~Clary~
Carl, Michonne, and I sit around a table in the dining room. She showed up this morning while Carl, Rick, and I were talking. Michonne escaped on her own, and found us on the second day following the fall of the prison. She showed up at the door, holding an empty one hundred-twelve ounce can of chocolate pudding.
Carl and I look at her, trying not to laugh at seeing her in the large shirt. "Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable and attractive shirt?" Michonne inquires.
"No, no, no," Carl tells her. "It looks great." He points to a button on her shirt. "You missed one."
"God, Carl," I joke. "You're so inconsiderate. You never say anything about my shirts."
"That's because you always look hot in them," he replies, grinning. Michonne wiggles her eyebrows at us, sitting down. "And, wow, Dixon. Five syllables."
"Ha ha," I reply, knowing he's just picking on me 'cause I tend to get my point across with as little words as possible. "Fuck you."
"That's more like it," Carl says, and I kick his leg underneath the table. He leans closer to me and whispers, "You wish."
Michonne smiles at us, not hearing or noticing his whisper. "What a cute couple."
"Shut up, 'chonne," I tell her as she pours her cereal. She says, "Wish we had some soy milk."
"Soy milk?" Carl asks. "Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously," Michonne replies. "Have you ever tried it?"
"My best friend in third grade, he was allergic to dairy. So every day, he'd bring to soy stuff to lunch. I tried it."
"And?"
"I threw up."
"Oh, yeah, right."
"Alright, alright. I almost threw up. But it was so gross. I mean, literally, I would rather have powdered milk than to drink that stuff again. I would rather have Judith's formula—"
Carl cuts himself off, realizing he mentioned his dead sister. I start to lay my hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off, standing. He mutters something about finishing his book, and walks off.
"Carl," I say softly, standing. He's already upstairs when I reach our room. I enter to find him leaning against a wall, crying. I wrap my arms around him, and he turns to me, like when Lori died. He rests his head on my shoulder, which is a bit awkward because he's a few inches taller than me. "This was a bit easier before," he says, thinking the same thing. "You know, before I got taller."
"I know I'm short. Shut up," I say. Carl laughs, pulling back from me. I brush his hair back, leaning up to kiss his forehead. My gaze drops to his lips for half a second, then I look back up at his forehead. I look up at him as I pull away, then glance at the poster on the wall behind him. I chuckle, saying, "Holy shit."
"What?" Carl inquires, turning to look at the poster. "Is that Daryl?"
"No," I say. "Murphy MacManus." He looks at me, confused. "Boondock Saints. It's a movie about two brothers that fight crime. My favorite, actually. Daryl used to get a kick out of it, since he looks like Murphy."
Carl nods his agreement. "So who's the other one? And what's with the tattoos?"
"Connor," I say. "He's Murphy's twin. The tattoos, veritas and aequitas. They're Latin, meaning 'truth' and 'justice.' I have one of aequitas, despite Murphy being the one with it."
Carl looks at me. "You have a tattoo? Why does that not surprise me?" I shrug, lifting up the bottom of my shirt to show him the tattoo around my hip. "You know," he says. "It makes sense, you having aequitas and not veritas. You're the Dixon that would bring justice. Daryl have veritas?"
"He was going to get it," I tell him. "But never got around to it."
Carl chuckles, leaning against the windowsill. "Everyone has a different guess, you know. About what you and Daryl did."
"What's yours?"
"Hunters. Like, not Supernatural hunters, but hunters. As in you hunted deer and stuff."
"Well, you ain't wrong. We hunted, but not all the time. Daryl and me? We were the fucking Boondock Saints."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You serious?"
"Yep. I mean, I don't like to talk about it, 'cause it's a lot of heavy shit."
"You have to be kidding." I shake my head at him. "Come on. Really?" I nod, not saying anything. "I'll keep guessing then."
"You do that, Cowboy," I tell him with a smile. I take his hat off of his head, putting it on mine.
"Hey," Carl says. He reaches for it, but I step backwards, out of the way. "That's mine."
"If you want it, come and get it," I reply with a wink, both daring him and flirting with him at the same time. With that, I take off running. Carl chases me through the house, while Michonne watches us. Carl catches me just as I reach the living room, his arms around my waist. I try to run, but he lifts me up. When my feet leave the ground, I whine, "No fair!"
