We Come Running
Chapter Two ~ Helplessness
Annika's POV

Another sleepless night,
how could you ever let go?

Sleeping on the splintering wooden floor of a barn wasn't how I expected to spend the rest of my life. Being the mother figure in my baby sister's life while my mother shut herself in whatever closed space she could find wasn't exactly what I pictured when people told me I was growing up fast. I'm too young for this; I'm too young to die.

I don't talk to my mother much anymore. Not that she gave me the time of day, but I could have put up more of an effort. It was too late for that; I put up my last efforts for the first three years. We were on year five and I was about done trying to repair our broken family.

I stroked Wren's hair with my calloused fingers delicately. She had fallen asleep several hours ago with her head rested on my lap. It hurt me to see how skinny she'd gotten due to our lack of food.

I didn't flinch at the feeling of a light, bony hand on my shoulder. "Nikki, did you sleep?" My mother asked, making another attempt to talk to me. I'd started counting on my fingers how many days I could go without speaking to her. I was at six so far. It was hard not to correct her when she called me Nikki. My name is Annika. Nikki was merely my previous name; my alias for innocence. Now all it stood for was my younger days, back in high school when the height of my problems was turning in an unfinished book report next period. "You have to talk to me at some point, hun," She stroked my hair with her long, thin fingers.

If it weren't for my younger sister resting comfortably on my lap, I would've gotten up and left. Escaped into the woods for the day, doing nothing in particular. Maybe collecting acorns and throwing them at squirrels and birds. There wasn't much we could do anymore. With my mother's growing sickness we couldn't leave the barn in which we'd been nested in for almost half a year. She started calling it home.

And home was dangerous.

No matter how much I tried to tell her, she didn't listen to me. "There is no home," I'd say. Sometimes she gave me a dirty look; other times she did nothing at all. Once she scratched at me with her long, sharp nails, leaving temporary white marks down my arm.

She had fallen under a false illusion that things had always been this way. Sometimes she'd tell us stories about when she was a kid living under these conditions. She'd tell us about her brother was killed by the biters, when really, she was the one that killed him when this all started.

I scratched at Wren's head to wake her up. Her normally clear green eyes were tired and groggy and she exhaled a long yawn out of her small mouth. "C'mon, let's go for a walk," I whispered to her, inserting my hands under her underarms and lifting her up to sit on my hip. She immediately rested her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes again.

We had almost made it to the door when I felt a sharp blade against the front of my neck.

"Give me my daughter," She hissed into my ear from behind, lightly sliding the blade across the thin skin of my neck. It stung, and small beads of blood began dripping down and staining my light blue shirt more than it already was. I could feel her hollow, sunken in cheek against mine. Her moods changed faster than the light of day.

I forced myself to remain calm while easing my four year old sister off of my hip and setting her gently on the ground. My breathing grew heavier and faster along with my heartbeat.

"Good," She whispered again, slowly relieving the sharp knife from my neck and taking Wren into her arms. "Now get out."

This wasn't up for debate. This was my great escape that I'd been waiting for all these years, trapped, having to constantly tend to her decaying mind.

From far away she almost looked like a biter, with her lack of body weight and sunken in facial features. Her hair had started falling out from stress and old age but it still reached well below her waist. I realized this as I looked back at my mother over my shoulder from where I was standing on the edge of the forest.

I stopped looking at her when I heard wails and choked sobs coming from Wren. Then I was forced to turn around and only walk away, deeper into the woods. It broke my heart to see her struggling as much as she was. But there was nothing left for me to do; no way to help her without putting myself in danger as well. Call me conceited, but I'd gone cold. It's the only way.

The only sound other than my heavy breathing was the sound of leaves crunching beneath my feet. I walked for what felt like ages, but according to my watch it had only been thirty minutes. My feet were beginning to ache, but I saw nowhere close that looked safe enough to rest. None of the trees had branches low enough to climb; not that I was ever any good at tree climbing anyway.

Finally, I decided on a hollow fallen tree to temporarily abide at until I decided it was safe to return back to the barn. Before removing my shoes I slid out a fully loaded handgun, a Berretta M9, from where I kept it securely tucked in my left boot. I had to keep it hidden from my mom; otherwise she would flip and turn the gun on me.

It wouldn't be the first time.

I slipped off my dirty leather boots and set them inside the hollow log. It was surprisingly strong, considering it was decayed and probably being eaten from the inside out by termites.

Things were quiet at first. Nothing made any sounds, other than the occasional chirping bird or scurrying animal. My watch read 12:13. That meant I had been wandering around the woods aimlessly for almost an hour now. Should I start heading back? No, if I did I'd be in even more trouble than I was at the start. I'd have to wait for her to come back for me, whenever that might be.

