The first part of this chapter (like the first couple lines or so) is majorly inspired by the short film on YouTube tilted ReMoved. It is a fantastic short film with great acting, and was well put together. :)

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

Chapter 35: Oblivion

The sun comes up every morning.

It doesn't matter if it is hot or cold, sunny or rainy, or if someone's mom just died. It still rises every dawn.

At least it comes; at least it releases my nightmares from their hold for a little while.

I've come to depend on that.

I barely sleep at all that night. The longest time I manage to hold onto my slumber is two hours, but it is two hours filled with terrible dreams. After the rough awakening and calming my heart and sweat-drenched body, I let time do its thing and stare at the ceiling of the tent – try to think about happy things, which there are little of those. I fall asleep only to wake up fifteen minutes or so later; and this keeps happening with less and less minutes of sleep until I don't close my eyes at all.

Because I'm all out of minutes.

I can't say that Daryl sleeps much that night either. Sometimes he is laying still on his side of the tent, other times I find him silently slipping out of the confinement to sit outside in the bitter air and wind. Maybe he's worried someone or something will attack us. Maybe he is the one that is afraid . . . maybe Daryl doesn't want to be alone.

I don't blame him if he is, really I don't. I'm scared, I'm afraid, and I am so incredibly alone. I don't make sense to myself. I'm scared to get close to others, can't take that step no matter how hard I try, but – but – I hate being alone. I hope my brain can figure out what it wants to do soon. I hate . . . oh, what is the word . . . oblivion? Is that even right? I think so.

When the first rays of sunlight hit the tent and the birds start their morning calls, I am already up and packing my stuff. Daryl sits outside smoking a cigarette and I walk past him with a glance as he huffs out a puff of smoke. We don't talk and we don't nod at each other either. There's nothing to talk about anymore.

Returning back to my actual home and shared tent, the camp is alive with people. It is fairly early in the morning so I didn't expect anyone to be up beside me, but here is everybody – running around like gerbils in wheels. I spot Lori among the living bodies but Rick, Glenn, and Hershel are absent from the crowd, so I can only assume they still aren't back yet. This gives me a feeling in the pit of my stomach that I really don't like, but I brush it off because they are fine. Hershel, Glenn, and Rick – they're okay. They have to be.

Pushing back the flap that serves as the tent door, I find Glenn's stuff exactly the way it was yesterday – untouched. I set down Glenn's flashlight on his overturned box and then proceed to dump my sleeping bag and pillow on my side of this cold, empty sad tent. Sighing, I begin to rifle through my duffel bag for something warmer. I end up finding a gray long-sleeved shirt stuffed all the way down at the bottom. I change into the top to cover up my ugly scars and then throw on a different pair of jeans; listening to the group members chatter in the process. Reaching back, I take out the rubber band in my hair, letting the brunette strands hang loose. My hand goes to my holster and when it finds the knife handle it drops back down.

Stepping out into the morning air I can only hope there will be no pitiful stares. I save those looks for walkers and the others should, too.

Because my scars are covered now.

And Mom doesn't matter anymore.

Brunette strands of hair hang down in my face as I stare out at the main camp. Me? Well, I'm sitting on the porch steps like always, elbows resting on knees and hands supporting my head. My right hand – the dominate one – is using all of my fingers except my thumb to tap on my cheek. I chew on my chapped lip and stare harder at camp. Shane, T-dog, Daryl, and Andrea have the green car out with the trunk popped open. They are gearing up to go into town to search for the missing members, but I don't think they should. We are already down three people and if they leave, we'll have next to nothing. T-dog puts some guns in the open trunk, Shane and Andrea are talking – I think I can see a map; Andrea points to something on the paper. Daryl takes a sip of his canteen.

The front door squeaks open and closed on its hinges. Now that I think about it, this door sounds a lot like the piece of crap we had as a front door back home. The thing really needed to be oiled – Dad never got around to it, though.