"All's fair in love and war," he replies. Carl kisses me, then takes his hat back. "It's mine."
From her spot on the couch, Michonne watches us. She laughs, and we look over at her, smiling. "Rule number thirty-two," she says, smiling. "Enjoy the little things."
~Daryl~
Beth and I sit across from each other in an abandoned house, moonshine from its still in between us. We sit on the floor in the living room, and Beth somehow managed to talk me into playing a drinking game. "So, first I say something I've never done, and if you have done it, you drink," she explains. "If you haven't done it, I drink. Then we switch. You really don't know this game?"
"I never needed a game to get lit before," I reply.
"Wait, are we starting?" Beth inquires.
"How do you know this game?"
"My friends played. I watched. Okay, I'll start. I've never shot a crossbow. So now you drink because you have."
"Ain't much of a game," I tell her, but take a drink.
"That was a warm up. Now you go."
"I don't know," I say.
"Just say the first thing that pops into your head."
"I've never been out of Georgia."
"Really? Okay, good one." Beth drinks. "I've never been drunk and did something I regretted."
"Done lots of things," I murmur, taking a long drink.
"Your turn," Beth says, taking my mind off my past.
"I've never been on vacation."
"What about camping?"
"That was just something I had to learn to hunt," I tell her.
"Your dad teach you?"
"Mm-hmm. My uncle, too. Taught me, Merle, and—" I suddenly stop, unable to say Clary's name. "Taught me and Merle everything."
Beth's quiet for a moment, then takes a drink. "I've never… been in jail. I mean, as a prisoner."
I look at her, wondering if that's who she takes me for. "That what you think of me?"
"I didn't mean anything serious. I just thought, you know, the drunk tank. Even my dad got locked up for that back in the day."
"Drink up," I tell her.
"Wait," she says. "Prison guard. Were you a prison guard?"
"No," I say, noticing what a happy little drunk she is. The exact opposite of me, the same as Clary. Well, Clary's not as happy of a drunk, but she's a happy drunk. Most of the time.
"It's your turn again," Beth reminds me.
I ignore her, standing. "I'm gonna take a piss."
I walk over to another part of the house, dropping the jar of moonshine as I go. "You have to be quiet," Beth hisses.
"Can't hear you," I call, loudly in response. "I'm taking a piss."
"Daryl! Don't talk so loud," she scolds.
"What, are you my chaperone now?" I snap. I redo my belt as I turn, saying, "Oh, wait, it's my turn, right? I never, uh, never eaten frozen yogurt. Never had a pet pony. Never got nothing from Santa Claus. Never relied on anyone for protection before. Hell, I don't think I've ever relied on anyone for anything!"
"Daryl," Beth says, looking at me from her spot on the floor. I'm taking my anger out on her and I know it, but I can't stop.
"Never sung in front of a big group out in public like everything was fun!" I continue. "Like everything was a big game! I sure as hell never cut my wrists looking for attention!"
In response to my raised voice, the walker outside the house starts growling. "Looks like our friend out there is trying to call all his buddies."
"Daryl, just shut up!" Beth hisses.
"Hey, you never shot a crossbow before?" I inquire, taking mine off the wall. "I'm gonna teach you right now." I take her hand, roughly pulling her to her feet. "Come on. It's gonna be fun."
I kick the door open, pulling her out of the house behind me. "We should stay inside!" Beth exclaims. "Daryl! Cut it out! Daryl!"
The walker turns away from the window, to us. "Dumbass," I say, getting its attention. "Come here, dumbass."
I fire my crossbow, pinning it to a tree. "You want to shoot?" I ask, reloading my crossbow.
"I don't know how," she replies.
"Oh, it's easy," I say. "Come here. Right corner."
I put my arm around her and the crossbow, firing it as she struggles to break free. "Let's practice later!" she tells me as I release her.
I reload it, saying, "Come on. It's fun."
"Just stop it," Beth says. I put my arm around her again, doing the same as before. I aim my crossbow, firing it at the walker. I still don't kill it, just pin it to the tree in multiple places. "Just kill it! Daryl!"
"Come here, Greene," I say, starting forward. "Let's pull these out. Get a little more target practice."
Beth runs to the walker and stabs it before I can reach it. "What'd you do that for?" I ask her. "I was having fun."
