Woke up to the dead knocking at my door. Their hungry grunts and groans filled with that sickly gurgling filled my delighted and refreshed ears. Too bad I'd have to thank their wake-up call with a knife in the brain, but that was just the way of things.

Rubbing my face, I sifted through my bag and quietly ate one bar, separating bites with sips of water. I had about 19 left. I'd have to find a place where I could sneak in and out with a sizable portion of rations for myself soon. But that wasn't today. Today was moving day. I hopped down from the work counter and dusted my hands.

"All right, let's see what we've got."

I could see through a small crack in the door. Shuffler was looking straight at me. Couldn't be more than a few out there. I pulled the nails out with a flathead and used it to jab the first one through the eye and into its brain. My axe did all the rest of the work, slashing my way through the little group that accumulated over night. When they were all done, I sheathed it again and readjusted the bag on my shoulder.

The road didn't seem to end. Almost felt like singing to pass the day, but I knew the shufflers would come running if I did. My blank mind soon found itself drifting. Could he have survived? It was anyone's guess. I'd tried to help him best I could. I really did. But that one-eyed maniac just wouldn't quit. And those kids of his, those poor kids.

My footfalls drew on more slowly until they stopped completely. I should have looked back. I should have stabbed that son of a bitch in the head, grabbed him, found his kids and then bolted. But I didn't, did I? Numero uno, that was the game. But right then in the middle of that road I was beginning to wonder if that was the right angle to have in all of this. That's why I didn't notice the shuffler until it practically groaned in my ear.

I cried as I stabbed it. I didn't know this one, but unless someone shot him or by some goddamn miracle he lived through that beat down, he was like this now. And one of these days he'd be the one sneaking up behind me, going in for the kill. I wasn't looking forward to that, in fact I didn't want that. I wanted just the opposite.

There it was. Out in the open air. I screamed and punched my tomahawk through the dead shuffler's skull again and again. The blood came up and hit me cool and rotting in the face but I couldn't stop. I didn't care. I wanted it on me thinking it would act like holy water. It felt good, it felt right, even. But when I finally stopped, I didn't feel any better. My elbows found themselves on my knees, and my face ended up in my hands.

"What have I done?"

My breath came in heavy pants, and I felt the heat of the droplets on my jeans. I stayed there like that for a good long while. Blood on my face and clothes kept the shufflers away, of which there were few. I might as well have been one of them. I was practically suffocating.

"So what is it that you did before?" he asked, pinching a branch of a tomato plant and tearing it off, tossing it into a pile.

"You'll never guess."

"Mmm… Doctor?"

"Yes, actually. But not the kind you're thinking of."

"Veterinarian?"

"Like Hershel? Doctor was a closer guess."

"All right…" he smiled.

"Lawyer?"

"Nope. English professor."

He looked at me quizzically.

"Really?"

"My students used to call me Doctor Callaghan. I know, what a let down, right?"

"Not exactly, but I couldn't have guessed that."

"What, from my exceptional nursing skills?"

Our breaths let us laugh a little, but not much. The shufflers at the fence were looking particularly hungry, and while I felt better to laugh in the face of death I didn't want to tempt it either.

"No, my husband was the real doctor."

He wasn't looking at the plants anymore. I had to.

"Always gave me shit for it. He had this joke he'd tell his students. He'd say 'my wife's a doctor too, but she doesn't dissect people, she dissects poems'. That's really all that job was at the end of the day, now that I think about it."

We continued on in silence. I had nothing more to say. He knew how this story ended, just like I knew who the crosses in the yard were for. Better not dig up those graves for his sake and mine.

"I wanted to ask if you'd join the council."

I stopped picking.

"I already talked with the rest of them and they all agreed."

"Why?"

"I think you'd be good for it. I already talked with the rest of them and they agreed. We find people alone out there like you were, it'd be good for them to know that someone who's been through what they have has some say in what goes on in here."

"How very political of you."

I scoffed and kept picking.

"It's true. And people here respect you, especially after what you did for Hershel."

"It was just a makeshift prosthetic, Rick. And a botchy makeshift at that."

"You got him on his feet and off his crutches for good, and that gives him a much better chance than he had before. Even if it was made from a manikin leg, a plastic bowl, a couple of belts and an old towel."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"I'm serious, Tess."

I didn't believe that. No more than a second later, I felt warm earth seep into the skin of my shoulder, a light pressure there. I searched his face for a sign. One shred of a charade. A hint of a doubt. One ounce of mistrust. And I found none.

"Your opinion matters here.Youmatter."

I sighed and the corners of my lips upturned.

"Do I get life insurance and a dental plan?"

He returned a smile.

"In a sense."

I nodded.

"Then I'd be glad to."

I hit my head with the handle of my knife and the moment passed.

"Come on, Tess." The words slipped from my lips in futility. "Come on, there's no time for this shit."

My heart drenched itself in those words, and my breath slowed.

I looked up and not a single shuffler to be seen. The high noonday sun glinted on the muck in the road. I got back on my feet and staggered on, noting a few vague imprints in the mud heading the same way.