Chapter 5

Daryl's POV

It took me a while to get my shit straight after I left the kid unconscious but still breathing on the floor. The first thing I did after leaving the barn was go to the well pump and use the water to clean off the sweat, blood, and any other evidence that could be washed off from my time in the barn. They all probably thought I was a savage but I didn't want to look like one. Plus, Rick's kid and the girl didn't need to know what just went on. There is no benefit to either of them knowing and to be honest I didn't want the girl to look at me and see what I was really like. Not that this was me but it's what everyone else saw.

Rick was waiting for me to tell him everything I found out and I wanted to get it over with. The sooner I tell him the sooner I can get the hell away from here. I need to get to the woods and clear my head. Distract myself from everything that's bouncing around in there.

My eyes are drawn to the hill where a lone tent stands. The girl needs the same thing as me.

I can't help but scoff as I approach the R.V. and their small campsite. Coffee and bacon. They are actually eating bacon and sipping on coffee while I do things too delicate for their sensibilities.

I don't bother with pleasantries and decide to go right into it, "Boy there got a gang. 30 men. They got heavy artillery and they ain't lookin to make friends. They roll through here…our boys are dead. Our women are gonna wish they were."

Shane is the first to speak up, "It's settled then Rick. We can't keep him here."

"We have no choice" Rick announces to the group "He's a threat. We have to eliminate the threat."

"You're just gonna kill him?" Dale's voice breaks the silence.

I grab a piece of unoffered bacon from the pan. I could care less what they decide to do.

"It's settled. I'll do it today."

"Rick. You can't do this. You don't want to do this. I know you don't."

"What do you suggest Dale?" Shane asks "You heard what Daryl said. You saw how that girl reacted. Why do you think that is? I don't want him anywhere around our people. We shouldn't have brought him here to begin with."

"Do we know for sure that he had anything to do with Mel?" My back stiffens at the sound of her name being said. She wasn't supposed to be brought into this shit show.

Rick looks at me and a single nod is the only confirmation I am willing to give.

"Do you know what it is called when you decide on your own to take someone's life? It's murder Rick. I don't peg you for a murderer."

"Does anyone have a problem with what I've said?" Rick asks and suddenly the group is silent standing around him. I can tell they were choosing to ignore Dale's lesson in what constitutes murder.

I look at each face and see that no one is making eye contact with Rick. They don't even have the balls to say they want Randall dead.

Dale takes a step toward Rick, "They are scared. Give them a chance to think. Time is all I'm asking for. Just a little time. We can take a vote after we had time to think it over."

I have to give it to the old man, he is trying to fight for what he thinks is right.

"One day." Rick nods. I can see Shane throw his hands up in the air behind him. "We reconvene at sunset. Then what happens, happens."

There is no reason for me to stick around and I really don't want to. After shoving a few pieces of bacon in the rag I keep in my back pocket, I start back toward the tent. There is no movement from inside so I hope she is still sleeping. The less she knows about what is going on the better.

Mel's POV

For once I didn't wake up like I have been every other morning. There was no habitually silencing a scream that had been building inside of me while I slept. Nope. Today was different and I have to say that there is a weird pleasure waking up to birds singing.

It means two things and both of them are going to make my day a lot easier. The first is that I actually slept for a few hours and secondly, I was able to start the day in some way other than having to calm myself down.

I sit up before the nightmare from earlier last night and the events from yesterday have time to resurface which will no doubt ruin my surprisingly good mood. I notice movement on the other side of the tent and find Daryl watching me.

"How long have I been asleep?" I didn't watch the sun come up so for all I know it could be late afternoon.

I know he hears me but for some reason decides not to answer my question. Instead he just continues watching me intently. It's weird. Not really in an uncomfortable way but more of a Do I have something on my face that I can't see way. I'm not one for direct eye contact so I look away first and feign interest in the floor. Before I did, I notice his shoulders and body are tense, something I've never seen from him.

Before I can ask him what's wrong he reaches his hand out, "Here." His voice is the opposite of the morning declarations from the birds but I still find it just as encouraging. He hands me a rag. When I open it up I quickly overlook that the fabric is more than slightly dirty and my focus switches to the bacon sitting inside.

