17 Days.

It's been 17 days since Atlanta. Since Daryl walked out of that hospital carrying Beth's body. Since Maggie became shrouded in grief. Since Noah became part of our group.

17 days, and it feels like a lifetime or a second, depending on where I stand.

New goal. New plan. New purpose. Noah's home, outside Richmond, Virginia. Five hundred and thirty miles from Atlanta. To me? It could be as far away as the moon or as near as the person standing next to me. Another hope. Another dream. Walls. Security.

Glenn voices his worries. Dad, ever the optimist, mentions that we can move again. And again. Michonne keeping the theme going adds that there's always another place. Again and again.

We separate. Two groups. Dad, Glenn, Michonne, Tyrese, and Noah lead. The rest of us close but back.

We get news through walkies. Wait, we're there. And then, it's gone. And then, we have to cauterize the wound. Never good news. Never.

And another loss. Another goodbye. Another funeral. Tyrese this time. My protector. My companion when we'd fled the prison. And now he was gone. His strength hadn't mattered. His convictions hadn't made a difference. Nothing mattered. Not anymore. My tears came easily. I didn't have to search for the pain of his loss. It was on the surface bubbling.

Dad buried him himself. He was angry by the loss. By this man who'd protected his daughters when he couldn't. And as I watched Tyrese's beanie placed on the cross marking his grave, I thought how horrible this world was. How futile survival seemed. And as I let my tears flow freely, I never noticed if anyone comforted me.

We're sixty miles from DC, things have gotten desperate. On foot, with walkers circling like vultures, I almost envy my former exhaustion. We're moving. We're putting one foot in front of the other. Yet we seem to get nowhere.

Sasha's pain from two losses is making her yearn for a fight. A suicidal attack, if you ask me, since we're all dehydrating and starving. She wants to attack the circling scavengers head on, Dad wants higher ground. And as my group ponders around me, Daryl and Carol take off in search of water and food. And I can't find energy to care about either situation.

Our walker problem gets solved by a convenient revine/overpass combo. Just like, what is that animal that tumble off cliffs en masse? I fight for the knowledge that seems to be on the tip of my dry tongue, but it doesn't come. And Sasha ruins any type of focus I can muster by attacking the horde, forcing the rest to join her. And then Daryl's back, rescuing my dad, once again.

Moving forward. Thirst and hunger are constant companions, more constant than the man who swears he loves me, I think. I'm terrified that I'll fail at my one fucking purpose in thie hellscape. Keeping Judith safe has been downgraded to keeping Judith alive. Screw safety. Living is what I'll settle for.

I hear an argument over alcohol, and I glare. And then the barking starts. And then gunfire. And now we have food. Hunger can make people do desperate things, and I'm not above them. I close my eyes, and force away the image of the collars around our dinner's throats. Living, I remind myself, that's what we're striving for.

And more moving. And more. And I stop fighting the urge to disappear. Into my head, away from it all.

I get pulled away from the nothingness I've slipped into by the dampness of rain. And before I can fully process, we're rushing for a barn because the storm has picked up and is raging.

As night falls, the pounding storm batters down on the roof of our shelter. Dad tells a familiar story of my great grandfather. And as the others listen, I slip away again. Inside of myself. I don't hear or see the walkers fighting against the doors. I see and feel nothing. I hold my crying sister close, and convince myself that I am nowhere.

Morning dawns and I've been leaning against the wall of the barn all night. Judith cradled on my outstretched legs. And I can tell it's over. The storm. The walkers. Gone. I survived. We survived. And that's proof, I think, that nothing in this world makes sense.

When another stranger appears, a man named Aaron, promising hope. I wonder when door to door salesmen made a comeback. And then I shut it off again. I focus on Judith and her survival. And I wait for Dad and the others to make the plans.

He has photos. Of this magical community. Alexandria. Dad knocks him out, he's tied up, and when he comes to, he's asked for more intel. I listen passively. Does it matter? Whether he's telling the truth, or leading us to another Terminus, does it matter?

Dad, Judith, and I stay in the barn since everyone else seems gung ho to check out the Disneyworld of the apocalypse. While we sit around with Aaron, Dad being clear on his threats, I hold Judith and take my place from the night before. Leaning against the wall, her cradled on my legs. I wonder what Dad sees when he looks at me. Does he see that I'm broken? Have I hid it so well that even he sees nothing? I must be, because he barely glances my way. Trusting that Judith and I are safe together. And he's right, she's safe with me.

She's hungry, and fussy. So Dad crushing acorns, trying to make something that she can have to curb her tiny hunger. I help him, as our guest begs to be untied, for extra security. When the ploy doesn't work, he offers applesauce he has in his backpack. Dad, untrusting as me, tests it first, no matter how the stranger acts insulted at the thought he would poison a baby. And Judith, having starved for too long for either Dad and I to admit, finally got something in her tummy that helped.

Our group returns with supplies. Dad wants to keep the food and not go to Alexandria, but he's overruled. And so, as night falls, we're on the move again. A vehicle this time, and I feel myself relax despite myself.

There are potholes. Walkers, flares, wrecks. But eventually we make it. It's morning. I'm in the RV with Abraham and the others, and I feel panic build at this new community. What are we really driving into?

Dad's holding Judith in his arms in front of the huge gate. We can hear children playing, and he takes my hand in his. A united front. United in front of an unknown group. Daryl takes my other hand, and I feel a little shocked at it. When was the last time we touched casually? I couldn't remember.

We walk through the open gate and are greeted with demands to hand over our weapons. I stare at Dad, feeling completely confused by the mere thought of disarming. I hadn't been without at least one weapon since this entire mess started, and while my bow was long retired, a knife or gun was always at my side.

Aaron, calming down a tense situation, assures us we can keep them until we meet Deanna Monroe, their leader. A woman who looks like the end of the world never happened. Clean, coifed, and dressed like a Stepford wife, I wonder what made her worthy to lead.

We each meet her one on one in her well appointed house, a video camera lurking behind her to record our interviews. Because when I take my seat, I have no doubt at all that we're being interviewed. She begins by giving the full community brochure in detail. Eco friendly this, self sustaining that. And I listen as I take stock of what I'm seeing and not hearing. Nothing about security or training for attacks. Nothing beyond the gate and guards, who failed at their one job by not getting us to hand over our weapons. She was a politician, that's as clear as a bell. She doesn't seem to want to know much.

I tell her what I care to share. I'm Rick Grimes' oldest child, his first daughter, and I take care of my baby sister and brother. I keep things running smoothly. I maintain the contentment of our group. And as I'm standing, I realize that I never mentioned Daryl. Not once.

Our weapons seem a small price to pay for the home we're given. Dad, Carl, Judith, me, Carol, and Daryl. Cozy. My first goal, even before food or water, or anything basic need based, is to get clean. And so, Judith and I take our first shower together. I find such happiness in her amazement at the warm water flowing over us, at her giggles as the bubbles from my shampoo slide over us. And when we come out, I find that someone, Carol I assume has placed clean clothes for me on the counter, and some things for Judith as well.

Brushing my long hair after the shower, while Judith lay in the middle of the bed in the room I'd chosen, I let myself pretend that the world had been forced back into the before. That there wasn't danger lurking all around and that we were safe. That we had a chance of a real life. In a house. With running water and appliances, and electricity. That this would work. That there wouldn't be another screw up. And I let myself pretend that I could see it, believe in it, and feel happy about it.