"No, you were being a jackass!" Beth shoots back. "If anyone found my dad—"
"Don't," I say, cutting her off. "That ain't even remotely the same."
"Killing them is not supposed to be fun."
"What do you want from me, girl, huh?"
"I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything. Like nothing we went through matters. Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you. It's bullshit!"
"That what you think?"
"That's what I know."
"You don't know nothing," I snap back.
"I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl. I'm not Michonne. I'm not Carol. I'm not Maggie. I'm not Clary. You can't even say her name. I survived and you don't get it 'cause I'm not like you or them. I ain't Clary. I know you look at me and you see her. Thing is, I made it and maybe she didn't but you don't get to treat me like crap just because you're afraid."
"I ain't afraid of nothin'," I tell her, but it's a lie. The one thing that I am afraid of? Seeing Clary dead.
"I remember," Beth says. "I remember when that little girl walked out of the barn, right after my mom. You were like me." I look away, remembering everything that I did for Sophia, while she was dead the whole time. I remember all the pain it caused Clary and Carol. "And now God forbid you ever let anyone get too close."
"Too close, huh? You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends and you can't even shed a tear. Your whole family's gone and all you do is go out lookin' for booze like some dumb college bitch."
"Screw you. You don't get it."
"No, you don't get it!" I yell at her. "Everyone we know is dead!"
"You don't know that!"
"Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gonna see 'em again! Rick. You ain't never gonna see Maggie again."
"Daryl, just stop!"
"No!" I bark, turning away from her touch. "The Governor rolled right up to our gates. Maybe if I wouldn't have stopped lookin'. Maybe 'cause I gave up. That's on me."
"Daryl."
"No," I say, a small break in my voice. "And your dad. Maybe—maybe I could've done somethin'." Beth hugs me from behind, resting her head between my shoulder blades. The exact same thing Clary does. I want to pull away from her, but it's the closest I'm gonna get to being with Clary. I look down, but reach up to the pocket with Clary's letter in. "Maybe if I had gone lookin' for meds sooner, they wouldn't be dead. She wouldn't be gone."
"What?" Beth asks in a whisper.
"Clary," I say, barely holding back a sob. "It was her. And Carol. It was them. Maybe if I had gone lookin' for the meds sooner, they wouldn't have killed them. And now they're gone, too. Even if we hadn't lost the prison, I ain't never gonna see her again."
Beth doesn't say anything, just keeps her arms around me while I sob. I break away from her, sinking to the ground with my head in my hands. She kneels next to me, hugging me again. "I didn't know it was them," she says softly.
"Rick kicked them out of the prison," I say, staring at the walker still pinned against the tree. "The last time I saw her, it was before I went on the run. And you know what I told her? That I wanted to put a bolt in 'em for what they did. I didn't know it was her then. But the way she looked at me, I didn't realize it then. I do now. She was scared of me."
~Rick~
Clary and I follow Carl and Michonne out of the house. "How long do you think you'll be?" I inquire.
"Fill a couple bags," Michonne answers. "Shouldn't be too long."
I look down at the watch Carol gave me. "It's eight-fifteen now," I tell them.
"We'll be back by noon."
I turn to Carl. "Alright, you follow her lead. Understand?"
I offer him the Python, and he takes it, tucking it under the waistband of his jeans. "Hey," I say, and he looks up at me. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Carl replies. He looks at Clary. "Later, MacManus."
She rolls her eyes, then gently pushes him towards the steps. "Get goin', Grimes."
Carl grins at her, then turns and walks off with Michonne. "MacManus?" I ask.
Clary simply shrugs, walking inside. I follow her in, closing the door behind me. She gestures for me to move, and I step aside. She pushes the couch against the door, closing it against walkers. Clary disappears into the kitchen, and returns with two bottles of water. I catch the one she tosses me, and she starts up the stairs. "Cheyenne," I say, and she stops.
Clary looks at me, still standing on the steps. She doesn't say anything, just looks at me, studying me. "I'm…" I glance down, then back up at her. "I'm sorry, Cheyenne. I shouldn't have kicked you and Carol out."
