Disclaimer: Honestly Babe it's not my bag... ^_^

Notes: It's technically Friday...by five minutes here; and since I'm still up writing chapter 20 what the heck! Here ya go! Chapter 13 is yours!

This chapter was written long after chapters 14-18 because I was actually not sure how to write it; but surprisingly once I got started it actually ended up flying out and has probably become one of my favorite chapters out of all the one's I've written so far (including the ones in OU!) I hope you guys enjoy it just as much!

As always thanks to all the readers/reviewers who follow the insanity that is my imagination! And massive thanks to my Beta Angelinaa who is learning being my Beta is dangerous because it starts to take over real life! Who needs jobs?! Bring on the Daryl Hotness! ;D

This is a Looooong chapter but it didn't break up well, you'll see what I mean as you go...

Now go forth and consume the crazy that is this chapter! XD

Updated: 5/16 I caught a word that auto-correct messed up! Woops! :D

Chapter Thirteen

Silence.

It's supposed to be the absence of sound.

You'd be surprised just how loud it feels. The weight of it; it's heavy like pressure against your eardrum when you dive into deep water.

It's not just an absence of sound now.

It's the absence of Everything.

I never realized how loud life was; until it was over. Now just the sound of my breathing is like a roar to my ears. I pass my foot over the floorboards just past Tobin's open empty doorway in the hall; only now aware that they squeak under my slight weight. The sun is far beyond early morning outside the open windows, bright hot squares of yellow light warm under my bare toes. It's the latest I've slept in months; no reason to get up.

There's just nothing. No matter how hard I strain. Today there isn't even a breeze. Just silence, and Heat. The world around me is roasting.

This must be Hell.

It's been four days since the power went out, I still find myself flipping on the light switches when I change rooms; habit. It's a split second flash of painful reminder every time I do it on reflex and nothing happens. My phone died three days ago, there's no one to call anyway; I couldn't get through even before that.

The microwave is dark when I pass it to sit at the kitchen table, somehow I still glance at it expecting to find the time. Time. What is time now? It's nothing but a different kind of silence.

It should be Sunday.

There should be lawn mowers running; muffled through the windows and the hissing click of sprinklers; the TV should be on turned up too loud while Mom tries to hear the sound over Mr. Garza's leaf blower…the same one he turns on to run over his driveway at exactly 7:15am every Sunday whether my mother says it needs it or not.

Eight years now that obnoxious sound has driven my mother mad for almost an hour out of an otherwise peaceful Sunday.

Now Mr. Garza's car is diagonally parked across his lawn; the door thrown ajar, his usually pristine deep jade perfectly manicured sod split by heavy tire tracks and torn sod.

It's not Sunday. Sunday is gone. Tomorrow won't be Monday.

It's just another day of silence.

There's a rubber swiping at the glass to my right. I turn my head to meet a pair of fixated and intense yellow eyes.

I stand slowly twist the door handle and crack the door to let him in. His movement is silent on the tile floor of the kitchen until he rears up and bumps his chin along the corner of the lower cabinets rattling the pans inside.

It seemed only fair to remove his bell and the jingling tags declaring him a member of a household that no longer exists; Especially since he won't stay inside—not with so many things curiously out of place in his once orderly outside kingdom. Too many oddities to climb over, and into; too much to explore.

Our worlds have become a wild catastrophe of abandoned vehicles and thrown open doors to discover; boxes and household items left abandoned dropped or flung on driveways and streets. I can only imagine his feline enthusiasm; his fascination with this new world outside the glass door. While there is nothing more enticing then a mediocre bowl of dry food barely worth coming inside for; certainly not without my mother here. He sits in her lap and no one else's—he's not a floozy.

I dump a cup of dry chow in his bowl ignoring the affronted look he shoots me. Her not being here to stroke his back and scratch his chin as is their private morning ritual clearly my fault. I try to pet his head and stop when he ducks out from under my touch all but glowering at me.

At least he didn't swipe at me, or hiss. He must be in a good mood.

I might possibly be the last human left on Earth, and even now Oscar the Grouch wants nothing to do with me.

It's a small comfort that at least some things haven't changed.

