We're goin' to war.

The catwalk's become my new happy place, I guess. Especially the catwalk at night, when I really shouldn't be out here. But the catwalk's a blind spot to most of the lookouts, so on-watch Beth doesn't know about me and my happy place. And so I pace and pace freely along it, letting my mind take me here and there, circling through bad things and trying to think of solutions to them and not doing very good.

We're goin' to war, said Rick, when they miraculously got back from meeting with the Governor – which probably happened mostly because Merle never left the prison and so never hijacked the situation. Don't know why he decided not to go. Don't care. Don't care about much of anything involving him.

He wants us dead. For what we did to Woodbury.

We're goin' to war.

I stop, clutch the fencing. It's different, thinking one thing and then hearing someone in charge say it. Admit it. Confirm it, whatever. Point is, it changes everything. It makes a distant threat real and here, it makes it a monster roaring in your face.

We're goin' to war. We're goin' to war. We're goin' to war.

And now I'm in a different night, in a different place, and I'm not alone.

If there's a war, someone's gonna die. Maybe a lot of people. Maybe a lot of our people.

I turn up my eyes now, back in this night, and I search the sky. There's the Big Dipper. And there's the North Star. Always find your way back home.

The fencing is digging into my hand. I squeeze harder. It hurts, it hurts, and it's so much better than listening to the voices going through my mind.

War.

Someone's gonna die.

War.

Maybe a lot of our people.

I go inside and go to bed and let the nightmares come, hoping that if I dream about the bad things they'll be swept from my mind and I won't worry anymore. So in my sleep the Governor comes and pits me and Carl against each other in a death match, and Carl gets shot in the head before anything can happen and I have to use his body as a shield when the Governor starts shooting at me. And then my mom and my dad and Merle are screaming at each other. And then Rick is dressed in a camouflage military uniform and holding a rifle and talking about going to war and he has a bandage over his eye. And then I've got a bottle and I'm about to feed Judith and I look in her crib and her brains are splattered across the pink sheets . . . and the bottle isn't for a baby anymore, it's a whiskey bottle . . .

I wake up sweating and go up to the catwalk and wait the hour until dawn. I watch the sunrise. Then I go inside and Carol's making eggs from the shitty powder and my dad's up and I go to him and lean my head on his, but just for a second, because he pulls back to look at me better. He shakes his head a little. "You sleep at all last night?"

"Yeah."

He grimaces but doesn't say anything else. And I eat my breakfast and never once look at Merle and then I go to my cell and just sit on the bed, holding my bow, then waxing it, then tightening its nuts and bolts, then just holding it again and staring at the wall. One by one, the others get up, move around. I hear Judith. I see Carl passing by but I don't say anything to him. Because my voice might shake. And I need to be strong for him right now. I need to be strong, period. Because we're going to war.

And right now the closest I can be to strong is staying in my room and not showing anyone how close I am to breaking.

Later, though, after breakfast time has passed, my dad comes in. We're doing something outside, setting up spikes on the road. Okay. I get up, I follow him, and me and Maggie and Carl end up luring walkers to the edge of the fence while Dad and Michonne and Glenn put down these curling spiked wires connected to blocks of wood. It's for the war. If Woodbury tries to drive straight up to us, they'll get flat tires. Maybe they won't kill as many of us then.

I don't mean to think like that, I don't. But some thoughts just come. They come and bite into me with icy teeth and don't let go.

After we're finished, I go and sit in my room some more, get back to not showing anyone how close I am to breaking. But Carl's here soon. I barely spoke to him outside. Now he's looking at me, all worried. He stays in the doorway, though. My eyes fall to his gun in its holster. He's very good with it. Better than me. He's also thirteen and about to be a soldier.

"You still upset 'cause of Merle?" he asks.

"Nah." That's a lie. "He ain't worth it." That's not.

"So . . . it's about what Dad said after he got back."

I don't reply.

My dad's there, then, behind Carl. "Hey, man. Give us a second?"

