Once I reached mine and Officer Shane's tent, I quickly glanced around, making sure no one was watching. When I was sure no one was, I walked around the tent. Behind it, next to a tree was a pile of dirt and dead leafs. Not the best hiding place, I knew that, but no one had found it or thought to look.

I crouched at the pile, moving the leafs away to reveal the only belongings I had. These were the only things I was able to grab from me and Daddy's car before Shane brought me with his group. Not that there was anything else.

Daddy never usually got up early. But that morning, when I woke up he wasn't home, He came back at around two or three in the afternoon, running around the house, throwing items in a bag he was holding. He had shown many strange behaviors, running around the house, back and forth up the halls, was nothing new, but I wasn't worried.

I began to worry when he began dragging me out the door, saying we were going to Atlanta, I asked to grab my stuff, but he said there wasn't time. I knew better than to say no, so as always, I did what he said. We began our drive to Atlanta, but obviously, we never made it.

Beneath the leaves and dirt was a black leg sheath made of nylon, car keys, an orange pill bottle with round, large white pills in them, and an old pen. That was all I owned, that was all that was left in the car after Daddy left.

The leg wrap had six slots, in each slot was a seven inch long, stainless steel, handleless throwing knife with a lanyard hole at the end.

I wasn't amazing at throwing knives, but out of all the weapons Daddy taught me, the knives was what I took to the most. I had more fun with them, and because I enjoyed practising with them, I got better with them fast.

I slipped one of the knives out of a slot and reburied everything else. I wasn't sure what Officer Shane would do if he caught me with weapons and a bottle of pills. I didn't really know what the pills were, but Daddy left them in the glove box so I thought to grab them.

I hid the knife in my sleeve and returned to the Dixon's camp.

When I got there, Daryl had already started on the one squirrel, he had already gutted it and was beginning to skin, something I had seen Daddy do many times. Merle hadn't even started yet, he was holding another squirrel, a hunting knife in his other hand, the third squirrel was on the ground in front of him

"Sit down, darlin'. Ol' Merle ain't got all day." He ordered his smile from before gone.

I sat beside him, the smallest squirrel of the three in front of me. I pulled my knife out of my sleeve. Clutching it as I wait to be told what to do next.

Merle does a double take at the knife I'm holding, scrunching his eyebrows together, "Hell, girlie, ya can't skin with tha'."

My stomach drops at his words. I knew they were true. I attempt to keep my face blank as I responded. "It's all I have."

He lets out a grunt of frustration, "Daryl, gimme your other knife."

Daryl looks up from his task, shaking his head, "Christ, Merle, I ain't givin' 'er no knife, you seen 'er fuckin' hand."

"Gimme me the knife 'fore I beat your ass, boy."

Daryl cursed, dropping the half-skinned squirrel and hunting knife on his lap. He reaches behind him and begins rifling through a bag. Once he finds what he's looking for, he gives it to Merle and gets back to work.

Merle trades knives with me. I fiddle with the new one. It's a bit smaller then his hunting knife, but not by much. I turned to the older man, only to see he had put his knife and squirrel on the ground. Instead, he held mine, inspecting it.

"Don' see knives like this every day, where you get 'em?"

"Daddy. He used to teach me."

"Can ya throw 'em?"

"I can throw 'em, can't sink 'em too well. Not strong enough. Tha's why he don' teach me no more, got mad."

He switched his gaze to me, mouth in a straight line, "what else your daddy teach ya?"

"Lots a stuff, he showed me some guns, but we don' use em often, he says usin' guns for huntin' is cheatin'."

"Hows your aim?"

I shrugged, holding back my embarrassment again. "I can only really do pistols, my hands are too small and I'm too weak for the kickback. Tha's what Daddy says. I can hit a target maybe five times outta ten." I waited again, wondering if he was going to give me any instructions. Instead, he continues with the questions.

"What made ya wanna come over 'ere?"

"It seemed like, outta all people here, you people would know best. Seen ya bring game in ta camp before."

He smirked, "Didn't your daddy ever tell ya not to talk to strangers?"

I broke my blank expression to show my confusion. "No, why?"

He lets out a grunt that sounds like a scoff, but he continued to stare at me. "Ya gonna introduce ya'self or should I guess?"

I held back on rolling my eyes, "you can try."

He laughs, and lucky for me doesn't ask again. "Ain't ya hot in that? Sweatin' like a fuckin' pig."

