Hello everybody!

Guess who's nearing their FF birthday? I AM!

Yes, May 2nd will mark a year of me being a Fanfic writer! And it is the birthday of Ciley. I'm super stoked that I've come this far in only a year and want to thank you all so much! I've met some wonderful people and I plan on doing so much more in the coming year, though this may be the closing year of Ciley. Who knows though? Well, I love you all and remember:

Enjoy :)

"Abraham, this is ridiculous!"

"What would you know, Eugene?" A vivacious Mexican woman snapped at the stout man. He looked at her like she was a baby pathetically trying to utter its first words.

"Much more than you ever will, Rosita." he smiled softly as he turned away. "So much more."

"Will you two shut your traps for a damn second?" The tall ginger, Abraham, hissed at his bickering companions. They silenced, the Georgia woods around them going completely silent once more. He took a small step forward, nearly afraid to disrupt the peace around them. Rosita looked at him curiously.

"Abraham-"

"Shh!" he snapped. "There it is again! Listen."

The trio fell quite once more, two of them straining to hear what their ex-military leader was hearing. After a moment, they all heard a faint rumble of an engine. Eugene backed away from them, his eyes wide with fear.

"We need to get back to the vehicle." He says. "Anyone could come across it and take it. We havent found any forest life out here anyway."

Abraham ignored him, moving farther into the trees "That doesn't sound like a car."

"Then what is it?" Rosita followed close behind, Engine fearfully following as well.

They found themselves on a road, one Abraham knew they had driven on before. Their vehicle was barely a mile down the way, where they had parked it after he had seen a deer dart into the woods a few hours ago. They had been running a bit low on food, and he wanted to try to snag something in case the next store they raided didn't have anything worth saving.

The rumble grew louder, turning into a loud buzz the closer it got. Abraham pushed them under the cover of the trees, not sure if what he was hearing was good or bad. Suddenly, a red and black blotch appeared about a half a mile down the road, approaching fast. The man was surprised to see a dirt bike whiz by them, its oblivious passenger a rather small blur of black and brown. It rode away as if the devil was at its heels, finally disappearing after the road crested over a hill.

"I wonder who that was," Eugene says. "They seemed quite distressed."

"Should we follow them?" Rosita asks.

Abraham frowned. " No. They obviously got a few problems. Best we stick away for the time being. Not like we're ever going to be seeing them again anyway."

Rosita nodded. "Guess so."

She turned, nodding at Eugene. "Lets get back. Hate to end up out here in the dark."

The ex-solider stared out after the long gone bike and its seemingly frightened rider.

"Guess so."

"Stay here."

"No!"

"Yes, its safe. I'm just checking up on them."

"I cant stay here alone like this, Carol. Please."

"No."

The wind howled in her ears, followed by a distant boom. She sped up, the trees blurring into a solid wall around her.

She stormed into the old shed in the backyard of the home her and Carol had set up camp in for the time being. It had only been a few minutes since carol left to check on the prison, a few hours since Rick had abandoned them.

Riley kicked one of the spare boxes sitting out and yelled out in rage. She had near begged Carol to tag along but the woman had none of it. And now she was gone, and Riley was here, alone, angry feeling helplessly lost.

She sees a sheet covering something jammed into the corner of the shed, grabbing her attention. She hoped it was either something useful, such as boxes of food or cases of water, or it was something completely useless she could take her anger out on it. She ripped the sheet away, her narrowed eyes widening at her prize.

A dirt bike.

Riley had thanked her lucky stars that the thing worked after nearly two years into the end of the world. It had looked relativity new, probably bought weeks before walkers ate its owners.

There had been no helmet, but there was a nice stash of fuel and that's all that really mattered to her. Within minutes she had her hair up, pack ready and was riding off to the prison.

She had only wanted to check on her old home at first. But a mile or so from her destination, she heard a loud boom. She had sped up to a dangerous speed, only increasing it as two more booms went off. Gunfire soon sounded, and the prison was in her sights now. Her eyes widened at the sight of her home.

Smoke was everywhere, people screaming, running and shooting at each other as a tank rolled into yard, taking the fences down like they were nothing. The closer she got, the stronger the smell of blood and gunpowder got. She sped right over the fallen gates, too fast for any bullets fired her way.