And Carl looks at me and I give him a nod and he nods back and goes. Dad watches him leave and then comes and sits by me, putting his new crossbow on my bed. He thinks I need sleep, but he doesn't look so great, either. "You talked to your uncle lately?"

Oh. So that's what this is going to be about. "No."

"Might wanna."

I trace my fingers over my bow, over the inlaid brand name on the side that doesn't mean anything anymore, like everything else left from the old world.

"Syd, he didn't mean nothin' by what he said."

Because someone told him, of course they did. At least it sounds like it was someone on my side. "Which part?" I say to my bow. "When he called me ungrateful? Called me bitchy? Called Mom bitchy?"

"He's been callin' her that your whole life. It matters to ya now?"

"She's dead now." I look him right in the eyes when I say that. I see the pain spike up in them. It doesn't stop me, though, because I feel the same damn thing and if I can keep talking he can keep listening. "It ain't a game no more, she can't call him an asshole back. Or a bastard. Or a son of a bitch –"

"Okay, I get it."

"And that wasn't even nothin', Dad," I say. "I could get over all that, what he said, if that was the only thing he's done. But it ain't. He kidnapped me. And Glenn and Maggie. He let the Governor get his hands on me, on all of us. He's never done nothin' but look out for himself this whole time. He let your dad –"

"Stop it." My dad stands up, rubs his jaw, walks to the other side of the cell. I stare at his back. "You don't know nothin' 'bout any of that."

"I know Merle wasn't there for you. I know he ain't –"

"What's this? I hear my name bein' taken in vain?" And I see his shadow first. Then he's there in my door, metal arm propped up on the frame. Smile on his lips.

Dad gestures at me. "She's just sayin' –"

"Oh, I got a pretty good idea what she's sayin'." Merle nods a little, I think to himself, and his smile thins out, becomes a line. "Well, c'mon, Little Bit. You got somethin' you wanna say 'bout me? Why don'tcha say it to my face, like a big girl?"

"Merle –" Dad starts, but it's too late, I'm already on my feet. Because I've had it.

I toss my bow on the bed. "You want me say it to your face?"

"Mm-hmm."

And out it comes. "You're a jackass!"

"Sydney!" Dad snaps.

"No, no, little brother, let her go. Let's get this all out in the open."

I step forward, my fists tight at my sides. "I cried for you!"

That wasn't what I meant to say.

"You're a liar. You're a thief. You're selfish and you always have been! I've always known it, all of it! And I loved ya anyway! I loved you!" My voice cracks, but I'm going to get through this, I am, I want him to hear it so I can hurt him the way he's hurt me. "When I saw you outside that store, I ran to you! You remember? I ran to you, because I'd thought you were dead and I'd missed you! And I hugged you, and then you pulled a gun on my friend!"

I'm sure everyone can hear me. Everyone. But Merle's the only one I care about. Even my dad, over in the corner with his head bowed, just doesn't matter as much as my uncle, not right now, not with this.

"You kidnapped me! You kidnapped us! And you let the Governor do whatever he wanted!"

"That ain't –"

"And then we brought you back here and you're still screwin' things up, just like always! But now I can't even love you anyway! I can't! You've gone too far!" I pant. Everything's blurry. "You've gone too far." I shut my eyes and three tears stream down my face. "And you may be staying at this prison, and I may have to work with you, but I don't gotta love you no more. I don't. I ain't gonna. I ain't got no more in me. Not for you."

Through the tears, I can see Merle looking down at me. Then I can see him stepping forward. "Listen here . . ." I can see his hand reaching out, feel it brushing my arm, the same arm he touched yesterday. The one with the scratches the Governor gave me.

I twist away. "Don't touch me!" And I run from him, right out of my cell, but then I stop and face him one last time, and my throat lets my voice be steady long enough for me to say one more thing, and I look right into his blue eyes – my blue eyes – to do it. "You shoulda died in Atlanta, Uncle Merle." And then I'm gone.