:: Walking Dead ::

Present Day

I pull myself from sleep slowly feeling heavy still and not quite rested once again. I gather the things I'm going to need carefully needing to travel light at least on my initial journey out, an almost empty bag, my weapons-just incase. We never reached Mika last night after the whole 'Daryl' incident with me shouting at Carl...I have no idea if they'll be out there somewhere hunting me down today...but I would guess that it's a yes. Can't be too cautious.

Still Carl will be well enough to move soon; and a housing development or farm somewhere far from here would be much safer for us now. We need supplies to make the move. We can't risk staying here much longer; it's been too many weeks in one place already, the risk of discovery grows greater everyday, especially after Carl spoke with Mika; I can't help but worry someone else might have heard us especially with the shouting...

I press my fingertips against Carl's shoulder shaking him gently. "Carl? Hey, Carl wake up."

He grumbles something unintelligible reminding me of Tobin's heavy sleep; too many times in our childhood I would tell him something first thing in the morning only to have him swear we never had a conversation about it. Eventually I learned not to tell him anything important until he was completely vertical, especially if I wanted him to actually retain the memory.

"Carl, I have to go out." More grumbles. It would probably help if his face wasn't shoved into his pillow...

"Seriously, If you're not awake enough to remember this later it won't be my fault."

"I'm awake, I said give me a minute and I'll get dressed."

I frown down at him shaking my head. "You're not going." He's only been awake for three days now; yesterday was the first time he got out of bed; against my better judgment. No way is he going outside to wear himself out even if he doesn't have stitches anymore and his wounds are almost closed.

He still needs to rest; heal.

"Stay here, eat something; and Not just Chocolate bars, read a comic book or something. I'll be back this afternoon."

"You can't go out there alone." Then he stops himself frowning. "I mean, I guess…"

"What? Walkers are suddenly going to decide to get me?" He frowns lays back down with a sigh still adjusting to my rules in this strange new world.

"Yeah, that's going to take some time getting used to. I haven't been afraid of them in a long time; not really afraid like I used to be…but to not even consider them; what's that like?" He stares up at me expression somber.

I hesitate for a moment "It's lonely." It's an honest answer. If Carl is the only family I have left in my life I don't want to lie to him.

Carl frowns, mouth turned down in thought even while he rubs at his eyes before staring at me again. "Not anymore, you got me right? Just be careful okay?"

"Stay off the Walkie 'til I get back?"

He nods yawning and I turn to leave. His call of "I'm serious, be careful," makes me pause in the open doorway.

"I'll be careful; I'm just running to the store." I raise my eyebrows dramatically.

Carl's lips twist up at the private joke.

It's such a simple phrase and in our lifetime it's become worlds more complicate then it's ever been before.

:: Walking Dead ::

The plastic coated metal handles dig painfully into my elbow. I shift the basket against my side adjusting the handles so they sit in a new spot; already starting to indent a new section of my skin imprinting my forearm with another set of straight angry lines. I wonder again if I couldn't have just grabbed a cart; it's not like I have to worry about squeaky wheels… but I do have to carry whatever I take out of here back with me for several miles and this is the easiest way to keep tabs on the weight as I make my choices.

A lot of the drug store is trashed; empty shelves, a smashed glass pane in the front window lets an occasional breeze into the front section of the store; has blown leaves long dried and wilted against the first few aisle shelves. The Pharmacy shelves are the most picked over; littered with knocked over white pharmaceutical bottles labeled with block print letters and a few scattered boxes of blood sugar test strips.

I move to the right, walk slowly past the woman standing against the hair dyes section. She turns inquisitively as I pass. I hear her breath hiss in past gnarled teeth before she ignores me again; turns back to the smiling happy woman on the boxes as if contemplating whether life would really be better blonde.

I pause further down the aisle setting the basket at my feet to grab more rubber hair ties; I don't bother tossing the cardboard strip into the basket. I snap the plastic ring guarding this particular treasure and slide half of them over my wrist before moving on.

You never want to be without hair ties.

I'm halfway down the next aisle almost to the section I need when the box catches my eye and I freeze in my tracks.

It's the same brand I brought Maggie.

I stare at the photo on the cover, some generic brunette with too white teeth; she's smiling at her results.

Maggie didn't smile; she shook like a leaf when I handed it to her.

My stomach twists behind my ribs suddenly wondering; flooded with panic over the little things I've been ignoring; dismissing for weeks. Shit.

My arm is starting to ache. My mind is blank and simultaneously filled with curious white noise—a million thoughts overlapping and twisting coalescing into one writhing emotion I can't easily pin down. It feels suspiciously for at least a brief moment like I'm having a panic attack.