Why was he reminding me? To be honest, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt was excruciating in this heat. Others in the camp, including Officer Shane, Dale, and a woman named Lori had attempted get to get me to changed. I used the excuse that I didn't have any other clothes, but they kept offering some extra t-shirts they had. After adamantly refusing every time, they tried telling me the clothes needed to be washed.

Yes, I understood this, and I did wash them. Once everyone was asleep, I would sneak out of mine and Officer Shane's tent and sneak down to the quarry, strip my shirt, and wash it. It seemed unnecessary and primitive, but all the other shirts they wanted to give me wouldn't hide my arms. And if they saw what I hid, if they asked, I would have no idea how to answer.

I'd rather avoid the questions than face the confusion of whether or not to answer them.

"S'all I 'ave." I told him.

"Jus' cut the sleeves off." He motions with my knife to my shoulder, where the seam of my sleeve is. Without thinking I recoiled at his sudden gesture, unsure of what he was doing. He seemed to notice this and squinted his eyes at me, thinking.

Merle then looked away, grumbling something under his breath as he tossed my knife to the ground. I watched through the corner of my eye as he reached into his vest pocket and pulled a familiar small baggie out.

Even though it was small, watching him from the RV before, I had an idea of what it was. I was no stranger to it, seeing Daddy do the same on a daily basis. I didn't fully understand what it was for or why anyone did it, but I knew better than to ask.

I continued to watch as he poured a bit of white powder from the bag and onto his index finger. I eyed the baggie in confusion, not concentrating on him sucking it up his nose. I knew that was what you did.

I'm still examining the contents when Daryl grunted in annoyance, "Fuck. Couldn' ya wait til later. Kid's like nine."

"I ain't nine," I muttered.

"Then how old are ya?" Merle smiled, wiping his nose. I easily ignored the question, not even planning to respond. When were they all going to stop asking, wasn't it clear I wasn't going to tell them?

Merle began to seal the baggie when he noticed me eyeing it. "What ya staring at? I'd give ya some, but I don' think ya take to it too well."

"Just thinking," I answered, averting my eyes again.

"'Bout what?"

Was Merle always this talkative? Even watching from the RV I hardly saw him carry a conversation with his brother.

I was becoming torn, confused, not sure what to do. I was torn between Daddy always telling me to not answer anyone's questions and doing as I was told. I had answered more questions with Merle then I had spoken words with anyone else in the camp. Whenever Daddy decided to come join us at camp from wherever he went, I knew I would be in for a beating.

I always did what Daddy told me to do. That usually included listening, keeping people out of our business, and doing whatever he said. But whenever he had people over, if they asked any type of question, I wouldn't answer.

Daddy said, "don't answer questions, no one needs to know our business."

But whenever the time came around that someone would ask questions and I didn't answer, he'd gotten mad and told me to, "show respect."

I wasn't sure which to do with the Dixon's. I considered the second option was better, I didn't want to show disrespect or make them mad. I didn't want to be sent away before I had the chance to learn what I came to learn.

"The colour." I finally answer.

He seemed taken aback by the response. "Colour a' what?"

I motioned my head to the baggie, then shrugged, "the stuff Daddy uses is always yellow."

Hoping that was the end of it, I began to play around with the knife Merle gave me. I could feel both the brothers eyes on me, I wasn't sure why. I decided to ignore it, pretending I didn't notice.

Merle picked up the squirrel in front of me, tossing it in my lap, "watch an' listen, I ain't gonna do this shit twice. Gotta gut the bitch first, don' wanna eat squirrel shit."

I remained silent throughout the lesson. I watched his hands carefully and did whatever he told me to do.

I knew this job was messy, but I underestimated it. The difference between the mess an experienced skinner and gutter and an inexperienced one was great. I had grown used to the sight of blood and guts, but doing it hands-on, was a different matter. A couple times I felt myself become nauseous but ignored the feeling.

At first, Merle seemed to get giddy, finding almost everything I did funny.

After the gutting part was done, I tried copying his movements through skinning. Which only made him laugh. "Stop, why ya' holding it like that?"

"This is how you're doin' it, tryin' to do it like you."

"Like me? Ha, hear this, baby brother? Gotta lil' mini me. Can't copy kid. I 'ave a different knife, bigger. And bigger squirrel. You gotta do this . . ." He reaches over, about to take my hand in his. I automatically flinched, not expecting the contact.