After the last week, my appetite is finally back and with a vengeance. As soon as the bacon smell hits my nose my stomach starts cheering for it. I close my eyes as I take the first bite. I want to savor the salty crispness for as long as I can.

It is a known fact that crispy bacon is far superior to gross limp bacon.

"Thanks. I was starting to forget how food other than squirrel tasted." I take another bite, "Did you want some?"

Daryl is shoving a few things into a bag but shakes his head at me. When he reaches for the canteen sitting next to me I notice his knuckles.

"Daryl you're bleeding. Are you okay?" Dropping the bacon, I grab his hand to examine his injuries. "What happened?"

He pulls away from me and continues packing.

"It's nothin."

"We should at least clean it up. Beth gave me a first aid kit and it has some basics." I'm already getting out of my sleeping bag to find the kit.

"Look. Ya wanna learn to shoot or would ya rather stay here playing nurse? Cause if ya do, there is someone in that shed who can use your medical expertise a lot more than I can."

I can't help the flinch. It's a mixture of Daryl's tone and the reminder of Randall that has me reacting. I open my mouth to say something but I only end up closing it. He is a grown man who can take care of himself. Hell, he is taking care of both of us really so what am I going to say? Biting my tongue, I grab the bag he was packing and carry it out of the tent.

Normally I would be pissed that someone talked to me that way but I'm not my normal self. Plus, I am too busy racking my brain for a reason why he would be upset with me.

He is clearly someone who likes to be alone and then I come around crashing his party. I've been following him around a lot. Maybe he is finally tired of me being his shadow. Or what if he doesn't want to take me shooting and all I did was give him a chore.

That doesn't make sense though. He offered to take me last night and he would have no problem telling me to go away. No, I bet it has something to do with the marks on his knuckles. Combine that with the fact that Randall apparently needs medical care and I'm smart enough to figure out the two things are related.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by Daryl's muttered curses which precede him throwing the flap of the tent back and stalking past me. I notice he heads in a direction we haven't gone in before and I follow.

"We don't have to go Daryl. You are probably sick of me."

He stops and I can see his jaw flexing.

"Suit yourself." He spits on the ground, "I'm gonna go no matter what but I packed stuff for two."

Without waiting for the conversation to continue he continues walking. I can't help but smile a little at his not so straightforward way of saying I'm invited.

It only takes walking a few yards before we are surrounded by trees. Daryl seems to know where he is going, which isn't really a surprise. The man would know how to get back to camp even if he was dropped off in the middle of Egypt. That is the type of confidence he radiated.

I am far less confident in my navigation skills and I force my shorter legs to stay no less than a few feet behind him. Flashbacks from my nightmare last night start to happen and I pick up my pace. I don't care if we are within shouting distance to the camp. There is no way I am getting lost in these woods again.

He is definitely different today. I keep stealing quick glances at his back. I noticed it when I first woke up but he is more tense and not just because he snapped at me in the tent. He isn't even caring about how much noise he is making. Basically stomping, it's like he is pissed about something. I just don't know what.

As we keep walking further into the woods I notice he starts to slow down. My eyes stay on his back and I start to see that with each step further away from the farm his shoulders seem to relax a little more. When he stops, we are standing in a small clearing. It seems weird when I look around. It is almost a perfect circle. I wonder if the trees just decided that the soil in this spot wasn't fertile enough so nothing planted roots here.

Daryl grabs the bag from me and lets it drop to the floor of the woods. Then his crossbow is in front of me. I knew after the tracking lessons that he is more of a hands-on teacher but I at least expected a rundown of the safety do's and don'ts before I touched a completely foreign weapon. A weapon that I have seen firsthand the damage it can inflict.

"It ain't gonna bite." He lifts it a little higher letting me know that I am supposed to take it.

Hesitantly I grab it and as soon as he lets go it drops. I have to use both of my hands to keep it off the ground. How in the world does he make it look so easy?

It feels like I've been at this for hours and I'm just as bad as I was the first time I pulled the trigger. To Daryl's credit though he isn't getting frustrated like I am. All I have to do is put one arrow, or bolt, into the tree that's no more than twenty feet in front of me. My arms are shaking from trying to keep the weight of the bow up and from cocking it by hand. I am using muscles I didn't know I had.