I could just walk away; go back to the hospital—that makes more sense; it's more accurate to test there…But now that I'm thinking it I can't move; can't walk away from the damn boxes and that stupid happy lady with her mocking knowing smile. I wonder idly, miraculously detached from my own current ordeal if that's why this is the brand continually left on the shelves. People grabbing this kind of box are rarely in the mood to grab the one with the happy woman on the box.

No one likes being mocked.

I want to walk away, but I can't. I know I won't be able to deal with walking the six long miles back not knowing; the weight of something so life changing isn't something I want to carry for such a long distance. Ignorance is bliss? Pfft. Not now.

I set the basket down breathing slowly and grab the box my fist closing tight enough to dent in the corners under my palm, the thin cardboard crinkles against my fingertips.

I leave the basket half full against the bottom shelf and walk to the back of the store with heavy feet, pushing open the bathroom door. I have to stop and go back, drag a waiting chair from the front of the Pharmacy counter to prop open the door so the room isn't pitch black. It's still dark, but I can at least make out the stall walls in the low grainy light.

My hands shake pulling the cardboard edge open, the minute sound seems to echo in the empty space. I have to wipe my palms over my pants continuously to stop my fingers from slipping off the thick plastic bag covering the test, trembling so bad I can't get a solid grip. I lean my shoulders against the wall cursing, eyes closed while the Lady Walker from outside makes her way to the chair now blocking her path; drawn by my noise.

Cause my distress needs an audience, Thank you very much.

I finally get the package open nearly dropping the white plastic stick into the open toilet as it all but explodes open at my forceful frustrated tug.

I collapse back against the wall overcome with the urge to laugh, because this is NOT how I ever pictured this moment.

No wedding ring on my hand. Hell, no man at all; alone in a deserted CVS bathroom with a shop lifted pregnancy test, trembling hands, sweating palms, an aching stomach and an angry Walker snarling at the cracked open door threatening to knock the chair anchored there loose and plunge us both into total darkness. Because even in the apocalypse a girl can't go to the bathroom alone.

Fuck No.

I sit finally, breathing slowly torn suddenly between crying and throwing up on my own shoes.

It's the most important pee of my life; and I suddenly can't go…The Lady Walker finally succeeds in bumping the chair loose and the door slides shut with a resounding slam luckily trapping her on the outside still.

The sound breaks something loose inside me; snaps against my frazzled nerves and for a split second of what I can only classify as shear absurdity I can just picture his expression reading a second very personal note written in shoe polish on the front windscreen of his truck. I crack because it's too much like a bad lifetime movie…and how did my life come to this?

I howl until tears stream down my face, shaking so hard I almost fall out of the stall... and that only makes it that much harder to stop.

I sit just dying with one hand clutched against my ribs gasping for air between fits the cold plastic gripped in my fist with tears streaming down my cheeks from my hysterical laughing fit. I laugh so hard I'm slapping my other hand against my knee, stomping my foot against the tile whole body shaking so violently with laughter that I can't breathe. I wheeze, and cackle and gasp for air, eyes tearing because it's just too much.

The inky blackness around me so complete there's no difference between my open eyes or the back of my closed lids. It's all probably some kind of deep metaphor for my life at this moment that I'm missing because I'm too wracked with hysterical laughter to give a damn.

Just sitting alone in the dark; a pregnancy test, and a Walker at the door.

It all feels so horribly clichéd. It really is some bad lifetime movie; the tragic end of a doomed romance between a young doctor and a rough gorgeous redneck… of course it could also be the lyrics to a bizarre post-apocalyptic country song, cause that's a concert I want to go to…

If Taylor Swift were still alive in this world it could be her new hit single.

I laugh until I pee myself-literally; and luckily I'm still sitting down; somehow haven't dropped the test onto the floor despite my insane fit; and that means I'm almost done. The thought sobers me finally.

I wipe my eyes; and other things in the dark with a free hand and the little bit of toilet paper that's still to be found in the darkness before I stand. I have to hold my scrubs against my waist shuffling forward in the dark towards the vicinity of the sink to set the stick down so I can re-tie my pants.