As the noon sun began flying higher and higher into the sky like a fiery bird, the warmer it became. I had to use my hand as a shield from the bright sun to avoid being blinded. The trees of the forest didn't help much, considering I was in a large clearing where trees surrounded me but did not hang above. Perhaps it would have helped to move, perhaps not. No matter what the outcome might have been, I chose to stay in the somewhat safe haven of my clearing.

The sound of heavy footsteps followed by lighter, more cautious ones coming from the opposite direction I came from alarmed me. Still barefoot, I gripped tighter onto my gun and flattened myself against the nearest tree which was about 10 yards away.

The footsteps gradually grew closer, but I saw no signs of another being nor did I hear any voices. My chest still rose and fell with every step they took, and my heart skipped a beat whenever I thought I felt something touch my arm.

I secured my index finger on the trigger and held my arms parallel to my sides. There was no way for me to tell if my new guests were armed or not, and even if they weren't, they still could pose as a threat—as if the whole situation the world was enduring wasn't threatening enough.

If I was more heavily armed or maybe had backup to protect me, I might have shouted 'Who's there?' or 'Stop right there!' but I didn't. Instead, I stood behind a tree like a coward. It felt like a silly game of hide and seek.

The footsteps finally came to a sudden halt. It was close to me, but I wasn't going to risk looking around the tree to see just how close. Still, the eerie silence remained.

They remained completely stock-still for what seemed like ages. No movement, no conversation, no nothing. I was beginning to suspect they had spotted me. Maybe they were aiming their weapons at me; maybe they were quietly assessing my physical state before jumping me. Maybe I'd already been shot and I was paralyzed, rapidly losing my memory like water slowly dripping out of a bottle.

Just go, just go! I thought to myself, attempting to hold myself back from shouting it out loud. What were they even doing, anyway? There was nothing interesting around to look at.

Twigs pinched and poked at my bare feet, but I didn't dare even raise a toe. They could be listening. Maybe that's what they were doing; maybe they heard something—possibly my heavy breathing—and were listening in just to see if I would make another move.

Revealing myself would make me seem weak. It could lead them to believe that I was vulnerable. Although I possessed both such qualities, the enemy knowing that wouldn't exactly help in a fight. Then again, if they discovered that I was hiding they might think that I was hiding because I wasn't up for a fight. That I wasn't prepared, or I didn't want to fight. And that also shows signs of weakness. My one and only way out was just to pray that they wouldn't find me at all.

A single footstep sounded towards me and before I knew it I was in my shooting position; both hands wrapped around the barrel of the gun, my right index finger squeezing threateningly at the trigger. I was never properly taught to shoot; I just kind of figured it out when I first found the gun on a recent supply run. I wasn't anywhere near expert skills. My aim was on borderline good and my reaction speed was merely average.

What I saw were two men, one lofty and burly while the other was thinner and showed to be submissive. The smaller one, who oddly reminded me of a ferret, immediately lifted his hands up in defeat. A gun holster was visible beneath his shirt hooked onto his belt loop but he made no effort to reach for it. On the other hand, the bigger one just glared at me as if I was barely a threat. I spied a crossbow slung down his back as well as a pouch of arrows.

No words from anyone.

The bigger one took another small yet intimidating step toward me. He had brownish hair that hung a few inches below his ears. His eye color was indistinct through his squinted eyes. On his face he bore a stubble and unconnected mustache, a bit lighter than his hair. He somewhat reminded me of someone you'd see working at a car repair shop, or maybe a biker in one of the gangs that liked to hang around diners while they mused on and on about their Harleys and drank beer.

"Drop the weapon," He instructed. His low, burly voice—which, not much to my surprise carried a bit of a southern accent—left me no room for argument. He spoke out of only one side of his mouth as if I wasn't even worth the struggle of committing full effort to my defeat. My filthy hands remained gripped tightly onto my only weapon. "I said, drop it," He repeated, his voice bearing the same lack of interest in me as his previous statement.

"Why?" I challenged, clearly aware of the possible outcome but still unwilling to let go.

Another trifling step toward me. "Because I said so,"

"Daryl," The smaller one stepped forward, laying a hand on Daryl's strong chest. "I'll take care of it."

Daryl shook his head. "You got anyone near? A camp? Settlement?"

"Please, Daryl," The smaller one pleaded, offering a sympathetic look my way. "We can't force it."

Force what? What were they trying to force onto me, death? Sexual harassment? Kidnapping? Torture?