He stopped laughing, noticing my flinch. But he seemed to shake it off and began instructing me again. After that, it happened a couple more times. He would reach over, or motion with his knife to correct me, and each time I flinched. I didn't mean to, I tried to see it coming.

Each time he seemed to notice, each time he seemed to get less giddy, more annoyed and angry. Once Daryl had finished, he butchered the meat and lit a fire between us. He placed a small grate over the fire and began to cook his.

Once we were finally done, I noticed the sun was setting, I wasn't sure how long we'd been at this.

"I didn' do too good," I said, angry with myself.

"Think your bad, shoulda seen Daryl his first time." Merle shook his head.

"Fuck off," Daryl said.

Merle chuckled softly, "now get started on cuttin'."

I shook my head, "I'm sorry, but Officer Shane is gonna start lookin' for me soon to send me ta bed. I should go 'fore he starts askin' questions."

Daryl stared at me with an unreadable expression, "ain't gonna eat it?"

Again, I shook my head, "I told ya you can have 'em."

Merle took the knife and remains from me, "a'right, ya skinned your squirrel. Now git."

I nodded, picking up my throwing knife and leaving their tiny campsite. Walking through the group's camp, I try to hide my bloodied hands as I make my way to the quarry. No one even seems to notice I exist as I walk by. After washing my hands and face in the water. I made it back to camp and ran into Officer Shane.

"There you are, was wondering where you been."

No, you weren't, or else you would've seen see me, I thought. In reality, I just nodded.

"Where were you?" He said, placing his hands on his hips.

I raised my hand, pointing in the directing of the quarry.

"Really? I was down there earlier, didn't see you."

I shrugged.

"When I woke up this morning, you were gone, couldn't find you." He eyed me skeptically.

I averted my eyes to the ground, trying to think of something to respond with.

"She's been good!"

We both turned, looking up at the RV to see Dale smiling at us.

"I've been keeping an eye on her, she's just been roaming around." Who knew Dale was such a liar?

Officer Shane nodded, "Alright then, you eat?"

I nodded, lying.

"Let's get you to bed." The officer turned his back and I followed him to our tent. Once at the tent, I crawled into my cot, and he placed the blanket over me. I wasn't sure why he insisted on doing this every night, but I didn't question him.

"The kids were looking for you today, they wanted you to play. And before you roll your eyes it was Carl's idea. You should play with them tomorrow, you just have to give them a chance. Who knows, maybe you'll like them so much you'll want to talk to them."

I shrugged. I had caught Lori and him trying to get the kids to ask me to play with them on several occasions. I hadn't spoken to Carl before, but he had to me, and as with everyone else in the camp, I kept quiet and listened.

He was really upset about his father, who was also a police officer, he was in a coma after being shot and died sometime during the evacuation.

Officer Shane sighed, rubbing his chin, disappointed that I still hadn't said anything. "Night, kid."

He turned away, opening the flap to the tent, but I stopped him. "Do you think he'll 'ave trouble findin' camp?"

I saw him tense up. I wasn't sure if it was because of his shock that I had actually spoken, which didn't happen often, or if it was because of what I had spoken about.

He turned back to me, running a hand through his hair while biting his bottom lip, "it's possible. I described the location the best I could."

After the bombing of Atlanta, and after waiting for my father to return, Shane had brought me back to his car. There, I met Carol, her husband, Sophia, Carl, and Lori. Once they discussed plans with what they were doing with themselves, and I, they had a pretty good idea for a campsite. So Shane left a note in Daddy's car, telling him where the camp was in case he came back.

He put on a fake smile and let out a small laugh, "Lori was saying earlier today, that we should just name you ourselves. So, if you don't want to be stuck with somethin' you're gonna hate, I suggest you let us know."

I found this amusing, I did. I just wasn't sure what to do about it, was I supposed to show him I thought it was funny?

Once I decided to smile, I noticed he'd already given up and is leaving the tent.

I stared into the darkness of the tent for a while, I wasn't sure how long I waited, could've been an hour or two, but I was patient.

Once I heard footsteps approaching the tent, I shut my eyes feigning sleep. I listened as Shane quietly made his way into the tent and onto his cot. I strained my ears, listening to his breathing. After possibly, ten minutes, his breathing became slow and he was slightly snoring.

Asleep.

Carefully, I kicked the blanket off and left the tent.

Not once since arriving had I actually slept in the tent. And I didn't plan too.