Meanwhile my new best friend thumps on the door for moral support cause she doesn't want me to feel alone in my time of need; she's awesome like that. I snort with another wave of laughter at the bizarreness that has become my life while groping around against the sink's edge trying not to knock the test onto the floor.

I find it finally, too bad I can't read the results in here. Clearly, seeing as I can't even see my own hand in front of my face.

I have to take it out there, which would be easier if my feet would move. I sigh carefully picking up the stick and turning around finally before almost killing myself on the chair in the darkness—even though I knew it was there somewhere…I just didn't realize it was going to be Right There. I curse, rubbing a hand over what will be a brilliant new bruise.

The Lady Walker is beyond frantic by the time I open the door; she lurches past me into the darkness searching for movements and sound while I step out, letting the door close behind me and lean against the short section of wall between the women's and men's doors; waiting.

I can't look, too terrified to see a pink plus sign growing bolder as the seconds press on.

I inhale counting off in my head try to tell myself that it doesn't matter; no matter what this damn thing says I'm going to be Okay.

I exhale slowly open my eyes and feel like someone punched me in the gut.

It drops to the floor with an audible plastic click and I kick it away with my boot in frustration hand clapped over my mouth feeling somehow robbed.

Negative.

I drag my fingers through my hair breathing deep, hiding behind closed eyes for a brief moment while the possibility of keeping just one beautiful thing in my life escapes me. Guess it really was just nerves and exhaustion; it was ridiculous to think otherwise with the implant under my skin.

I swipe at my eyes and prop the door back open more so anyone passing through will know she's inside then so she can get any fresh air.

I move back to the aisle I left my basket on and pick it up tossing in a box of tampons. I'm going to need them at some point; might as well grab them now before I'm desperate.

Then I move on, I still have another stop to make.

:: Walking Dead ::

"Carl? Hey, Can you Hear me?" There's a small burst of static while I rest my hip against the metal rim of the shelf.

Finally an answer; "Yeah, Where the Hell'd you get another Walkie from?"

"The store." I put as much 'Duh' into my tone as possible.

And because it's Carl he bothers to open the line just to snort at me repeating my words in a mocking girly high pitched voice.

"That's attractive, I'm on my way back, probably be another two hours? Just wanted to let you know."

"Cool. I'm going to order a pizza be a doll and pick it up on the way back?"

I snort. "Alright, I'm hanging up before I end up with a crowd."

"Right the sound; see you when you get back."

I turn the walkie down, leave it on though just in case he needs to reach me; even if I didn't have it before I can't turn it off now. I stuff it into the deep single back pocket on my scrubs, seriously missing my cargo pants at this moment. One more stop to make on another day. It's getting late now.

I heft my bag up onto my back and start the long walk back the rest of the way to the hospital cutting through the woods to avoid anyone on the roads.

I'm almost in sight of the hospital's roofline through the trees when I hear it.

There's no mistaking that sound, it makes my palms sweat and my heart race; twists my insides to a mess of knotted up nerves.

It's a car door closing somewhere nearby; I can't pin point the exact location through the trees; it could be on the road—or it could be in the lot. I don't dare use the walkie in my pocket; not knowing how far away they are…especially after I hear another car door close…and then another… muffled voices through the trees to my right.

I circle back toward the lot, slipping deeper into the woods because I know those voices.

It's no coincidence that they're here; I've screwed up somehow; or Carl couldn't resist the temptation in my absence: picked up the walkie and told his father where we were.

Dread crawls through the knots twisted in my middle. I don't want to do this.

I drop the bag I'm carrying against the trunk of a tree; it doesn't contain the supplies I need right now anyway. I pull my bow around in front of me nocking an arrow, grateful I took it with me, like the harness on my hips; and the knife at my belt; the machete on my hip.

'Just running to the store' never goes as planned.

I move closer, need to see how close they are to the hospital; if there's still time for me to get inside. It might also give me a chance to see how many of them are here; I heard three distinct car door's close; but that doesn't mean it wasn't three people sliding out of one back seat; or three people getting out of Daryl's truck.

Because Daryl will be with them.

As sure as the sun will rise tomorrow in the East.

And that's seriously bad news for me. I barely made it away from the Peacocks on several occasions; and they were nowhere near as good at tracking somebody through the woods as he is.

Nobody is as good at tracking as Daryl Dixon.

I'm going to need my absolute A-game, every trick in the book I know; and a crap load of luck in the next few hours; or I'm toast.