"No, I'm alone," I breathed, my heart still pounding out of my chest. If I couldn't save myself, I might as well make an attempt to save Wren and my mom, even if she did kick me out. Even if Wren was probably already dead, victim to my mother's growing insanity and Alzheimer's.

"I don't believe you," Daryl growled, turning around and trudging in the direction of the barn. Once he was out of sight, I took another step toward the smaller one.

"Who are you? What do you want from me? Don't try anything; I'm not afraid to shoot." Although I must admit, I was very afraid to shoot. I'd killed a good amount of people, maybe somewhere around twenty, but I still wasn't keen on the idea.

He seemed nervous. A bit fidgety, too. "Hello, umm… I'm Aaron," I could tell, he was trying to act as calm as possible. He wanted me to feel comfortable. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. "The other man you just met is Daryl,"

I nodded, though I didn't lower my gun. I wasn't going to trust anyone that easily.

"We come from a town called Alexandria. It's about ten miles from here," He kept a close eye on me even as he lowered his backpack down from his shoulder and onto the ground where he unzipped it and reached one hand inside. "We'd like to know if you have any interest in joining our growing safe-haven community. I have pictures, if you'd like to see."

"Where's Daryl going?" I didn't want to give away the fact that my mother and sister were in the barn he was headed for, but I had to make sure that wasn't where he was going, though it probably was.

Aaron looked up at me, surprised by the sudden change in conversation. "He's making sure there's nobody around that might hurt us,"

I took a lengthy step forward so I was hovering over him, gun pointing right at his head. "I have people out there," I snapped. "People that I care about. I just want you to know that if you hurt them, I'll kill you. I am not afraid to shoot."

His eyes widened, taken aback by my sudden burst of anger. I was just as stunned as he was. "Daryl would never hurt anyone who wasn't a threat. Neither will I. As long as they don't hurt us, you're good."

I gave him an uneasy glance. He was being nice to me. Being nice wasn't how you lived out here. You had to be cold; cold was how you had to live if you wanted to make it. Nice makes you soft. Soft makes you weak. Weak gets you killed. "So, pictures," I lowered the gun to my side, and to my shame, I was eager to see this town of his. My index finger still remained safely on the trigger—you never know, nowadays.

"Oh… Right," He jerked his attention back to his backpack nervously, drawing out a large yellow envelope. "We have strong walls, houses, electricity, running water…"

I grew suspicious. There was no way they could be that advanced. And if they were, that means that there's been civil settlements so close and I've been living in a barn eating worms like a nomad? No way. It couldn't be true.

He offered me the envelope and I grabbed it a bit skittishly, taking a step back and raising my handgun back up to aim at his head.

"Please, lower your weapon." Aaron pleaded, removing his own gun from where it sat securely in its holster and laying it on the log. I did the same, very cautiously, suddenly remembering that I was barefoot. That must have been what they were looking at when they stood so quietly without speaking. They knew I was there the whole time, those snoops.

I'd have time to put my shoes back on later but now wasn't the time. If I was sitting on the ground, unprotected and unarmed putting shoes on, I'd be vulnerable. It'd be the perfect opportunity for him to attack me if he wanted to. Aaron smiled thankfully at me with a nod for putting my gun down. He seemed to perk up; he felt more comfortable now. So did I, in a sense.

"How'd you take the pictures?" I was still suspicious. They could have found these anywhere, maybe in an old attic or something. He couldn't prove that these were really his pictures.

"Oh, umm… With an old camera. We found it in the attic of one of our houses. It's not the best quality, I apologize, but it's all we have," He was stuttering like he was nervous. Nervous that I'd reveal their fraud of a town, maybe. I doubted there was even any town at all.

The pictures were mostly black and white and the only ones with color were faded. Some of them had holes or scratches on them. "They look old," I noted, running my long finger across the aged photograph.

"Yeah, uh, they get like that sitting in my backpack for a while. We established Alexandria almost three years ago,"

I tucked the photos back into the envelope and tossed it back to him. "No." With that, I snatched my gun and shoes from the log and began walking toward the barn which was only about five minutes away. The reason it took me so long to get here was because I frequently stopped to sit, maybe catch and lizard and eat the tail. I'd gotten used to the rotten taste after a few years of it.

"Please! Just… Give it a chance, at least. Come look around!" He chased after me without grabbing his weapon back. I hated myself for it, but I was actually starting to trust him.

"No," I repeated, not even turning around to look at him. He still didn't let up.

"Please, just listen to me… I'm sorry, but I don't believe I caught your name."

"Annika."