Wood creaks as something approaches and then a figure just a bit taller than me sits down to my left. I know who it is, it's always the same, and my green eyes stay locked onto the four people next to the car as more things get loaded up and the map is put away. A gust of wind tosses my hair back, my fingers stop tapping. "Your mom's back,"

"Yeah . . ." He sighs. I chew on a finger. "She's pregnant."

The finger falls from my teeth, my head whips to him. What? Pre – pregnant? Now?

Carl looks at me, his eyes are different – I can't explain it. He talks steadily, "She has been for a while now and, well, I didn't know. My mom told me she was waiting for a good time to tell me. It just slipped out last night."

Last night when I was with Daryl . . . yeah, that makes sense. It doesn't occur to me until then that I am supposed to be happy about these things and congratulate the family. But all I can do right now is think about a helpless little baby getting torn apart by walkers.

I force myself to say something, "You excited about being a big brother?"

He shrugs. "Yeah – I mean, it's a lot to take in, I guess."

There isn't too much to be happy about these days.

"Were you with Daryl last night?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"To get away."

"Away from what?"

"Everything."

"Oh – " Carl pauses, he doesn't understand me, I know.

"Boy or girl?" I ask, changing the subject right back to what it was before.

He looks confused, "What?"

"You asked questions – got answers – it's my turn now," I explain. "Do you want the baby to be a boy or a girl?"

Carl thinks about it for a second, I hear the trunk slam closed, and then he speaks, "I was kinda hopin' for a girl. We could name her Sophia or, um – what was your mom's name?"

I look away. Too soon, this is way too soon. It's like pouring salt over a fresh wound. "Anna," I murmur before I can stop myself.

"Anna . . ." he repeats. "Sophia, Anna, Amy – oh, and there is Jacqui, too."

"You can't do that, Carl." I warn him before I lose control.

"Why not?"

My hair has fallen back into my face and I am grateful for it because I can hide behind the strands. "You just can't, okay?"

Because it is too soon.

And they are nothing but ghosts.

Before Carl can ask any more questions, before the others can leave, and before I have time to tell the boy the real reason he can't name a baby after dead people – a red hood of a car peeks up over the horizon.

"They're back . . ." I breathe and Carl's breath hitches in his throat. He jumps up as the car rumbles down the long driveway – the gravel crunching under its tires – and I do, too, after a moment of watching. Whoever is driving the vehicle steers it right into the yard and then the breaks squeak to a halt. There is stillness for a moment and then the car doors open to reveal Rick, Glenn, and Hershel – alive and well.

"Dad!" Carl cries in relief as he bounds down the steps and runs straight into his father's arms. Lori, Carol, Patricia, Maggie, and Jimmy file out of the house. Jimmy, Patricia, and Carol stay back by me while Lori and Maggie dash to their loved ones. Rick holds Lori close and then Maggie goes to Hershel – wait, no she runs right around Hershel and into Glenn's embrace. Huh.

Hershel – not really seeming fazed by his daughter's actions – comes over to where I am with the others. He puts a hand on Patricia's shoulder. "Patricia, prepare the shed for surgery."

Surgery? Is someone – is someone hurt? I look over everyone and there is no blood or bites or scratches – nothing. Just tired eyes and sore muscles. The door slams closed from Hershel retreating inside and then Rick is talking to Lori in a serious voice because apparently she got in a car accident and she's pregnant and all this other mess –

"Who the hell is that?" T-dog asks, pointing to the red car the three missing group members just returned in.

"That's Randall." answers Glenn, not missing a beat, and I move closer because last time I checked we didn't have a Randall.

In the backseat, slouched over and unconsciousness, is a boy wearing a red blindfold.

That's Randall.

" – we couldn't just leave him behind. He would've bled out . . . if he lived that long."

