For some reason Glenn tries to grab me. I twist out of his reach without missing a step. He and Maggie scream at me – didn't they hear what I said? – but I barely hear them, Merle's all I can focus on, my uncle Merle, kneeling down with open arms, and I collide into him and hug his neck, tight, so he can't get away again. His shoulders are broad and he feels strong, like always, and he laughs. It's a long, breathy laugh, the kind I've heard so well in my mind for so long but never thought I'd hear ever again in real life.

"Oh, darlin' . . . Haha . . . Oh, lemme look atcha . . . good Lord, you've grown up!"

I touch his shoulders, his head, the stubble on his chin, waiting for him to dissolve away, praying he won't. And he doesn't. He's not a dream. Or part of a nightmare. He's here and he's real. "We thought you were dead –"

"Nah, gonna take more than a cut-off hand to do your ole uncle in!"

His hand. His hand –

But Merle's taken my chin before I can look at the limb, or whatever's left of it. His grin's gone. Glenn shouts for me to get back here! I pay him no mind and neither does my uncle. "Now girl, you tell me," he says solemnly. "Your daddy. Is he still alive?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's back at the –"

"Sydney, stop! Stop talking! Now!"

I whirl away from Merle, stare at Glenn. Glenn. He still has his gun up and aimed, and so does Maggie. My heart takes a bad sort of leap and I step forward, edging in front of my uncle. "What're you guys doin'? Glenn, you remember him!"

Because he does, I can see it in his face. But, with a queasy feeling, I'm suddenly thinking that that might not be such a good thing.

Merle's standing up. I can't help it, I check to make sure his gun's still on the ground. It is. Of course it is. "Yeah, Glenn, you 'member me . . ." And I don't like the way he says that. But then, "Hey. You take me to my brother, and I'll call it even on everything that happened up there in Atlanta. No hard feelings . . . huh?"

My eyes dart between my two friends, from Maggie to Glenn, but Glenn's in charge here, he's the one who knows Merle, so I go to just keeping my eyes on him, and I wait, I wait for the gun to drop, but no, no. And so I say "Glenn!" because I'm really getting scared now. I don't know all the details of what happened in Atlanta, but what if it's bad enough that Glenn thinks it's his best bet to take the shot? Glenn's gaze has moved a little, just a little, to his left. I hear Merle chuckle. "Oh, you like that?"

I turn, and Merle, he's holding up his right arm. That's the arm, then, that's the hand he lost. There's a shirt draped over it, but it's starting to fall off, and I can see a metal cylinder attached to . . . to where the hand used to be. From the cylinder sprouts a long blade. Stained. I swallow. "Yeah . . ." Merle says thoughtfully, studying the thing. "Well, I, uh, I found myself a medical supply warehouse. Fixed it up myself. Pretty cool, huh?"

I have to make myself not focus on the hand, on its replacement. It's not important. Merle's alive, that's more than I could ask for. More than I've dared hope for in months. Merle's alive. He found us. And my dad, my dad, he's going to be so happy . . . I'm so happy, and I cling to Merle's dirty shirt, because I can, because he's here, he's alive, alive, alive, alive.

Glenn's talking. "Look, we'll tell Daryl you're here, and he'll come out to meet you."

My head whips to him. "What?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on!" Merle says at the same time. "Just hold up . . ." He inches forward, and Glenn says that's far enough, stop, and I just keep twisting my head back and forth between them. What's Glenn doing? What's he thinking? This isn't some stranger! Merle's blood! "Hold up . . ." Merle has his hands in the air. I still have one of mine on his shirt. "The fact that we found each other is a miracle. C'mon now . . . You can trust me . . ."

"Sydney," Maggie says, "C'mere, get in the car."

If I'd wanted to move, I wouldn't have had the time. The metal thing that's Merle's new hand is now pressed against my chest, and the blade's pointed at the ground and twisted away from me, but I still don't like it being so close, but it's just Merle, I have to remind myself it's just Merle. "Now just trust me!" he says again, and there's a pleading note in his voice. I have never, ever heard Merle plead in all of my life.

Glenn tightens his hold on his pistol, though. "You trust us. You stay here. Now let her –"

The metal thing shoves into my chest and I'm on the ground.

I land on my back, and I roll over to my stomach as soon as I've realized what's happened, but there's already been a shout and a gunshot by then. And the sound of shattering glass. "Uncle Merle!" I scream, thinking Glenn or Maggie must've taken the shot. "Uncle Merle –" But then I'm on my feet and there he is, Merle, next to the station wagon – it's missing its back window – on the ground. Holding Maggie to him. Pressing a gun to the side of her head.