Letting my breath out one more time I pull the trigger and watch as the bolt misses the tree…again. Wiping my forehead, I let loose a string of words my daddy wouldn't be proud of and stomp off to retrieve the damn pain in my ass. I can't believe I wanted to do this.

When I return to my spot I see Daryl is still sitting in the same place he has been since he handed me the bow. He spent ten minutes showing me how to get it set up and then let me at it.

"You know just by dumb luck alone you should've hit your target by now."

I stop setting the bow and raise my eyebrow at him. It's the first time he has spoken since I started practicing.

"Excuse me? You are my teacher so what does that say about you?"

"That I need a better student."

I'm getting pissed and my arms are starting to refuse my commands. With one last pull I get the string set and load the bolt. I lift it up and face my stationary target.

I hear Daryl moving around but I figure he is going to the bathroom. He has enough sense not to get in front of where I'm aiming so I'm not worried about it. Perspiration has soaked my shirt and I try to slow my breathing again.

"You favor the right side when you cock it." I jump a little when Daryl's voice comes from right behind me. If my finger was on the trigger I might have released it. "You need to take that in to account when you aim."

Then I feel him at my back. His hands are adjusting my arms, taking the end of the bow with them. I'm aware of how close he is but I don't freak out. He isn't pushed up against me like you see in the movies where the guy is trying to show the girl how to shoot and uses it to his advantage. I know there is no ulterior motive in what he is doing.

I hear his retreating footsteps and move my finger to the trigger. Applying a little pressure, it doesn't take much for it to send the bolt off with a quick snap. Then a hollow "thunk" sound is heard next.

"I hit it!" I run over to the tree to make sure I'm not seeing things. "Do you see this? I finally hit it!"

My hands are gesturing to the feather sticking out of the tree like I am a model at a boat show. I can't stop smiling and Daryl is just standing shaking his head at my excitement. Didn't he know this was a big deal? I just hit a tree. With a crossbow.

Then I realize something.

"Wait a minute." I stomp over to him and point my finger at his chest, "You knew this whole time why I was missing and you didn't tell me? I've been out here most of the day and you didn't think to tell me it was as simple as moving my arms a couple of inches before now?"

"You didn't ask."

Are you serious?

I throw my hands up in the air and start to laugh, "Of course. How stupid of me. I forgot to ask."

I don't know why my reaction is to laugh except that it was either that or cry. Here I am shooting to the point of exhaustion and I thought I was just a terrible aim. But nope. I just needed to ask Daryl.

"Let's get something to eat Hawkeye."

I know he is being more flippant than serious in the nickname but I did hit the tree…eventually.

Daryl's POV

She doesn't need to say it I can see she is tired. I'm surprised she has lasted as long as she has. Even after her arms were shaking from the fatigue she kept going. I have to respect the fact that she doesn't give up easy. Sure, I felt a little bit like an asshole by not correcting her sooner but I wanted to see how long she would be at it. There is no doubt in my mind that she would still be trying to hit the tree if I hadn't stepped in.

Another reason I let her keep shooting was because she was fully focused on the task. Her mind wasn't thinking about Randall or the baby. No one says anything about it but I've caught her hand absently going to her belly. She might not talk about it out loud but it is clearly on her mind.

Then when she hit the damn tree it was like she bagged a lion or some other type of big game. All that jumping up and down and smiling. I don't think I have ever been that excited about anything in my life. It made me even more pissed at myself for how I treated her this morning. She didn't deserve me snapping at her but I've never really had anyone but Merle express concern over me. Even then, unless I was to the point of bleeding to death Merle wouldn't have cared.

I don't hate my brother but he had a fucked-up way of taking care of me. I can't complain because he was the only one even trying to take care of me but his way was hammering home the message that "Life's not fair". I was taught that it was just him and me and everyone else just wanted something from us. Concern was something I didn't know how to react to and it usually meant that person wanted something in return.

Pushing her away is the last thing I want to do but maybe I should. I don't want to disappoint her but she will come to her senses eventually and see what kind of person I am. Then she will look at me with the same look that the others do.

I'm not fooling myself, no one would ever look up to me but at least she doesn't look down at me. Which is more than I can say for everyone else. Each one of them at some point has looked down their nose in my direction.

Not that it matters now. We are all in the same boat just trying to survive.