"Damn straight," Clary says. The first words she's directly said to me since she snapped at me last night, blaming me for Sophia's death. She looks down, walking down the stairs and stopping a few feet away. Clary looks back up at me, her hand brushing over her right leg, where she was shot back on the farm. "Look, Rick, you know me. I wouldn't kill someone in cold blood, and neither would Carol. We were trying to stop it from spreading. Did a hell of a lot of good, didn't it?" She sighs. "You have to understand, it wasn't like it was when I killed Tony. You may have forgotten their names, but I haven't. Dave and Tony. One of the first people I killed. I remember all of them. That girl that was bit when I met Glenn. Tony. That girl back at Woodbury. Karen. The Governor's soldiers. That poor woman that lost her kid. The Governor. I think about them every single day, and they haunt me at night. I hate myself for—"
"For what you did," I interrupt. "I know. And you're sorry for it. For everything that you've ever done. I believe you."
"You read the letter," Clary guesses. "It was for Daryl."
"He was the one that told me to read it," I say. "I didn't… I didn't believe him when he said you were sorry. Practically threw the note at me. 'Read it for yourself.' That's what he said. I read it. I understand, Clary. You did it for your friends, your family. You were trying to protect them. And I admire you for that. For having the courage to do that."
"Don't admire me," Clary snaps, but not harshly. "I ain't someone that should be admired. I ain't a hero."
"I never said you were."
"Good," she says. She turns to climb the stairs, then looks back at me. "And, Rick, I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't've snapped at you last night. It was uncalled for. I just… I needed someone to take this… this anger out on, and at that moment, you seemed perfect for it."
"It wasn't entirely uncalled for," I tell her. "I mean, I did banish you from the prison. Make you go into exile. I'm just glad I was here for you to yell at."
Clary dips her head in a nod, then turns and climbs the stairs. "It was your courage," I call after her, and she stops at the landing, looking down at me. "I don't admire you as a hero. I admire you for the courage that you have, for doing something when no one else wanted to. You say you're not a hero, but you're not a villain, either. Thing is, both have courage. It just… it takes more to do the right thing. You've got spunk."
"Spunk, huh?" Clary replies with a chuckle. "Whatever you say, Sheriff."
"Hey, we good?"
"We're good."
~Clary~
I wake to the sound of a man screaming, and I gasp, thinking it's Rick. Then, I realize, that it's not his voice, and I immediately cover my mouth with my hand. There's multiple men downstairs, laughing as one of them moans in pain. I hear one of the voices getting louder and footsteps, and whisper, "Oh, shit!"
I grab my crossbow and my book, scrambling to hide under the bed. From my hiding spot, I can see a man enter another room across the hall. I realize I forgot my water bottle, and if they see it, then they'll know that there's people here. I grab it, ducking back under the bed just as he exits the room, and enters mine.
I hold my breath as he walks around, the comes over to the bed. He carries a gun, I notice, and I don't miss the blood on his boots. It ain't walker blood, either. He kicks my jacket, looking to see if it's useful, then leaves. Judging by the sound of his footsteps, he enters the master bedroom. Where Rick's at. No other sound follows, so I assume that Rick is hidden as well.
I wait for a while, then decide to try to find Rick, if I can. I scoot out from under the bed, but go back under it as someone climbs the stairs. He walks into the master bedroom, and I freeze upon hearing knocking. "Yo," he says. "Comfy?"
"You waking me up to see if I'm comfortable?" a second man replies.
"I want to lie down."
"Two other bedrooms up here to choose."
"Them's kids' beds. I want this one."
"It's claimed."
"I didn't hear it. You're gonna have to lay claim somewhere else."
"Just 'cause you want it doesn't change anything. It's still claimed," the second man says. I hear sounds of a struggle, and what sounds like a man being strangled. It goes quiet, and I hear the sound of a bed creaking as one of the two lays back down on it. The first one says, "My bed now, jackass."
Not long after, I decide if I have any chance of escaping, I need to do it now. Before any of the others come up, and I don't know how many there are. There could be just three, or it could be a whole group. Before I can move, however, a third man comes into the room. I hold my breath, not wanting to be heard as he enters. I immediately recognize the boots, as well as the footsteps. I breath out in relief—it's Rick. Before I can say anything to alert him that I'm here, a third member of the group enters, bouncing a ball along the floor. Rick hides behind a wall, and I stay under the bed. He leaves after a moment, and I hear Rick whisper, "Clary?"
