She can't feel her fingers but her wrists were burning something awful. The acrid taste of whatever cloth they shoved in her mouth had bile rising up her throat. The thought of suffocating on her own sick was the only thing that had her fighting against the urge to throw up.

Tala had woken up when she was bodily shoved against a pile of almost-bursting shopping bags in what looked to be the inside of a cube van. The hair-rising sound of metal against metal grated in her ears as the van's door closed. Blind hot panic had her frozen and when her cognitive functioning returned no earlier than a minute later, she realized that they had her arms and legs bound tight with some really thick industrial rope and movement was never really an option anyway.

The van shook as someone got into the driver's seat. The engine started loud and unapologetic, drowning out the sound of her heart hammering against her chest as the vehicle started to move.

(Three hours earlier)

"You look like you could use it."

Tala had about five (read: four and a quarter) bottles of water left and she was reluctant to give one away. But she was willing to share on the off-chance that a careful truce could maybe earn her the scary man's trust (maybe get a ride or at least a companion out of the city). He was sweating. A lot. Tala was sweating too, but Merle looked like was drowning on his own weight in sweat. The day was sweltering, and he was stuck in a roof for too long than a human being really should, but the bloodshot eyes, and the way he kept muttering "Darleena" and "Goddamn Pussy Officer" and something about kissing his lily-white ass. It was honestly all gibberish to her. Then he was laughing about getting sent to jail or something and that had her thinking maybe he was suffering from something a little worse than dehydration.

I don't think he slept at all. And he won't stop picking at that bloody (tasteless pun, it was unintentional) stump!

Carefully, she pushed an unopened bottle his way. She was sitting just about five feet to his right, cross-legged, a backpack full of stuff she looted –mostly granola bars, biscuits, and juice boxes— by her knees. For a minute she wanted to slap her slow brain for not thinking of getting cigarettes. Merle seemed like the type to smoke. He was rugged and sounded mean. Don't mean, rugged men all smoke? Maybe he'd be a bit nicer if he had some of those nicotine poison sticks in his system.

Tala slapped her inner judgmental bitch and buried her in the far corners of her brain. She really can't afford to piss off mean rugged men like Merle Dixon. Not before the apocalypse and certainly not after.

Also, Tala was pretty sure the man was going on withdrawal. Well, crap. She had absolutely zero experience on people on withdrawal. He seemed fine though. Except for the talking to himself bit. Now, she really wished she had one of the damn nicotine sticks. Maybe he could smoke a pack, let that tide him over. Maybe she can hang it over his head, make him do her bidding.

At least I can use him as dead cannibal bait if he ever goes gallivanting because some drug-induced hallucination.

Tala slapped her judgmental bitch-self again.

As compensation for the lack of nicotine, she opted to give him one of those flavoured sparkling water shit a college friend of her liked so much.

Her eyes caught the small strawberry on the label a split-second after her hands left the bottle. She didn't think Merle liked strawberry-flavored anything but it was too late to take the bottle back. Well, screw it. Water was water, wasn't it? People in the apocalypse can't afford to be picky. Not even tough ol' Merle Dixon.

Merle's amputated arm twitched in reflex before his other arm moved to get the bottle. His sharp eyes scrutinized her as she pretended not to notice the slip. Politely looked away as he tore the cap off with his teeth.

"You have any whiskey there, baby doll?" Merle asked before downing the water in one go. Tala didn't bother to tell him to take it slow. She didn't peg him as the type to listen to a stranger's advice. Plus she really, really, wanted to avoid pissing him off.

So instead she answered in the most unassuming tone she could muster, "I did not pass by the alcohol aisle, sorry."

Merle's bark of laughter made her jump. It was a raspy laugh, not really loud but certainly not less obnoxious. It sounded like it came from the back of his throat and refused to leave, choosing instead to jump back and forth on the walls of his windpipe. His dry lips were stretched across his face in a funny, almost grotesque manner as he threw his head back, the split lip once again bleeding.

"I don't get it." She snapped.

Merle gave a last amused snort as he wiped a dribble of water from his chin. "Temper, sugar tits."

Pig. Tala thought venomously. She wasn't the sort of person who appreciated being laughed at. But the part of her that was weary of Merle Dixon had her keeping the comment to herself.

"Alcohol aisle, tha's funny." Merle was still shaking his head in amusement. Tala still didn't get what was so funny but wisely chose to let him say his piece. He was scratching at his face, picking at the skin peeling from his forehead. The skin was red and inflamed and the whole thing just looked gross and painful. Tala had to consciously rein in the urge to cringe. "How old are ya, twelve? Didja go ta one'a those boarding schools fer prim liddol ladies? Catholic school girls with them long skirts and little silver crosses 'round yer neck?"

That struck a chord. Maybe because it hit a little too close to home. Plus, she never really appreciated it when people told her she was too young to do something. Even when she actually was. Tala was scowling and straightening her spine just to look a tad more menacing. Merle's cocked eyebrow spoke of the futility of her actions. Still, she pushed through. "I just turned twenty, if you must know."

"Twenty, huh?" The look Merle sent her way had the hair all over her body stand and in a split-second she lost all her faux bravado. She snapped her gaze back to her little backpack of supplies.

"I-uh. I just had my celeb- um, birthday. You know. Uh. Just celebrated my birthday." Goddamn mouth won't form words properly. Tala nearly slapped herself for real. "This trip to Atlanta was a-uh- a gift-you know. Came here with my friends. Booked a flight weeks in advance and everything." She rolled the quarter-filled water bottle between her palms as she smiled a small bitter smile. "Some trip it turned out to be, huh?"

"I hear a truck."

When a girl bares a little of her soul to a practical stranger she expects something a little more comforting in reply. Maybe a little awkward head patting would suffice. At least something a bit relevant.

When Merle did not seem keen on elaborating, she attempted again, "We didn't ride one, no, but I-"

"Shut it. I hear a truck."

It took her a long embarrassing minute to realize what he was saying.

Oh.

While her stupid egocentric self was still trying to catch up, Merle was already halfway across the room.

Her first guess was Merle's old buddies had come back and she was now being taken as some sort of collateral price for having to risk their asses going back in the city and not having found what they were looking for.

Serves her right trying to team up with a man who was obviously hooked on drugs. Even if Tala wanted to slap herself she couldn't very well do so with her arms secured tight on her back.

Despite the pain, Tala tried moving her hands, growling low in her throat when the thick rope rubbed against her raw skin. It did not help that whoever was driving the vehicle clearly did not earn the right to a legal license by the way he kept mindlessly driving over potholes and loose rocks and just generally being a Sucky-Ass Driver. From what she can see of him, prone as she is and getting bounced around like a hapless doll in the back of a moving van, he had a close-shaved head and brown skin, and there were sweat stains on the collar of his shirt. Ew. A bump revealed the head of a man sleeping on the passenger seat next to him. Another bump had his head going back to leaning against the window. But Tala had already stopped focusing on the men and instead focused on the rifle leaning against the sleeping man's shoulders. Another internal screaming session lasted for a few more uncomfortable turns.

Tala clenched her eyes, moaning in pain as the van bounced again and she landed badly on her left shoulder. Tears welled against her eyelids.

I know I haven't prayed in a while. But God, if you're listening, I really, really, really don't want to die yet.