I slow my pace because I can hear her breathing. I keep forgetting that she isn't as fast as me and has to work to keep up. By the time she reaches me I already have a bottle of water out and waiting for her. She takes it and greedily gulps some down before muttering thanks. We are still a good way from camp but her face is flushed from the combination of shooting and walking.

"Take a breather. We aren't in a hurry."

"Oh thank God." She breaths out before she leans against a tree and takes another drink. I don't know if I should admire her determination or yell at her for not speaking up sooner. It is obvious she wanted a break but instead of asking for one she just kept going.

She has more reason than anyone but I have never heard her complain.

After a few minutes, she is starting to look less winded. I am about to get us moving again when we both hear the sound of something moving deeper in the woods. Whatever it is it's making a lot of noise. I raise my crossbow and start to head in the direction it's coming from. I can see the girl following behind me.

Up ahead a large branch is moving, rustling the leaves. From my peripheral I watch the girl move behind a larger tree trunk. It does little to hide her but at least I know if whatever is up ahead is too much for me to take on she has a chance of making a run for it. It's one less thing for me to worry about. With a nod, I let her know to stay where she is and I continue moving forward until I am standing in front of the problem.

"What the hell?" I lower my weapon and look up at what was causing the noise. A walker is dangling from a branch. The rope used to tie a noose was cutting into the decomposing flesh around his neck. It must have heard us which triggered its renewed fight to get down and was making the rope dig deeper. That wasn't even the worst part though. The legs have been gnawed on, leaving nothing but bone and loose tendons hanging down below its knee caps.

The rustling of leaves behind me tell me that the girl is breaking through the tree line. She is looking up at the walker, her hand is over her mouth and I can tell she is trying to stop the bacon she ate earlier from coming back up.

"What happened to him?"

"My guess is the dumbass was bit and didn't know enough to shoot himself in the head. Walkers probably came through and ate his legs while he was hanging up there like a big piñata."

Her eyes are still glued to the walker in the tree, "Why don't you see if there's anything in there we can use?"

"Uh-Yeah. I can do that."

Mel's POV

It was horrible what happened to that man. I wanted to turn away and run in the other direction but at the same time it was like looking at an awful car crash and I couldn't bring myself to look anywhere else. I'm glad Daryl distracted me with a task because I have had my fill of throwing up lately.

I turn to the green tent and pull back the flap. My nose is immediately assaulted with a stench that makes me gag. In an attempt to block it out I bury my face into my arm, still afraid I was going to throw up. One step inside and I know the culprit is the floor of empty cans, some with food still in them, that were left to bake in the Georgia heat for who knows how long. Doing a quick scan of the small space I see a couple of things we could use. In-between two tattered sleeping bags I find a flashlight, pocketknife, and some granola bars. In a hurry to get out, I bend down to grab them and shove them into my bag. That's when I notice a stained piece of paper folded up and sticking out from under one of the sleeping bags. A wallet was set on top of it.

I pick it up and unfold it. The handwriting seems rushed and almost illegible through the brown stains but I start to make out the words:

"I've never been a man that was good with words and I doubt anyone will find these last ones poetic. I just have the urge to write a final letter. This letter, even though no one will probably read it, are my last words.

My life has been a long one filled with war, hard labor, and witnessing the unthinkable acts mankind can to do to the other. Out of all of that the hardest thing for me was watching my beautiful wife turn into one of those monsters. Her name was Margaret and her blood is still on my hands even as I write this. I have no delusions of grandeur and I know that any impact I have made on this world is small but I like to think she was the one thing I did right in my life. I just hope she knew how much I loved her. She was my light and in these terrible times you need hope to keep going. I've lost mine. I am nothing more than a ship sailing aimlessly in the dark with no lighthouse to bring me to harbor. A place that takes something so beautiful and kind and turns them into something that is unrecognizable isn't a place I want to live.

I plan on burying her close by, a single stone to mark her once amazing life is all I can offer her. Then I will take a rope and find a tree so that she and I can be together in whatever afterlife there is.I'm not sure if anyone else will think this is a good enough reason to die but I've lost everything and I don't want to go on.

I hope to see you soon sweet Margaret,

Sarge"

Daryl's POV

"Find anything?" I ask the girl when she finally emerges from the tent.