"I'm here," I whisper, crawling out from under the bed. I grab my jacket, shrugging it on and throwing my crossbow over my shoulder. We try to open the windows to exit through them, but none open. Below, there's shouts of "claim!" and the first man yells at them to shut up. "There's a woman shacking up in here," calls one of the men. "Come on down."
"She hot?" the first man replies, and I grab Rick's wrist, pulling him behind the door. We need to leave, because I know exactly who these people are. What kind of people they are, anyways. They're like Randall's group, Dave and Tony's group. The kind of people that rape young girls while their father is forced to watch, and then laugh about it afterwards. Hell, for all I know, these people could be what's left of Dave and Tony's group. They find us, Rick's dead, and well, I'm gonna wish I were.
Rick takes my hand, giving me a look that says, We'll get out of this. He leads the way out of the room, a trophy in hand for a weapon. I follow him into the master bedroom, and see he's going after the gun. Someone climbs the stairs, saying point blank that he's getting the gun we want. I pull Rick into the bathroom, since we can't make it to the bedroom.
We turn to see a man in there with us, and Rick hits him in the gut. He puts his arms around him, using the strap of a machine gun to strangle him. The man struggles against him, reaching for the scissors on the counter. I grab them, and Rick falls to the ground, still struggling with the man. His arms flail, and having practiced stomping walker's skulls in, I bring my foot down hard enough to at least fracture his arm. I kick him in the stomach, and not long after, he goes still, dead. Rick grabs the gun from him as I pull out my knife. "No," Rick whispers. "Let him turn."
So, I gently open the door, just enough that the walker could open it. Rick opens the window, and tosses a jacket out onto the roof. He crawls out, while I watch for any of the group to come. I climb out of the window after him, looking around while he puts on his jacket. We look down over the roof, to the porch below us. Rick starts to slide off the roof first, me still keeping watch for him. He lowers himself down, dropping into a crouch as soon as he lands. "Let me show you how it's done," I tell him, my voice quiet.
I drop off the roof like a spy in a movie, and Rick rolls his eyes at me. We sneak down the porch, and around the house. We crouch below the front porch, waiting for the man that has come out to leave. However, he must be a stubborn bastard, because he sits on the porch railing, eating. I look out to see if Carl and Michonne are on their way back, and my stomach drops when I see that they are. I turn to Rick, gesturing out to the road. He nods, understanding that I was looking for the two. Very, very quietly, I whisper, "I'll take him out. Then, we sneak over to Carl and Michonne."
Rick nods, and I put my crossbow on my shoulder, ready to fire when I stand. I don't have to, because there's screaming from inside the house. The man gets up, running inside. Rick and I take off, seeing our chance. "Go! Go!" he hisses as we meet Carl and Michonne. "Go!"
We follow him out of the town and onto the railroad tracks. We start walking down them, just following the tracks to wherever they lead. It's a metaphor; all roads lead somewhere, but they always end, too. Life is the same way. It leads somewhere, and you don't know where until the moment you experience it. And life ends, too. Whether it's short and sweet, or long and hard.
~Daryl~
Beth and I sit on the porch of the moonshine still house, the moon providing light for us. "I get why my dad stopped drinking," Beth says.
"You feel sick?" I inquire.
"Nope. I wish I could feel like this all the time. That's bad."
"You're lucky you're a happy drunk," I tell her.
"Yeah, I'm lucky," she agrees. "Some people can be real jerks when they drink."
"Yeah, I'm a dick when I'm drunk." I look over at her. "Merle had this dealer. This janky little white guy. A tweaker. One day we were over at his house watching TV. Wasn't even noon yet, and we were all wasted. Merle was high. We were watching this show and Merle was talking all this dumb stuff about it. And he wouldn't let up. Merle never could. Turns out, it was the tweaker's kids' favorite show. And he never sees his kids, so he felt guilty about it or something. So he punches Merle in the face. So I started hitting the tweaker, like hard, as hard as I can. Then he pulls a gun. Sticks it right here." I hold my hand up to my temple. "Says, 'I'm gonna kill you, bitch.' So Merle pulls his gun on him. Everyone's yelling. I'm yelling. I thought I was dead. Over a dumb cartoon about a talking dog."
"How'd you get out of it?" Beth inquires, interested.
"The tweaker punched me in the gut," I tell her. "I puked. They both started laughing and forgot all about it."
"Where was Clary?"