I go up to the catwalk and sit where I sat on the day of the meeting with the Governor. I wait for my dad to come find me and chew me out or whatever but he never does, and eventually I lie down and watch the clouds roll by, because there might not be many opportunities left to do that and I like clouds, they're peaceful. I bet nothing bad could ever happen to someone floating on a cloud. And here I stay, on this nice, warm catwalk, and I enjoy this calm time I have before the war comes and maybe kills me or at least crashes into my life and shatters it all up. I just told Merle off, after all. I should feel wonderful.

But really, it's the clouds and the clouds alone that make me feel okay. Or close to okay.

I hear people move around below me, I hear clangs and other prison sounds. Eventually, my dad even comes out, but not to the catwalk. He goes and stands out in the courtyard, scanning, keeping watch, whatever. I roll away from him.

Before long, though, I hear him talking. I hear Rick talking back. I look over there, and yes, they're both out here now. But then they're not. They're running, running to a door, to inside, up some stairs to a cage-like thing that's one of our lookouts and . . . to the boiler room.

Neither of their faces looks like anything good's going on. I mean, they look even worse than usual. Maybe that's why I go to the end of the catwalk and down the stairs to the courtyard. Or maybe I'm just bored. But I do it, and I chase after them, up the steps to the cage-like thing and through the door and into the boiler room.

"Yeah, he took her here," I hear Dad say. "Mixed it up." There are these big machines in the center of the room, though, and Dad and Rick are on the other side, so I can't see them. And they can't see me.

"Damn it," says Rick, and then they move into the next room, and I creep around the machines and wait just outside this door, listening.

"I'm goin' after 'em," says Rick.

"You can't track for shit."

"Then the both of us."

"No. Just me. I said I'd go and I'll go. Plus, if any of 'em come back here, you need to be ready . . . You're family, too." And then there's the sound of a door opening and closing and now there's just one man breathing.

Slowly I step out from behind the door. Rick's still watching the one my dad just left from. "Rick?"

He whips around, takes me in. "What're you doin' in here?"

"Who'd he just go after?"

Rick doesn't answer.

"Dad said he took her here. And now they're gone. So's my dad." My voice is surprisingly calm, for my heart being very much not. "Rick?"

He's looking at the floor. Then he's looking at me. Then he's coming over, taking my shoulder, leading me out. Then we're walking and talking, the leader and me. And he's telling me everything. How the Governor made him an offer – the prison's safety in exchange for Michonne. How Rick and Dad and Hershel and Merle knew about it. How Rick was planning on making the trade – but Hershel and my dad didn't like it – until this morning. Rick changed his mind this morning. He couldn't go through with it. And now Rick's telling me how Merle must've gone ahead and taken Michonne to the Governor.

"Why?" I ask. My voice is hoarse.

"Because he thought . . . knew . . .I'd change my mind."

I look into our field. We shouldn't be out in the open like this, but maybe Rick feels like today's a safe day since we're handing over Michonne. Whatever. Look at all the walkers. Look at all the dead people.

"And my dad's goin' after 'em now," I say. "To stop Merle?" I shake my head. "He won't be able to stop Merle if Merle wants to do somethin'."

"Don't underestimate your father."

"I ain't. I ain't underestimatin' my uncle, neither. I'm gonna go sit on the catwalk." And I turn and go and up the stairs it is and onto the catwalk and I hide behind my wood pallets and just sit and wait. Wait, wait, wait. For what? For my dad to come back with Merle and Michonne? For just my dad to come back? For no one at all to come back?

I used to not worry about my dad, not this much, when he went out alone. But then a lot of people died and now I do. Oh, God. They're going to the Governor. My dad's a great tracker. But what if he doesn't find Merle until he's met the Governor at wherever? What if Dad puts himself in the way of the Governor?

Fear wraps around my insides and pulls closed like a net, so I'm all tight and trapped, and I put my head in my hands.

And then it occurs to me that Merle is in just as much danger as my dad, maybe more, and why that makes the net tighter, I don't know, but it does.