"Yeah. Couple of small things." Her voice is unsteady and it makes me look up. She is back to watching the walker with an unreadable expression on her face but the sun reflects a pool of unshed tears that have built up in her eyes.

"Let's head back."

My voice seems to break the trance the walker has over her and now her eyes are on me, "Aren't you going to…?"

"What?"

"Take care of it?" she nods upward.

"What for? He ain't hurtin no one. It'd just be a waste of an arrow. Besides, he made his choice let him hang."

I start to walk away but the girl moves closer to the walker. Stopping when she is almost directly below and her head has to lean back to look up at it. The only noise it can make around the rope tight around its neck is a sick gurgling sound which intensified when she moved closer. Its arms start reaching for her like it is desperate to hug her and bring her close.

Anything that was human is long gone. It's nothing more than a rabid animal now.

"I want my knife." She faces me and the tears have finally spilled over. "Please."

I don't question her. The determination in her voice tells me there is no point. Placing the hilt in her hand I'm no longer worried that she is going to do anything to hurt herself. Even if she decided on it down the road, it is her decision to make.

Mel's POV

I feel the weight of the knife and wrap my hand around it. Trying to block out what is above me is impossible. Even if I could, I don't want to block it out. This is the world now and I need to get used to it. The only thing being afraid of these things is going to get me is killed by one of them.

I don't recognize who the walker is but something about him is familiar and not just because of the letter I read. I know that it's a trick of the sunlight being filtered through the trees but my daddy's face keeps coming to my mind the longer I watch it.

Something inside of me is telling me not to leave him hanging in a tree just because of one mistake he made. The letter is now in my back pocket and I know If I was in his boat I might have done the same thing. Actually, I was in his boat and I had tried to do the same thing. I just happened to have Daryl stop me. So, it doesn't seem decent to keep punishing him. Daryl might be okay with it and that's fine but I can't look at them and not be reminded that they were people once. This guy that I now knew only as Sarge had a family. A wife that he cared about and he probably had hopes for their life once. Just like I did mine.

We, the living, just happen to be lucky enough not to be where they are yet.

I stopped walking at some point, lost in my own thoughts, and have gone back to watching Sarge. Shaking my head I make my way over to the base of the tree and squeeze the rough texture of the knife again. I know what I want to do I just have to make myself do it.

Pressing the blade against the already fraying rope at the tree I cut the remaining strands that are holding together. I watch as Sarge falls to the ground with a sickening crack. The useless bones in his legs snapping with the ease of a branch. My feet refuse to move in the direction I want them to. They refuse to move at all.

The walker, Sarge, isn't even stunned by the fall and is already pulling the remains of his broken body closer to me. His nails digging into the ground move him along the surface. The glazed eyes stay on me, never blinking and the entire time the mouth continuously gnaws so it doesn't miss an opportunity if flesh finds it way close.

You have to do this. Just raise the knife up and take care of him. It's the right thing to do. He doesn't want to live like this. You can do this. You've done this before. This time is no different.

My silent pep talk is doing little to motivate me but I continue to repeat it in my head. I've already cut the rope and set him free so I'm halfway there in completing my task. Now I just have to put him out of his misery and hope he can find Margaret.

Since my feet will not cooperate I'll just stand here until he comes to me.

Looking at my hand I have the need to visually check that the weapon is secure. It is and it suddenly feels heavier.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. I hold it until my lungs burn before finally releasing it on a sigh. The rustling has gotten louder and when I open my eyes the walker is no more than four feet in front of me. Whatever primal force is driving it to eat seems to make it move faster when I make no effort to run away.

My hand holding my daddy's knife is now level with my face. I will need the extra momentum if I am going to drive the blade into the skull with one try. A hand reaches out for my leg but I am still too far out of its reach. My eyes are drawn to the face again and what I see makes me gasp and causes my hand to drop a little.

I squeeze them shut to block out what I think I saw.

I know that my mind is just playing tricks on me. Daddy is dead and isn't coming back, not even as a walker. I made sure he wouldn't.

My eyes fly open when I feel something touch my shoe. Gone is the face of my father and in its place, is the walker I don't know. I take a step back before it can fully grab me. Now that my feet are listening to commands I seize the opportunity and move around to the side of the walker and I drop to my knee.

