After my meal and a little bit of time to gather my thoughts, I slipped out of the tent and moved away from the crowd that was huddled around a fire. The sun was setting now and it would be dark soon. I felt uneasy not having my brass knuckles on me.
This camp was on top of a huge hill and had a birds-eye view of Atlanta below. Smoke, destruction and tragedy were all I could see. I used to see a beautiful city with business people in it, living their normal lives and wondering what was for dinner that night. A repetitive life that was not ready for the apocalyptic world it had become.
Rick was appearing in my mind more and more, making my skin itch with anxiety. I remember he was at work a few weeks ago, chasing a criminal with his partner Shane, when the delinquent shot Rick through the stomach. I was at school in New York when my mother called me hysterical. I've never driven home to Georgia so quickly in my life. When I arrived my mother was just flying in to the airport from Rhode Island. The doctor said he was in critical condition and slipped into a coma. I spent days at the hospital, sleeping in the chair with my mother in his room, feeling as though I myself were in a dream.
A lot of time had passed and I decided to go home to eat and do laundry. I insisted my mother went home to Rhode Island that I would keep her updated on all of Rick's progress. He was getting better but was still in his coma. I stayed positive, visiting him everyday and writing in the journal he gave me for my 20th birthday. A year later I had almost filled it up, writing so small so I didn't have to shelf my favorite gift from my older brother.
Then the world went to shit. People were looting the stores for resources, and I was fighting my way on foot to the Atlanta hospital from Douglasville, which took me almost 9 hours. I found an abandoned store with guns and knives, choosing the brass knuckles as my weapon of choice: suttle but powerful. I just remember thinking to myself I needed to get Rick out of the hospital and get him to a safer place.
My thoughts were interrupted by the slow footsteps appearing behind me. I turned and saw Daryl with my overalls, black t-shirt and boots. He had my brass knuckles in his pocket.
"Thank you," I managed to mumble, not really sure if I was thankful for his actions. I wanted to survive but I was miles from Rick now, not sure how I felt about this man.
He nodded anyway and pulled the weapon from his pocket and slowly handed it to me.
"Why did you bring me here?" I blurted out, snatching my property from him before he changed his mind. I felt anger flutter in my gut, anxiety crawling through my skin. "I didn't want this."
He looked down at his feet and positioned his stance, kicking dirt while doing it. "I knew you wouldn't come with me and you looked like you needed help. No one can survive by themselves out here."
"I can survive without your help, but I can't without my family. How am I supposed to know if Rick is alive? I had a plan, and you ruined it."
He tensed and looked angry now. "You know, most people thank those that help them in a situation like yer'self. He is dead, little girl. We all lost someone this week. You wouldn't be here alive if it weren't fer me."
My mouth gaped open and my eyes widened. His words struck me like a knife, truth slowing seeping into my veins. I didn't want to cry again, mostly because I didn't think I had the energy to do so. Instead I walked past him, wanting to go back in the tent to be by myself when I saw the group of people around the fire watching me. I didn't realize how loud I was being, my stubborn attitude taking over my good conscious. I scanned the crowd and noticed a set of familiar eyes.
"Shane?"
"Holy shit, Leah." Shane jumped from his seat and picked me up, hugging me and rocking me back and forth to hush me from my sobbing. I couldn't make out the words I had, finally being with someone I knew and could trust.
The plethora of questions I had at that moment was too overwhelming, but I managed to spit out one. "Shane, what the hell is happening to us?"
He was stroking my hair and carried me into an RV that didn't look like it could even run anymore. We sat on a small couch together, his arm around my shoulders as I continued to cry.
After a long time, I wiped my tears and looked at Shane. "Rick is…he's…"
"I know, Leah. But we're here. We're alive. Let's just talk for a minute, okay?"
Shane explained to me that he also went to the hospital, and must have been there hours before I was. When he realized there was no helping Rick he put a stretcher in front of the door and ran out, meeting this group while running down the streets of Atlanta. He collected resources and decided to come back to their camp with them.
I told him I had just gotten home from visiting Rick when everything happened. He was amazed I managed to walk the distance to the hospital from my house and still be alive. He noticed a bruise on my forehead and asked where I got it.
"That man, Daryl. He hit me over the head so I couldn't argue him to come here."
Shane looked intense for a second but then raised his eyebrows and sighed. "Can't say I necessarily blame him."
Shuffling and loud talking was coming from outside of the RV now. Shane stood up and peeked out of the curtains. His eyes became wide and he picked up an axe from underneath the couch, stopping to look at me before opening the small door to the RV.
"Have you fought these things before?"
I knew now wasn't the time to consider how well I fought my last biter. "Yes."
Shane smiled and reached for my hand. "Well, let's get to it Ms. Grimes."