A little psychological warfare couldn't hurt either.

I stop where I am, bend down and clear a section of dirt smoothing it very briefly with my palm before drawing my knife; pressing the blade tip into the cleared dirt scratching my message. Then carefully I walk backwards away from it moving towards the right I need every second of time I have to lay false trails; give me time to get away.

I break off from this trail moving in another direction for several feet before looping back trying to keep my feet in the same pattern they originally left; not completely successful but I'm in a bit of a rush.

I back track through the trees to a certain point and then take off in another direction before doing the same thing; dropping to a cleared point right beside the base of a tree and clearing the dirt of leaves and twigs with a swipe of my hand; scratching another message with my fist clenched white knuckled against the knife hilt.

I wince a bit myself staring at the message but supposedly all's fair in love and war.

And if he's off balance, he'll be off his game; and that's an advantage I desperately need.

I jerk back to my feet and back track, watching over my shoulder, tracking my own racing footsteps trying to match my stride to the ones I already left.

I twist when I can just barely make out the lot through the trees and creep through the trees; the sounds of Walkers snarling hasn't risen yet; I don't know what they're waiting for but If I'm going to make it to Carl I have to go now…

Daryl was crazy enough to run into a crowd of Walkers at the warehouse with nothing but his hunting knife once upon a time trying to get to me; if he sees me and has his crossbow there will be nothing to stop him from following me into the crowd; or worse simply putting a bolt in my back.

I pause at the edge of the trees crouched low watching carefully when I see them; hear them; they're behind a car not twenty feet from me; I shift silently—put more of the tree between us.

They're watching the Walkers in the lot; the hospital behind that and not the tree line; but I need to move; I can't stay here long.

"This is it, has to be." Michonne.

"How can you be sure? We don't want the wrong hospital." Maggie, and oh God that hurts. Maggie hunting me too. Ouch.

"Michonne's right, this is it; all the Walker's in the lot are dressed as Patients and staff…if that hadn't happened recently they'd have scattered by now." Rick's gruff even tone answer's them.

I breathe slowly heartbeat pounding in my throat.

"Could mean insides cleaned out, could just be the lot here, that's not so bad." Michonne again.

"Are you looking at the same lot I am?" Even Sasha is here, my stomach twists with knots.

"Hell we sitting here flapping our gums for people?"

Shit. I can't breathe. I knew he'd be here but…I can't… I lean my back against the tree my vision swimming with what feels suspiciously like tears; try to keep my breathing silent when I can draw a breath again. It burns all the way down my throat constricting in my chest like churning like acid threatening to come back up.

"We said recon only—" Rick again.

So they were going to bring more people back. Great. Carl and I need to move now. I slip further against the trees, closer to the bag I need in the back of the car parked against the edge of the lot. It's also better cover from this angle.

I just need them to leave, it's getting late; they can't stay that long...

"No, we do this now; Carl's awake she might move him somewhere else, we want him back we do this now." Michonne, but Glenn and Maggie are agreeing with her out loud now.

Shit, so they're here for Carl. They do want him back. It's a rush of relief and a painful ache all at once. Almost all of them are here too;and they wouldn't be if they didn't agree with bringing him back; wouldn't risk their lives like this. Mika must have told them Carl was alive. They came to get him back; bring him home.

He's got a better family then I ever did. My chest aches.

Maybe if more time had passed when this all happened; maybe if I hadn't been bitten at the very beginning; just after the hysteria set in things might have been different. I stop listening as they make their plans, can't risk using the Walkie this close to them. I start to move through the trees, and stop backing up behind the car's side panel again.

It's too late. They're already moving forward.

Michonne is always amazing to watch defend herself in any situation; in the open lot with the Walker's all spaced out by several feet and so few other obstacles to get in her way she just flows through them. Each swing melting into the next twisting and turning slipping between their advancing forms like water flowing between rocks twirling and spinning in an effortless current which steadily brings her closer to the hospital's doors. I hold my position for a moment longer watching in awe as she cuts a clear path for Maggie, Rick and Daryl following in her wake; wading deeper into the lot forming the front half of a circle driving forward; Glenn, and Sasha in the rear; defending the corners as they move forward.

And I can't help it, hunting me or not. I can't stop watching in fear. I don't want them to get hurt.

They want Carl back; they're still willing to be his family now that he's better.

They used to be mine.