My next move is done without thinking. I bring the knife down until it is buried in the base of the neck. Like a switch has been flipped off, the head and arms of the walker stop and land on the ground with a muffled thud. Looking down at the corpse I don't know what to feel. I turn around so I no longer have to look or figure out what emotions I should be feeling right now.

My sleeves angrily wipe the wetness from my cheeks. I didn't even realize I was crying. There was no reason to be crying. I wanted to do this and no one would have cared or judged me for just walking away, leaving him to hang until the rope finally gave out on its own.

Except, I would have judged myself. I would have spent every night re-reading Sarge's note and I would have hated myself knowing that I left him all alone.

I completely forgot that I wasn't alone until I hear Daryl's movements behind me. In a last-ditch effort to erase all signs of my breakdown I keep my eyes to the ground. I refuse to meet Daryl's blue eyes that seem to see everything with just a quick glance. I'm ashamed by how often he has seen me cry and I do not want today to be another tally on the list.

What does crying do anyway? It rarely does anything to solve a problem. It can't bring my family back. It can't stop the onslaught of memories I want to forget in the light of day.

No. Crying does nothing but leave you with a puffy face and a headache.

I cough and force my voice to sound stronger than I am, "Let's go."

I like to think that in the time it took to walk back to camp I've managed to make myself look like a completely normal, completely sane girl. Maybe I do? I don't know. What I do know is that inside I am chaos. Conflicting emotions are battling inside of me and I want nothing more than to just turn them off.

What is a person called when they have no sense of emotions? A sociopath? A psychopath? I can't remember but now that I hear the names out loud in my mind I don't think I want to be either.

Emotionally conflicted sounds way better than psychopath. At least on paper anyway.

"What the hell does he want?"

I look up to see what Daryl is talking about. Dale is sitting on one of the stumps around our fire pit. He spots us coming out of the trees and stands up, removing his hat in the process. I have the funny thought that I like him better with the hat on. It gives him more of a goofy demeanor. Makes him look less old. More alive.

"Stay here."

He doesn't wait for me to respond he knows I'll listen. I can't afford not to.

They can have their secrets or whatever it is they want to keep from me. I have enough on my plate.

I risk getting a few feet closer so that I can sit down on a tree that has long fallen over. I'm going to take this little time that I have and think. Thinking is better than crying. More productive.

A piece of paper and a pen would be great right now. Writing things down always help me manage my thoughts when they get like this. Instead I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. When my mind is working overtime, I can almost see the thoughts bouncing around in my mind. White words against a black void. The deep breaths seem to slow the words and I can manage them.

It probably sounds crazy but the best way I can explain it is that it is like a touchscreen computer or tablet. I'm able to visualize the thoughts and sort them into columns only I can see. Making it easier for me to focus on them one at a time. Once they are in order I skim through the list I have made and decide to delve deeper into some of them later.

Two words stick out the most right now:

Sarge and Daddy.

I know why they are brighter than the other thoughts. The two only have one thing in common.

"She's staying the hell out of this."

I focus more on my intangible thoughts, trying to tune out whatever Daryl and Dale are talking about.

"-Daryl. Just hear me out. Mel has a right to know. She has a right to voice her opinion just like the rest of us. It's a man's life we are talking about."

With my name being said I open my eyes, causing my list to shatter, and look at the two men. Hearing them has gotten a lot easier since they aren't even trying to stay quiet now. Yelling at each other, I know they have forgotten I am even here.

"No."

"Just like that you make the decisions for her now? Does she know that?"

Dale sees me walking toward them but Daryl still has his back to me. Deep down there is a piece of bitterness that wants to come out. That they think it's okay to talk about me like I don't exist. It makes me feel like less of a person. Someone who has no free will and is so broken that others have the need to make decisions for me, afraid that I will break if I am forced to do anything.

The double-edged sword and the only thing keeping my anger in check is that Daryl is probably right to shelter me. I have always been a predictable person but my predictability went out the window the night everything was taken from me.

"It's not like that. This groups broken. Doesn't matter what she or I think. Shane will get his way, he'll make sure of it. There's no need to bring her in."

"Bring me into what?" With my question, Daryl finally notices I am here and I can see his bottom jaw go tight out of frustration. Blue eyes meet my green and I know he is silently trying to stop me from asking anything else.