These are Rick's words of explanation to why they brought Randall back. We are all gathered around the dining room table, Hershel's people and my people alike. Except Daryl, though – I can't find him; probably returned to his lonely camp in the middle of nowhere. Some people sit in chairs while others – like me – stand around and lean on objects. I can't sit still right now so I stand with my back against the wall, arms crossed, and bouncing on the balls of my feet.

Randall, who was the one needing the surgery, is currently being repaired by Hershel. Apparently the kid jumped off a roof and landed on a fence – the spikey-thing at the end of it going right through his leg. Why he did it, I don't know, but Rick saved him and this all took place moments after Randall's people were shooting at my people. Usually Rick's explanations clear the fog from my brain, but this time this explanation isn't going through. The fog is still there and I don't get it. I really don't.

"It's gotten bad in town," states Glenn from his place at the table. He sounds tired.

Andrea asks what we are exactly going to do with this kid from a different group that probably has a grudge against us now and honestly, I really don't know. Rick is at the head of the table, but he is standing up. One leg is on a backwards chair and he leans forward, opening his mouth to reply.

But then Hershel walks in and interrupts the explanation. I stop bouncing on my feet. "I repaired his calf muscle as best I can," he explains, wiping his hands off with a bloody, green towel. "but he'll probably have nerve damage. Won't be on his feet for at least a week."

Rick straightens, his boot leaving the chair. "When he is, we give him a canteen, take him out to the main road, and send him on his way."

"But there's walkers everywhere," I blurt out, not even giving myself time to think about it. The door opens and I glance back to see Daryl. My eyes move back to Rick. "And you said his people shot at you. Either he is gonna get torn apart by biters, or he will find his group again."

Rick makes eye contact with me, thinks, and then talks, "He'll have a fighting chance."

But his group – there are bad people out there, people like George.

"She's right, he knows where we are." Shane backs me up and right now I don't hate him all that much.

"He was blindfolded the whole way here. He's not a threat."

"Not a threat?" repeats Shane, I stay quiet. "How many of them were there? You killed three of their men, you took one of them hostage, but they just ain't gonna come lookin'?"

"They left him for dead," Rick's voice rises. "No one is looking!"

"We should still post a guard," says T-dog and yeah, he's right.

Hershel says that Randall is still out cold and will be for hours. Shane claps his hands together.

"Y'know what? I'm gonna get him some flowers and candy," He moves from his spot, walks to the end of the room, and scoffs. "Look at this folks – we back in fantasyland!" Shane is kidding, I know he is, but he's pushing the envelope now.

Hershel jumps out at him as the man passes. "You know we haven't even dealt with what you did at my barn yet!" I move over to the right so I can see better. Shane stills, turns around to face Hershel. "Let me make this perfectly clear, once and for all – this is my farm. Now, I wanted you gone – " I knew that they didn't really want us here, but I also know that times have changed and they treat us different now. Better. " – Rick talked me out of it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. So do us both a favor – keep your mouth shut."

With one last glance Shane storms out and after a moment, everyone else leaves, too. I find myself walking nowhere in particular, just away from the house and people and actions I don't understand and heated conversations – away.

"Hey!" a voice calls out to me and I really want to ignore it, but I can't. I don't stop walking but I do slow my pace.

Daryl sides up to me. "'Bout last night . . . didn't mean to come across like that." he speaks in a low tone and I don't know why because it doesn't matter anymore, none of it does. "You know I couldn't – "

What? Couldn't beat up someone that is good? Yeah, I know.

But I don't say that.

"Daryl, if you're gonna leave . . . just go." I tell him, not even looking his way. I walk faster again. "I don't care anymore . . ."

Because we have a new arrival that is bad and Lori is having a baby and I can't make sense of Rick's words. Oblivion.

I'm scared of oblivion.

I didn't mean to go all 'The Fault in Our Stars' since I talked about oblivion, it just kind of happened.

Oblivion can be good or bad. It's really just a big 'I don't know'.

Am I even making sense right now? Probably not.

~ Rainy