Michonne is damn fast; they're already within fifty feet of the hospital doors. Every spin and move a seemingly choreographed spinning dance. Rick pulls something out of his belt; starts to raise it to smash the glass door when Michonne steps closer and pulls the door open in front of him. I left it unlocked with the Walker's in the lot—figuring no one would risk a hundred walkers to reach the entrance. Rick lowers his hand and stops; seems to be splitting the group into two and that's not good...there are still too many Walkers stumbling over the pavement towards them as Daryl and Rick slip inside while the other's continue to hold position on the sidewalk edging the lot just before the doors.

I want to tell them to all go inside; where it's safe, to watch and make sure that no one is bitten in the group they've left behind; but I have run out of time. I need to go. It won't take them long to find Carl inside; and then they'll be on me. I turn and start back towards the rear door of the closets parked vehicle, the one I parked for this very reason.

Behind me Glenn barks a warning to Maggie and my heart nearly stops. I almost forget myself and the danger by standing as I spin back to see if she's alright. Fear gripping my chest. I drop back to a crouch a moment later grateful they missed me. They're all too busy staring at the parking lot where my flash of panic has given me away: All the Walkers have stopped as if the world were a DVD and I just hit 'pause'.

Oops.

And now they know I'm here. It's long past time for me to go. My window of escape is narrowing by the minute.

I turn away Michonne is already taking advantage of the silent bodies to cut down the statues closest to the group. Bodies hit the pavement at lightning speed under her sword work while I grab the back door handle of the car I was crouched against and slip the Bug Out bag from the seat.

I pull the Walkie from my pocket press the button and speak quickly, hoping he's in his room; that he'll hear my goodbye at least.

"Take care of yourself Carl, and take care of them. Maybe I'll see you around one day." I toss it onto the seat leaving the door ajar.

I don't need it anymore.

Talking to them now would only remind me painfully of just how alone I am once more.

In a few weeks when it's safe again I'll leave Mika and Carl another letter saying I'm sorry, and give them the goodbye they both deserve, at least in writing.

Right now I have to run.

I crouch low watching over my shoulder as the rest of the group are all taking down the remaining Walker's in the lot. Hopefully they won't see me before I can get my head start; the false trails I already laid out might earn me an hour; if that.

I have to slow down a bit once my trail overlaps my previous prints; I can't make it too obvious with my haste which trail is the right one. He needs to take the other two dead ends; or at least one of them before he gets more cautions; starts to study my movements; I need that time desperately to create more distance.

I stop one last time just before I'm through the break in the trees at the edge of the road, yanking my knife from my belt to carve another message into the dirt. This one more desperate then the others, entirely too honest for my own damn good.

But it's all I've got left, and I still don't know if it will be enough.

I burst through the trees onto the roadway and slam to a stop gasping with Tyreese standing not twenty feet in front of me. Two cars and Daryl's big black truck parked on the pavement just behind him, and shit.

I'm not sure who's more freaked out when he sees me. And then in one sweeping glance it's most definitely me because Tyreese has got a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. Tyreese who can barely handle a gun; who can't hit the broadside of a barn with one; Would be useless against the massive amount of Walkers they'd expect to find outside and inside a hospital with one. He might as well throw the bullets at them.

There's only one reason Tyreese would be carrying a gun; and that's because he might need to use a gun on Me. His machete is in his hand; but he can't hit me that from this distance.

He raises his arms in front of him; palms out towards me eyes wide with alarm. "Relax, it's okay!"

I realize I've still got the knife in my hand when his gaze darts to my hand.

"Just let me go Ty. I don't want to hurt you." I back away a step watching him swallow; step towards me hands still raised

"Look It's not like that…"

Movement to my left through the trees snaps my attention around realizing a split second too late it's all a stalling tactic, and they're both diving at me.

Michonne from one side; Ty from the front and I can't let them grab me; killing me outright is one thing; torturing me or using me is a completely different kind of Hell I can't go through again…

In another split second decision I know which one of them I can outrun easier.

I snap my wrist up Michonne's eyes go wide catching the movement even before I let the knife go; just like I knew she would. She drops to the ground just under my barely too high throw effectively stopping her forward rush and distracting Tyreese long enough for me to drop my too heavy bag and bolt like Hell into the trees.

Good thing I always hide a spare.

:: Walking Dead ::

:: Walking Dead ::