Well isn't this a cheery bunch.
I glanced at my friends around the fire. Every one of them looking bitter or exhausted or both, or even worse but at least I don't see anyone who looks like they're shutting down.
Not even Carl, or Beth and Randall.
Despite everything we lost, and how thin the thread is, everyone's still keeping it together. That's much better than the last two times we lost our camp, our supplies, our hope, and had eviscerating casualties.
"We're not safe with him. Keepin' somethin like that from us." Carol whispered harshly at us.
I gave her a look, not really feeling up to saying 'he has his reasons' right now but she should know better than this. What's gotten into her?
"Why do you need him, he's just gonna pull you down." Carol whispered bitterly, looking between us.
"Nah, Rick's done alright by me." Daryl shook his head, dismissing Carol's statement and I nodded in agreement.
He might be a little off kilter at the moment, but Rick's never intentionally tried to hurt us.
"You're his henchmen." She looked between the two of us. "And I'm a burden." That sounds like a you problem. There are things you can do to change that if you really want, but it sounds more like you're just takin' the piss; looking for someone or something to blame.
"You deserve better." Carol looked between us, but mostly at Daryl; taking glances at what he's doing to the fire.
Daryl glanced at me and we shared a look.
"What do you want?" Daryl
"A man of honor" That sounds like a little girl waiting for a knight in shining armor to come save her.
"Rick has honor." Daryl defended him and honestly I can't help but agree.
Rick is many things and I don't know much about his life before this, but dishonorable is the last thing I'd associate with him.
Even at his worst moments all I can see is frustration and/or pain. Trying to use his head and not make a rash decision even if he's working with next to nothing and is so fried he belongs on the McDonald's menu.
"I think we should take our chances." Maggie looked at Glenn.
"Don't be foolish." Hershel interjected beside her, in the tired worn voice you'd expect to hear of an old war veteran. The kind of voice someone only gets from seeing too much, and frankly, I think we all probably have that voice by now.
I know, that when I look around this circle, at the eyes of my friends around me… everyone's — even Carl's — eyes look older than their faces.
Everything we've been through, it's almost funny to know this is exactly what it's like being at war. In a military unit, behind enemy lines. Only ours is constant. Never quite sure if we're safe enough to rest and get thrust into absolutely crazy situations but don't have any choice.
No back up, all on our own out here. Never quite sure which breath will be your last but you do everything in your power to make sure it isn't the one you're taking right now.
"There's no food," Hershel started. Beth, sitting in front of her father, looked at the few backpacks of supplies we do have. "no fuel," Hershel continued, "and no ammo."
Leaves rustled like someone had thrown a stone across the forest floor outside the encasing of our henge and it was like an air raid siren had gone off.
"What was that?" Beth asked, exhausted and afraid, but her voice still more cautious than panicked; almost brave. It makes me oddly proud for some reason.
"Could be anything." Daryl was quick to offer a calm explanation, in a tone like he knows exactly what it is but I know he's just trying to stop them from panicking again. Honestly a pigeon could spook this lot like a flock of birds right now.
"Could be a racoon, could be a possum." He stood up and in half a second, everyone was on their feet, all heads turning in the direction of the sound.
"Or a walker." That's not helping Ace.
I can almost taste the fear. The panic rising. It's actually putting me off right now.
Sweet Ambrosia god, please be something we can eat. I'll take squirrel at this point.
The firepit smoke changed direction and I coughed as it wisped straight into my face.
Daryl looked at me and I waved him off, planting my hands in the dirt so I can turn my side against it.
Every cough sent violent twinges through my ribs and I barely have the strength in my arms to struggle turning away from it.
A hand appeared in front of my face and I took it without even thinking, letting Daryl pull me up and out of the smoke.
"We need to leave. I mean what are we waitin' for?" oh god, Carol sounds — and looks — like she's about to take off.
"Which way?" Glenn asked, gripping the shotgun in his hands tight.
"It came from over there." Maggie stood beside him, her own shotgun in the exact same position; both of them ready to aim and squeeze the second something happens.
"Back from where we came." Beth stood just behind her sister, in front of Hershel who turned around to look out the back of the henge; in the opposite direction everyone else is.
Lori wrapped her arm over Carl's chest from behind him. The two of them being the only ones who haven't stood up now.
"The last thing we need is for everyone to be runnin' off in the dark. We don't have the vehicles. No one's travelling on foot." Hmph, you're starting to sound like quite the general Rick. Using your authority voice to make everyone listen instead of trying to calm them down for a change.
He's standing at the entrance (closest to where the sound came from) almost like a sentry guard, so no one can just go running past him. But one look at his face is more than telling of how done he is with all a this.