There is no time for me to come to my own decision because Dale takes a step forward and my eyes follow him.

"I hate to ask you this but I feel like you should know. Your opinion can make all the difference tonight." My face must have showed disbelief because Dale gave a small smile before he continued, "It's true. What you say matters. It can save a kid's life."

"What is he talking about?" I ask Daryl but he just nods for Dale to tell me.

"Randall." Nope. I don't want to listen to this. I will be giving wide berth to whatever it is concerning that person. I shake my head and retreat toward the tent. "Mel, they are going to vote tonight on if they should kill him. I think -I know you are a good person and like me you don't want any more bloodshed."

I stop.

A string that has been pulled too tight for too long snaps inside me. It turns out that string was tethering an emotion I rarely used. Rage.

"A good person?" I shout and take a step toward the old man. "That monster down there is not a good person. Some people shouldn't get to live."

"You think he is one of them?"

"YES!" I spit the word. My hands are shaking as I voice my condemnation of a man, "He is a catalyst for everything that's happened. He is the reason everything turned to shit. He is not a good person! A good person doesn't stand by while bad things are happening. They sure as hell don't hold a gun to my daddy's head, laughing as he begged and pleaded for them to stop hurting his babies. Because of him I had to watch my daddy make the decision of trying to help us or save us from watching him die in front of our eyes."

I have to sit down. My legs are trembling from either exhaustion or from the release of emotions.

"Should a person who smiles when innocence is taken get to live a happy laugh while the ones he ruined are left with nothing?" I whisper.

I'm left with nothing. Nothing but memories that won't go away and a burden I don't want to think about.

I. Am. Nothing.

Suddenly all of the rage and sadness I just felt and what was the cause of my outburst disappeared.

"I have a headache." I mumble as I walk into the tent.

I know Dale left a while ago. Not sure if Daryl is out there or not, the man thrives off of making the least amount of noise possible. I should be taking advantage of the quiet but as soon as I sat down my brain shut off.

It's what I wanted but I also know how this works. My thoughts will remain dormant until something sets them off again. It could be something small and something that makes no sense to anyone not even me but it will happen.

Proactive.

That's what I am going to be and by doing so I'll try to slim down the issues I have going on.

Eyes closed. List in order. I go back to Sarge and Daddy since both are still fresh in my mind. The one thing the two have in common is the source of my inner turmoil.

Both took their own lives.

Sarge took his because he lost his wife. The love of his life and the only person he wanted to live for. I understand why he did it. I even feel sympathetic.

Yet, Daddy took his and I hate him for it. He still had Harmony and I. Two people that he should want to live for because they didn't know how to live without him. He chose to leave us behind without even writing a note or saying goodbye. If he didn't care enough to stay and help us pull through what happened, did he ever cared? Were all those "I love you's" throughout my entire life nothing more than lies?

Why would he choose to go? Weren't we good enough. Because of him and his selfishness I lost Harmony. After he put the gun to his head and pulled back the trigger she thought it was because of us.

"It's our fault. We're disgusting! That's why he did it." My sister shouted at me after I found our father in the tent. We had been out looking for wood for the fire when I heard the single gunshot. Somehow, I knew what it meant even before I saw. A stone landed in my stomach that day and hasn't left since. "Can't you feel it Mel? There's a layer of filth I can't get off."

I tried to argue with her. Tell her he didn't do it because of us but when she would ask why he did, I had no response.

The sad thing is that right after I lost Harmony, I started to believe it was our fault to. He had made his message loud and clear that day.

That message being, we weren't good enough for him, we weren't reason enough to keep living. His final unspoken words to his teen daughters were, "I don't love you anymore."

It made sense for Harmony to think it was because of what happened to us. Our rape (I hate that word) seemed to be the turning point for him.

I know dying is natural and no one can escape it but you're not supposed to go looking for death by standing in the middle of the street calling his name. He is gone and I am left with nothing but more questions than answers. I will never get those answers and if I keep trying to figure them out on my own I will only succeed in driving myself crazy.

"What daddy did and why he did it does not matter." I tell myself "What matters is being strong enough to stay alive when he couldn't." My hand hovers over my stomach and for the first time I acknowledge the life growing inside me. "I have someone counting on me and I won't make the same mistakes."