Chapter 12

We sit silently down the road from the farmhouse, hidden out of view. The house stands tall like the world has remained the same around it. The large, white and grey house looks bright and welcoming, as the hot, sun reflects off it. My heart is racing. We have finally made it. We have finally got here. And yet, we don't rush ahead. We don't make any noise. We don't alert anyone to our presence. We simply sit and watch.

It has been almost 12 months since Daryl took me off to find his brother. We made our way back to camp after the discovery on the roof, neither of us talking to the other. Daryl's nose had been pretty messed up, and I had felt a twinge of guilt, but I was also proud of my newfound courage. It was safe to say that me and Daryl still don't like one another much. We keep our distance from one another, only speaking when passing out food or taking requests for supply runs. It is a silent acceptance between us, and I welcome the quiet, drama-free life. Sure, we have lost people along the way, but I have felt a strange, new feeling of strength come over me. A feeling that I have carried along with me ever since. I am still that scared little girl underneath it all, but I am also capable of throwing a punch, and I can now hold my own better than I ever could before.

I remember the look on Andrea's face when I first told her what I thought of her. This was days after she went back to being an impossible bitch. I had empathised at first; she lost her sister brutally and I wanted to help support her. But she quickly turned on me. I don't think she realised that I could bite back, but bite back I did. It got so intense between us, that we were almost fighting before Daryl grabbed me and Rick grabbed Andrea; both pulling us away from one another.

'Get off!'

Andrea had pulled herself away from Ricks arms, facing me whilst I was still held by Daryl. I was conscious of how close he was to me physically and I could feel the heat from his body on mine. But I never took my eyes off her. Andrea scowled at me, her hatred of me very apparent on her face.

'I have never liked you. You lead guys on, screaming rape when the feeling takes you. And you strut around with the air of someone who thinks she is above everyone else. You think people like you around here? They think you are a joke.'

The words penetrated my skin and I tried to keep my face neutral, not letting on that what she had said had got to me.

'Fuck you Andrea… You are the one that nobody likes… They pity you, because they all liked Amy. She was a nice person, and she made you seem almost bearable when she was alive. Stay the fuck away from me, if you hate so much!'

Andrea squirmed past Rick, managing to get closer to me. Her fists were clenched, and I braced myself for her to throw the first punch.

'At least I had family! Who do you have? I have heard you talking to Glenn about your Dad and your sister. Do you really think that they are still out there? Do you really think that they have managed to stay alive? You are fucking demented!'

Andrea had well and truly touched a nerve; my anger had peaked, and I wanted to scratch her eyes out. Daryl's grip tightened around my waist, possibly reading my facial expression. I looked at him, shook my head and breathed out, showing him that I wanted to walk away from the situation. Grunting his acceptance, Daryl released me, and I started walking away from her, trying to control my emotions, hoping she stayed away from me.

'That's it whore, walk away…!'

I remember I asked myself quickly and without delay, what would my sister do? And knowing the answer, I turned around quickly, took two paces towards her and punched her with force in the face. Her head reeled, and she went off balance, almost collapsing to the floor. My hand had tingled, and I instinctively rubbed it against my thigh, just as Daryl started pushing me backwards, away from the possible retaliation. But Andrea simply scowled further at me, holding her lip which was now bleeding, before walking off and away from us. I like to think that my actions had helped to confirm that I would and could fight if I needed to.

Over time, we have moved around as a group. Looking for supplies, other survivors and for somewhere we could feel safe for a while. Tensions between Shane and Rick were still palpable, with Lori and Carl in the middle of it all. It was obvious from those on the outside of the relationship that this group wouldn't survive with both wanting to be the leader. But nobody voiced these opinions, especially as Shane made a lot of us nervous. Throughout the last year, I have found it difficult to conversate with him, and I have deliberately avoided him. When he is around, I feel uncomfortable. I still get the feeling that he doesn't like me very much.

I have started to feel at home with this group; I have made friends and I feel like I am safer with them all than without. Especially when I am around Glenn. He is my one and only true friend in the group, and he is always there to offer a shoulder. We laugh so much when we are together, and I miss him when he goes out on supply runs. We like the same things and talk about the television shows we used to watch, and the music we used to listen to. Without Glenn, I would be adrift and lost amongst these people. Without Glenn, I doubt I would have survived up to this point. I will never forget that it was he who found me. And I will never forget that he unwittingly saved me, not only from the walkers, but from myself.

We are still all sitting out of view from the farmhouse. We are looking for signs of life. We are looking for glowing, healthy skin, alive eyes and a walker-free zone. My eyes roam over the house, taking in the upstairs window where I used to sit as a young girl. I look at the porch and picture my father reading his bible, as us children played outside. I look over towards the shed, where we used to hold a few chickens and a cow. I pull up memories of my mother collecting fresh eggs and milk each day. Games of hide and seek flash into my mind, and I smile as I remember the conversations I had with my sister about boys and make-up. I want to run inside the house so badly, I want to find them out; each and every one of my family. I want to hug them and squeeze them to me. I want to feel safe in my fathers' arms, and I want to see the look of relief wash over my mother's face.

But I am afraid. I am afraid of finding them gone. I am afraid of seeing a walker in place of my brother. I am afraid of having to fight off my walker sister, knowing that I must deliver a fatal blow. But more than anything, I am afraid that my father will remember his last words to me. I am afraid that even after the devastation the world has witnessed, my father will still be disappointed with me. He will still hate me, and he will not want me back home.

Four years it has been since I was last home. Four years. It feels like it should be longer. I remember leaving here, anger and sadness trapped deep inside me. My sister had run after me. She tried to talk me out of leaving, telling me that I should talk it out with Dad more, but I knew that there was no point. My Dad has always been stubborn with his opinions, and I knew that I couldn't change what he thought.

For most of my academic life, I had followed the path that he wanted me to go down. I had been in medical school for over 18 months as a Junior Doctor, but my heart was never in it and so, despite knowing that my father would hate me for it, I dropped out. The conversation I had with him when I told him went exactly how I expected it to. He wanted me to beg the university to take me back. He wanted me to shake some sense into myself and go back! But I couldn't. Me being a doctor had been his dream, not mine. So, I had told him that I wanted to be a singer. I look back at this stupid ambition and my cheeks blaze crimson with shame. A singer! I laugh now, but at the time I was eager to do anything that was out of my comfort zone. The room had gone silent and I realise now how stupid this decision was, but I wanted to do something that I had made the decision about. We had a big row, My Dad and Me, he told me I was selfish. He told me that I was a disappointment and he told me that if I didn't do as he said, then I would no longer be welcome in his home.

The words cut deep, and I shouted at him, telling him that he was suffocating. I returned his comments back at him, telling him that he was a disappointment as a Father, and reminded him that he was more concerned with how things looked to the people in his congregation.

I was shocked, I was angry, I was hurt, but I did what he told me to. I packed my bag, despite my mother yelling for him to change his mind. My sisters were crying, my brother was sat in silence. My father never even looked at me as I left the house, he turned his back on me, the daughter who had brought him shame and embarrassment.

And here I stand, outside his home. The home that used to be mine. And I want to approach and ask to be let in, but I am afraid of what his answer will be. I shake my head, knowing that the people in this group are relying on me to step forward, they are hoping that I can convince my Father to let us stay. We all need a safer place to camp, and here with my family is one of the safest places I have ever been. I just hope that if my Father is in there, that he welcomes me back.