Riley made it into the courtyard, dismounting the bike and pulling her gun. A walker noticed her through the mess and lunged, its head blowing off the second it did. More walkers noticed her, growling and reaching for her with fresh blood dripping down their jaws.

"Shit," she hissed as a bullet flew by her. She shot at the walkers getting too close for comfort as she tried to see through the smoke and chaos around her.

All she sees are people screaming and dying, taken down by bullets and walkers alike.

She cursed as she dove deeper into the hell.

Carl was on autopilot, shooting at anyone that was unfamiliar or undead.

He ran through the courtyard, people shoving him as they ran for their lives. He tried to desperately find his father, but he hadn't seen him since that first bullet fired in the field, when The Governor had killed Hershel.

Hershel.

A sob made its way up his throat, put he forced it down.

Hershel had been a great man, the best. He had deserved something better than that. So much better. But now was not the time for grief or vengeance. It was for survival. Later, he could face those emotions. But now was a time to fight. To live.

For Hershel.

His shots are sharper, clearer. Automatic. Aim for the head, fire. Do it again and again and again . . .

A figure appears through the smoke, one hes known all his life.

"Dad!" he calls.

"Carl? Carl!"

"Dad!"

His father looks horrible. His face is a horrible fleshy mess of purple and black, blood oozing from the various wounds on his body, the worse being the shot on his leg.

But he was alive, and that's all that mattered.

His father grinned at him, the sight both grotesque and relieving. As Carl made his way towards him, a large walker appeared behind his father, the man unaware of its presence. Carl's eyes widened, pulling out his gun and aiming to only hear a heart dropping click.

A scream made its way up his throat, the only thing he could use as the walker grabbed his father, Carl still too far to save him.

"NO!" he screamed as the walkers teeth was only an inch from his fathers throat, the man too weak and surprised to fight back.

Suddenly a shot went off, one closer than the ones being fired at the gate. The walkers forehead burst open as the bullet tore through it, sending it's dead brain matter flying. Carl's father nearly stumbled as the walker went down, but managed to push it away.

He turned, him and Carl both focusing on the shooter.

Carl gasped.

Riley stood there, gun still smoking as she glared at his father. Her usually platinum eyes were a thunderstorm, flashing dangerously with rage and bitterness. Her gun was still raised, but it was no longer focused on a walker. No, that threat was removed.

She was aiming right at his father's head.

For a moment, Carl really believed she would shoot him. In a way, it was a sick form on justice. He had taken her from her home, her people. No vote, no say, nothing. Just gone.

Her teeth were barred, eyes narrowed dangerously, hair tips dripping with blood.

And in that moment, he didn't see Riley. He didn't see the girl who had teased him for weeks as he simply blushed. He didn't see the girl who managed to get Daryl to look at her in a way that Carl's own father looked at him. He didn't see the girl who kissed him after making a complete fool of himself. He didn't see the girl that came crying into his cell after seeing Zach die and realizing her anger was misled.

He saw a survivor that lost everything and had no more fucks to give on who lived by this point. He saw a person who saw pain and latched onto it because that was easier than loving someone so they could die in the end. He saw someone scary, mean and bitter.

It wasn't Riley. And that's what terrified him.

Suddenly, as if pulling from a trance, she lowered the gun. She blinked, looking at them both in a way Carl couldn't describe. Carl let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Riley's eyes darted to his before focusing back on his still father.

"Run," She whispers before turning around and disappearing into the smoke.

Carl made a move to follow, not entirely sure what just happened, when his father gripped his shoulder. He looked up at his battered face as his father shook his head.

"She's right," he wheezed. "We have to run. This isn't our home anymore."

The gunfire was quickly dying, going down with the attackers. The evacuation bus was gone, telling Carl that there were survivors. He distantly hears a bike, a dirt bike he was sure, and sure enough sees someone tear away from the prison.

With a huge amount of effort on both of their parts, Carl supported his father away from the prison, the man saying only one thing the entire time.

"Don't look back, Carl."

And he didn't.

Remember to Review/Follow/Favorite if you want.

My muse has returned (Thank God), so don't give up on me. :)

Abby 'Zombie Slayin' Dixon, over and out