Can't say I blame him either. My patience ran out a long time ago and is barely recovering through the awesome power of sarcasm and the pure 'screw it' point I've reached.
I'm done with the headless chicken routine. I've had more than enough of it through our days at the farm and always arguing about what to do about things that are so simple a lemur could figure out what to do faster — and with less hassle — than this group.
It's like being around a bunch of recalcitrant teenagers with selective hearing issues.
"We can't just sit here." Randall spoke up, not panicking but anxious.
'Oh for Christ sake. ' I ripped my goggles off the forest floor and pulled them over my head like a baseball cap. 'Do I have to do everything myself?'
A menacing sound came off my thighs (at least to my ears) as I pulled my knives with both hands.
I yanked my goggles down over my eyes, the woods lighting up green in the dark and I all but stomped past, snapping, "Stay here." before going out into the dark; most likely vanishing to their eyes the moment my back left the firelight.
My last f*** just picked up by a flying blue box and zipped away into the wonderful wide universe.
I am done being the only person who is thinking about our next step and making sure we survive past tomorrow, instead of acting like a scared whining brat who's toys have been taken away.
God — sometimes I feel like I'm the only adult here. The only person who's not afraid of the dark or their own god damn shadow, but knows better than to run with a knife when I can't see.
It's a f***ing twig. Leaves. It could be the wind, or a branch falling because of a squirrel or a bird.
Walkers are not exactly quiet, they don't exactly hold still or stop after one step that came out of nowhere.
It would've been successive rustling if whatever the crap it is had kept moving. But no. It was one rustle, for like 2 seconds and every cries wolf.
Jesus christ. I huffed a forceful breath through my nose, shaking my head. The agitation broiling my veins actually waking me up so much I feel like I could kill someone.
My iron grip on said knives is no doubt white and I don't even care to keep my step quiet as I trudged through the forest. Wanting to grumble like a grouchy old man.
I ground my teeth in silence. The glower of pure contempt on my face feels permanent and even as my jaw popped, stretching with a yawn, I'm far too alert for any sane persons liking.
I am tired of being the only person using their head. I am tired of being a babysitter and breaking up petty fights.
I am tired of calming the spooked horse.
My boots came to a stop as I looked around, right about where this 'walker' should be and my jaw offset, tongue poking into my molars as I stared down exactly what Daryl suggested it was.
I raised my arm quietly and the knife flung from my grip with the precision of an experienced baseball pitcher.
The sound of it sinking into flesh was barely noticeable, even to me standing less than 15 feet from it.
I turned, looking around, surveying the woods before creeping closer to dinner.
I crouched, reaching for my knife where it protrudes from the side of the large rodent; intending to pull it out and carry it back but I stopped just before touching it.
I don't know if I should touch it with my bare hands. It could be carrying something.
'We're all infected'
My face went slack, wanting to roll my eyes so hard they could grind rocks into powder.
I'm probably carrying something much worse than this furry thing.
I planted my hand into the course fur and pulled my knife out with one swift tug, wiping the blood off on the fur and sheathing the blade before grabbing the back feet with my now free hand.
I braced my other hand on my knee and took a breath, knowing that standing back up is gonna hurt like a monster but I did it anyway, with minimal grunting, though it was slow and my joints cracked like my bones are breaking.
Jesus I need to steady my machete. I'm gonna hurt somebody without meaning to at this rate.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching the smoke-like fog dissipate quickly as it misted in my green field of vision; repeating it three or four times, even closing my eyes at one point until my shoulders and fists loosened.
Sometimes I just need to step away. Breathe.
I looked around for any even remote sign that this thing isn't the only thing out here but like I thought, we're too far into the middle of nowhere and surrounded by natural warning systems for there to be any such thing.
The only thing lurking in the dark out here that we should be worried about, is me.
Even after months of being around everyone, I'm still not very good at being around people for long periods of time. Even Daryl starts to get on my nerves on occasion. But that's usually what tips me off to needing some time to myself.
I took a final cold deep breath, letting it chill me out (literally) before heading back, with the aim to keep a lid on my temper even if my patience runs out. Which could happen with just one remark right now.
Good thing Shane isn't here anymore, or he'd no doubt be the person I break in half.
I went around the back side of the henge so I can finish a near complete check of our surroundings, that and so I can have just a few seconds longer to myself.
My eyes wandered up to T-Dog on the wall as I got close and he nodded at me (me returning the gesture), and squinted at my hand where I've got our monochrome furred meal.
Look at me providing and not panicking, and doing something about our situation while everyone else is losing their go-ram minds. And not losing my marbles while I'm at the end of my rope.
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