"Not sure. Probably at her friend Sam's house. It was a good thing she wasn't there. If she had, tweaker would've been dead." I chuckle, remembering the two. "Nah, Jesse wouldn't've been dead. They ended up bein' real good friends when they met later."
"Jesse... the same Jesse that... the one that died? The one you buried for her?"
I give a nod. "You want to know what I was before all this? I was just drifting with Merle, takin' care of Clary. I was nobody. Nothing. Some redneck asshole with an even bigger asshole for a brother, and was overprotective of his little sister."
"It's not exactly a bad thing nowadays," Beth says. I shrug. "You miss him, don't you?" I don't say anything. "I miss Maggie. I miss her bossing me around. I miss my big brother Shawn. He was so annoying and overprotective."
"Jesus, you are Clary," I tell her, knowing full well how overprotective of Clary I am, and she laughs.
"I miss my dad," Beth says, her voice breaking a little. "I hoped he'd just live the rest of his life in peace, you know? I thought Maggie and Glenn would have a baby. And he'd get to be a grandpa. And we'd have birthdays and holidays and summer picnics. And he'd get really old. And it'd happen, but it'd be quiet. It'd be okay. He'd be surrounded by the people he loved." She laughs to keep from crying, and her voice breaks as she says, "That's how unbelievably stupid I am."
"That's how it was supposed to be," I tell her.
"I wish I could just… change."
"You did."
"Not enough. Not like you. It's like, you were made for how things are now."
"I'm just used to it. Things being ugly. Growing up in a place like this."
"You got away from it."
I shake my head. "I didn't."
"You did."
"Maybe you gotta keep on reminding me sometimes."
"No. You can't depend on anyone for anything, right? I'll be gone someday."
"Stop."
"I will. You'll be the last man standing," Beth says, and I shake my head. "You are."
That's the thing; I don't want to be the last one standing. I'd rather die than be the last of my group. My group members, they've become my family. I don't want to watch my family die, then live knowing that maybe, just maybe, I could've done something. I could have gone on that run sooner so that Clary and Carol wouldn't have killed Karen and David, so they wouldn't have gotten exiled. Now, I'll never see them again, and they're probably dead. I won't be the last man standing, because I won't let it happen. Bob was the last man standing, twice, and I don't want to become like him. Someone that drank just to escape the quietness of being alone. Clary wouldn't want me like that, and neither would Carol. Beth's wrong; someone else will bear the curse of being the last man standing, and I won't allow myself to be the cursed one.
"You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon," Beth says.
"You ain't a happy drunk at all," I finally say.
"Yeah, I'm happy. I'm just not blind. You got to stay who you are, not who you were. Places like this, you have to put it away."
"What if you can't?"
"You have to. Or it kills you." She gestures to her heart. "In here."
"Don't you dare start quoting Sirius Black," I tell her, and Beth looks at me, confused. "Harry Potter?"
She shakes her head. "Never read 'em or watched 'em."
I take a drink, noticing that she said "never," which causes Beth to laugh. "I only watched 'em, with Clary, but there's one quote that I remember from the third one. 'The ones that love us never really leave us. You can always find them—'" I place my hand over my heart like Sirius placed his hand over Harry's. "'—in here.'"
"That did sound a little bit like Sirius," Beth agrees.
I look away, out into the darkness. "We should go inside."
"We should burn it down," Beth says with a laugh. Lovely. Drunk Beth is an arsonist. I stand, picking up my jar of moonshine. I turn to look at her. "We're gonna need more booze."
Together, we dump the entire supply of moonshine throughout the house, making it flammable. We stand out a few feet from the house, and I hold out the matches to Beth. "Wanna?"
"Hell yeah," she replies. I hold out a wad of money, and she sets it on fire. I let it catch a second before throwing it into the house. The moonshine immediately catches fire, burning with the house.
I stare at the flames, at the burning house, and the only thing that I can think is This is what Clary would have done. If she were here, she'd burn this place to the ground. And get a kick out of it.
I glance over at Beth, and see her standing there, flipping the house off. She hits my arm, silently telling me to do it, too. I roll my eyes, but raise my hand in a moonshine salute.
We stand there for a minute or two, then turn to leave when the walkers start to arrive. Beth turns away first, not looking back as she walks off. I can't help but smile as I turn my back on my past.