"Okay, Annika. Please, just listen to me,"

I stopped and turned around. Blood had started to trickle down my neck again from the light knife wound. I brought the collar of my shirt to it and wiped it off. "You can't convince me. I don't trust you."

"I understand that," He didn't even look back at his gun, only stared intently at mine as I sat on the ground and began pulling my boots back on. "But we believe in power in numbers. You can join our community. I won't force you, I just want you to come back and look around. If you decide you don't want to stay, you don't have to. But if you do want to stay, that's great too."

The pictures seemed good enough. There was even one picture of what I assumed was the entire community gathered in front of a large fountain. But I couldn't let them know that I was vulnerable. It would make it too easy for them. I wanted him to beg me; I wanted to go. But I wasn't that weak. "I can't leave my people here. I have to take care of them."

"You can take them with you!" Aaron enthused with a warm smile. I was really starting to like him. I trusted him now. If I went with him, I'd be putting all of my faith into someone who I just met in the middle of the woods. That was why I was so reluctant to follow.

"How did you find me?" I questioned. He and Daryl seemed to be so sure of where I was. They acted like they already knew me.

Aaron's eyes dropped to the ground in embarrassment. "We've been following you. Watching you, listening. You and your mom and your sister. Wren, her name is?"

That was the last straw. Sudden bursts of anger exploded inside of me. I lunged at him with all of my force, wrapping my fingers around his neck. His blue eyes went wild as I pinned him onto the ground, forcing his arms down with my knees, still gripping his neck with one hand and holding my gun to his head in the other. "You're sick!" I spat with my face only but maybe five inches from his.

"We had to do it to ensure you weren't a threat," He choked, trying his best to remain calm seeing as trying to fight back would only make me angrier. He could have knocked my off or hit me, even with his small size he was bigger and stronger than me, but he didn't. He knew I was weak but he didn't take advantage of that.

Daryl, on the other hand, did. I felt two strong hands wrap around my abdomen and before I knew it I was on the ground lying on my back. Daryl stood above me with his crossbow aimed right at my face. The impact brought blood oozing out of my nose. I guess he'd come back from his search for threats.

"No!" A shrill scream pierced through the woods, causing Daryl to throw his head back to identify the source. My mother came into view behind Daryl, caressing her hands over his shoulder. "Don't shoot her!"

Daryl's eyes squeezed back into little slits. "You know her?" I wasn't sure if he was addressing me or my mom. Either way I decided to let her respond.

"Yes! She's my daughter!" She cried out. Aaron scrambled to his feet, racing back to the clearing to retrieve his weapon. I supposed I'd betrayed his trust by now. Oh well, he deserved it.

"You told me you were alone." Daryl growled at me, letting his arm bearing the crossbow drop down to his sides. He wasn't pinning me down anymore, so I took the chance to stand up and wipe off my dark jeans from the dirt that now caked them.

"I am." With one final glare at my mom, I began to walk in the other direction toward the barn.

Nobody followed me, but as I walked away I heard Daryl yell, "We're comin' back!"

I just shook my head and continued walking toward the barn. I didn't see Wren back at the clearing and I'd begun to worry. My mother's newfound capabilities were well beyond my knowledge.

With my boots finally returned back to my feet and my gun slipped firmly inside, I reached my destination. It was silent, no sounds coming from the barn. No cries, no screams, no shouts from Wren. My heart sank. There were three possible likelihoods: either she had run away, escaped deep into the woods, my mother abandoned her somewhere on their trek to my clearing, or the final one. The one that I dreaded the most but yet knew it was the only reality.

It was true. It was all too real. The knife on the hay stack, the trail of blood leading from one room to the next.

I felt like my life was over. As if I'd been struck in the heart with a dagger. A knot tied in my stomach and my ears started to ring. My knees felt weak and I allowed them to buckle in front of where my sister lay, not necessarily in the mood for restraint.

I lifted Wren's lifeless body into my arms, stroking her long chocolate brown hair the way I used to do when she took naps. Her small, silky pink gown was ripped and stained in her blood.

"No," I whispered, blinking back at the burning tears as best I could. "I'm so sorry, Wren," It was all my fault. I'd seen it coming; I knew it was going to happen eventually. I'd even thought about it as I walked through the woods. Yet I made no force of action. Her emerald green eyes were dull and empty. I slid down her eyelids with my finger to hide the reality that she was gone.

"You're gone, she's gone," I choked, unable to hold back the sobs. It was too late now. I had nothing to lose. "I'm helpless. I'm helpless. I'm gone, too."

A.N. A bit of a longer chapter than I'm used to but I like it! Please review!