She'll never tell you her own name, you have to figure it out.

I nodded to the three on my right. Mark and Shawna nodded back, Jessie just stared at me. I didn't risk making eye contact with her again. I leaned back in my seat, pulling my hat down on my forehead. I wasn't covering my eyes, I was shielding them from the sun. That was my excuse. I hoped that Mishonne wouldn't make me say anything. But this is the most speaking I've heard from her in ages.

There was only a few miles left until we would reach the prison. Mishonne reluctantly put on the country music to keep us all quiet. I rolled my eyes, looking towards Jessie. On accident. Her nose scrunched up, as if she was smelling something awful. I smirked to myself. She hated country music too.