*I do not own The Walking Dead. It belongs to its rightful owner.*

Chapter 9: Tough as Nails

Lori, Carol, Sophia, Carl, and I – we are at a table by the tents, sitting on some crates and buckets. The two other kids and I are working in math textbooks. At least, Carl and Sophia are. I, however, am just scribbling; acting like I'm working whenever Lori or Carol glances at my paper. I felt like screaming when Lori had pulled these stupid books out of the RV – claiming that Glenn brought them back from a recent run. I'm terrible at math. Back when the world was still normal and dead people weren't walking around, I had to take special math tutoring classes during school because I was so bad. I hated it.

Lori glances down at my paper and my pencil goes from scribbling loopy lines to scratching out the number ninety-six. Looking down at my textbook, the first problem instructs me to divide fifteen by three. Screw. That. Dividing was the worst for me. They made us do all these weird steps to solve one problem and it confused me to no end. I am not doing that today.

My ears pick up on footsteps, then, and I look up from my scribbly paper and confusing textbook. Jim is still there, yep, still tied to the tree across the way. Shane and Dale come into view and I realize they were the reason for the footsteps. My eyes quickly move back over to Jim and once when I realize he's not looking, I leave them there. It's not polite to stare, I know that, but I still don't look away. Jim is another reason I haven't been able to complete any math problems – besides the fact I hate math in general. He is right across from me, a distraction, and I couldn't help myself not to look. He's a mystery, a puzzle. And I still want to know why he dug those holes . . .

Shane gives him water; Dale just stands there, looking upon them. Lori then taps my paper and the spell is broken. Get back to work. That's what her eyes say and I sigh. I tuck some hair behind my ear on the good side of my head – the side Ed didn't leave his artwork on – and then I begin. Fifteen divided by three is –

"Sorry if I scared your boy," I hear Jim's voice. "and your little girl."

This time, everyone looks up at the red-faced, tired man. Lori answers the question because she is more talkative than Carol. I can understand that, too, since I've experienced what Ed can do first hand.

"You had sunstroke, nobody's blamin' you."

"You're not scared, now, are you?" I don't know who Jim is talking to, could be Carl, Sophia, or me. But I guess it doesn't matter, though, because Sophia swoops in and answers.

"No, sir."

Jim looks at me, straight in the eye. "What about you, River? Didn't scare you off to bad, did I?" I know his question has more meaning than the fact he dug the holes. He is talking about Ed, how he said that I'm "just a little girl" and that I like to "wander off". Jim, well, Jim is okay, and I don't want to make the situation worse, so I simply just shake my head no.

"No. Not at all."

Lori and Carol want us to get back to work, I can tell by the look on both of their faces. I can't, though; I can't go back to working on stupid problems that I don't understand – stupid problems that don't even matter anyways because the world ended. I can't concentrate.

So I keep my eyes trained on Jim and he looks to Carl the same way he looked at Sophia and I. "Your momma's right, sun just cooked my head is all."

Lori gets me back to my math, then, and I'm starting to get annoyed. I give up on trying to do the problems the book tells me to and instead scribble down numbers beside the ninety-six I had written earlier. Jim and Dale are talking now. Their voices are too low for me to understand, but I do catch Jim say that he had a dream or something like that.

"Your dad was in it," his voice is loud again, speaking to Carl. "You were, too, you all were. You were worried about your dad. Can't remember the rest . . . " I still don't get it, though. I still don't understand. A dream is a dream. It's not real. I mean, I have nightmares, too, but once when I wake up, I know that whatever I had just dreamt up was false and that it's okay. At least, it's okay for a little bit before something else happens, but that's not the point. The point is why would a simple dream – a false reality – make someone dig holes? It just doesn't add up.

Jim goes on, "You worried about your dad?"

Rick. I haven't really thought of him this entire time. I don't really think I was worried about him, either. He's out there with three other good fighters. They know how to hold their own.

Carl shakes his head at Jim's question the same way I did when he asked me if I was scared. His voice sounds different when he speaks to the man and it's just . . . weird. "They're not back yet."

Lori rubs his back, looks to Jim. "We don't need to talk about that."

Jim ignores her, though, keeps talking. "Your dad's a police officer, son," he says to Carl. "He helps people. Probably just came across some folks needin' help, that's all."

Like when Rick came across me in Atlanta – an alone, scared, twelve-year-old girl. Me. He could have left me out there; he could have been like George. But he wasn't. He wasn't George, he wasn't my dad, and he wasn't a solider. He was Rick. Rick Grimes. Rick – who saved me. Rick – who I trust. Rick – who has a family that isn't dysfunctional like mine was. And Rick – the man who is out there right now, out there in Atlanta.

"That man, he's tough as nails. I don't know him well, but . . . I could see it in 'im." His eyes move up to Shane. "Am I right?"

"Oh yeah," Shane answers in a big huff.

"There ain't nothin' gonna stop him from getting back to you or your mom, I promise you that."

Jim stops speaking after that. It gets quiet, back to how it used to be. Clutching my pencil in my hand, I look back down at my paper and textbook. My head chooses that moment to start hurting again and I scrunch my face up. I've been trying not to think about my head because if you think about it, it goes back to hurting. Man, does it hurt –

Shane picks up a bucket then and asks who wants to help the fish Andrea and Amy caught today. Carl is the first one to spring up and out of his seat. He calls to Sophia and me and the pencil that was once in my hand falls down to the paper filled with scribbles and random numbers. I stand up and run after Sophia and Carl. We race up the hill and after Shane. I'm in the lead and a childish like giggle escapes my lips before I can even stop it.

And suddenly, my head doesn't hurt anymore.