No.

Glenn's in front of them with his gun pointed at Merle.

"Hey, hey, hold up, buddy, hold up!" Merle says, but he's not pleading anymore. He's warning Glenn.

But he put his gun down! I saw it!

Maggie has her hands on Merle's metal arm, but what can she do? The barrel of the gun –

What the hell –

He must've had a second gun, but –

"Uncle Merle!" I scream as Glenn says something, yells something, Let go of her, I think, but my ears don't seem to be working right. Or maybe just my mind. Because wasn't Merle hugging me just a minute ago? Wasn't he my uncle, my poker partner, the one who snuck me ice cream when I was sick – ?

"Put that gun in the car right now . . ." Merle orders. Maggie's breathing weird, almost like she's crying, only the breaths are too dry, but it's almost worse than if there were tears, and her eyes are down on the gun that's against her cheek, and I shout again, because maybe Merle didn't hear me the first time, or maybe something's happened to his head and he's forgotten I'm here. "Uncle Merle, stop it! Stop it, let her go! Let her go!"

"Hush up, baby girl, the grownups're talkin'."

Hush up. Hush up, he says, as he's threatening to put a bullet into someone I love. He doesn't take his eyes from Glenn. "Now son, you put that gun in the car."

And Glenn does. He drops it through the back, where the glass used to be, before life got all flipped around.

"There ya go . . ." Merle nods. "Now we're gonna go for a little drive."

"We're not goin' back to our camp," says Glenn.

"No. We're goin' somewhere else."

My throat's closing up. "Uncle Merle –"

"Sorry, darlin', they just wouldn't let us do this the easy way . . ." Then his voice spikes up, right out of nowhere, and I have to clench my teeth, close my eyes. "Get in the car, Glenn!" he yells. Viciously. "You're drivin'! Move!"

This is one part of him I didn't remember so well. Chose not to. The shouting. His temper.

"Don't . . ." Glenn says weakly, hand out, palm showing. But there's Maggie, and there's the gun, and Glenn sighs a frightened okay because he has to, and he goes around to the other side of the car, the driver's side. And I'm left alone to watch as Merle makes Maggie get up. Half-yanks her to her feet.

"Sydney, you open that back door for me . . . Sydney Rose, I mean now!"

"Sydney!" Maggie gasps, and so my hands grapple with the door handle and I pull it open.

"Thatta girl, Princess. Now you climb on up in the front seat," Merle tells me. I mind. Just like the old days, me minding what Merle tells me. Because he's my uncle and I'm supposed to.

Good God.

I'm opening the front door as Merle drags Maggie into the back. Glenn's already in the driver's seat, turning on the car, and then we're all closed in here as the engine rumbles to life. My quiver isn't on my back anymore. I must have lost it when Merle pushed me back, when I rolled across the ground. One knife's at my waist, another is in my boot. And then there's my revolver, just waiting in my belt.

But I can't use any of them. I'm not willing to try. Because of Maggie, because of Merle. Because of me. I can't try anything.

Maybe this is a nightmare after all. Maybe it's all been a long nightmare . . . I'll wake up and Carol and Lori will be making breakfast. I'll sit by T-Dog as I eat it. Carl will be there, right next to me, where I can touch his arm any time I like, see him smile, make him laugh. And I won't go on a run with Glenn and Maggie because the prison will be a safe, comforting place to be, and they will not see Merle when they go. Merle will stay missing. I liked the missing Merle. I don't like the Merle of my nightmare.

Time to wake up, Sydney.

Time to wake up.

"Now, Glenn, you're gonna pull out right back there and take a left. Keep your hands where I can see 'em . . . Good man." My uncle laughs. "Ah, here we go, y'all, a nice little road trip . . ."

I'm not waking up.

I snake my arm across the front seat and take a handful of Glenn's sleeve as we start to move. "Glenn," I say as quietly as I can manage, but I know Merle can still hear me, and really, I guess I don't give a damn. My voice comes out cracked. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry . . ." Because somehow this is my fault. Somehow. Maggie is at gunpoint and somehow it's my fault.

Glenn looks at me, a long look with a lot of meaning behind it, and I can't even begin to figure out exactly what that meaning is. But fear has something to do with it. There's a lot of fear there.

A heavy sigh behind us. "Now, see, y'all've gone and made my little niece cry. Ain't nothin' I hate more'n that. Nothin'."