Journey to You
Chapter Three
Don't Look Back
"And I can tell that you didn't have
to face your mother losing her lover
Without saying goodbye
Without saying goodbye
'Cause she didn't have time."
-We Might Be Dead by Tomorrow by Soko
Calla felt frustrated by the lack of movement. They had been stuck in traffic for hours. The city growing no closer, near, but not close enough for them to enter. What had first started as a slow crawl forward had been completely shut down, and Calla worried they were going to start to turn people away.
Why else were they no longer moving forward?
Her head filled with the worst-case scenarios as she leaned further into her seat and glanced up at the rearview mirror where she could easily see her son sleeping peacefully in the back seat. The last twelve hours had been the worst the kid had ever experienced in his life, he had grown quieter since the zoo and worry filled every crevice of her body, drowning her in it, as she experienced the same unknown. It was her job to keep the worst of it from him, but this situation felt impossible not to have some of it leak toward him. She needed more information.
"I'm going to take a walk," Calla broke the silence. "See if anyone has any news, or knows what's going on, about us no longer moving, or the picture as a whole."
Brianna glanced at her daughter, not wanting her to go, but understanding that if she succeeded, they would be better off, rather than stuck here on the side of the road with nowhere to go. She wanted nothing more than to cling tightly to the last alive pieces of her heart, but Bri knew better, and wouldn't let her loss cost them something important.
"I'll keep watch over Mav," her mother nodded. "Just be careful, and don't be gone long. You never know when something might happen."
"Of course, I'll be back soon." She reached over to pat her mother's hand, in a similar way she had done for her just a day ago, before sliding free from the car.
As Brianna watched her daughter walk off, she accepted that it was for the best that Calla took charge and did things like this for them. Brianna didn't get around like she used to, she wasn't as young, and if something did go wrong Calla would have a much better chance of getting back to them before it happened.
Calla eyed those around her, wishing more than anything to catch sight of someone that looked as if they held authority, but she was surrounded by civilians, like her, who knew nothing, and were scared. A dangerous predicament, having hundreds of jumpy people, with no knowledge of what's going on, stuck with nowhere to go. Calla felt the nerves prick at her, but she tried to keep them down, at the back of her mind, so that she could focus on her task. Even just the smallest of hints would be more than what she had before. She would accept it, but continuing without anything would only get them hurt.
Luck seemed to be on her side when she noticed a small group talking to a man who seemed to belong to the army. He wasn't in full gear, but it was enough to recognize that he held some kind of authority. She excused herself through the crowd of people that had begun to escape their cars, piling around anxiously, as they talked amongst themselves.
"Excuse me," Calla called out, as she finally reached the group of people she had spotted. Most were civilians, but there were two other men with the first, on the edge of the crowd, allowing the first to do all of the talking. "Can you possibly tell me what's going on?"
The man eyed her, nodding her toward the others, as he continued to talk.
"I've already told you that they've shut down anyone from entering," the man said. "We were on our way inside, just like the rest of you, I just know what they announced over the radio before it went silent. I can't be any more help to all of you."
"Can't you go around and check?" asked a man, standing next to a woman with a boy who looked a year older than her son. The kid held on tight to a dreadlock from his mother's hair as he glanced curiously around.
"We've been shut out just as much as everyone else."
"I'm not liking this," said one of the other army men. "Maybe we should head back, regroup, and figure out what our new orders are."
The first man seemed to hesitate.
"We'll stay here, with the civilians, until we're given new orders." He straightened his back. Accepting his own plan as he turned to the other two. "We'll keep the calm here. Make sure no fights break out. Everyone is high-strung. It's our job to keep the peace."
"Yes, sir."
Calla took a step forward, not wishing for him to leave yet, not until she had asked her own questions.
"Do you know what's happening?" she asked, causing him to stop. "What's going on to cause all of this?"
"Some new virus, ma'am," he said. "Nasty piece of work. You do not want to contact it."
She took another step forward.
"It seems to cause people to go crazy."
"So, you've seen it then."
"Yes."
"You're lucky you got away. Don't approach the sick, ma'am. All it takes is one bite and you're a goner."
So, it was the bite.
"If your near one, will you contact it?"
"Doesn't seem like it. I wouldn't worry about being near one except for the fact that they will attack you. Take care, and caution, around anyone who's come in contact with the virus."
"Is there another safe place for people to go?"
"There are no others in the area set up by the government. Atlanta was the only one."
"If they've stopped accepting people, where do we go?"
"Look, I don't have the answers for you-."
His words were cut off as helicopters flew overhead. His eyes narrowed as he eyed them before realization fluttered over his expression before he was turning toward the people in front of him, instinct kicking in.
"Get down!"
He flung himself forward, pushing Calla to the ground as he leaned over her, shielding her from the sudden deafening explosion that ripped through the air. She could feel the heat ignite the air around them, the screams that came from the crowd, as everyone surged forward, running away from the bombs. Calla cowered, her heart beating painfully against her chest, as she felt the vibrations rip through the ground, and the way the crowd around them rushed away.
The man pushed himself off her as the explosions grew further away, moving deeper into Atlanta, as the men stared wide-eyed, and assessed the situation.
"I'd say we've been left on our own," said one of the others who had helped shield the other woman and her child.
"Wheels up in five," said the one who had protected her. "We're moving out. This place has been compromised, it's no longer safe."
"What about the civilian's sir?"
"Grab whom you can. We can't save everyone." He turned back to Calla. "You got a vehicle?"
"Yes." She nodded quickly.
"Run back to it. Watch for us, follow us, or not. It's your decision."
Calla glanced over his shoulder, watching as the city burned, knowing there was no way they could go there now, and no way for her to tell Daryl that they were changing the plan, again. She felt the brief idea of tears building in her eyes, but forced them back down, knowing she had to take this chance. She'd find a way to find Daryl after. Even if it meant she was leaving signs all over the place. She'd form a plan. Calla had too.
"Okay. We'll follow you."
He nodded, turning to grab the attention of a few others who had hesitated, looking shocked, and full of grief. There was no helping those who had fled immediately.
Silently Calla sent a prayer up to the skies, hoping that whoever was listening would answer it, as she asked for a miracle in finding Daryl.
That small moment was all that she allowed herself as she flung around, taking off at a sprint back to her car, where she explained to her mother what was going on, trying to calm the frantic woman, as she watched for the hummer that would be driving by.
· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·
It had taken a couple of days, but Calla, her mother, and Maverick had settled into the refugee camp the soldiers had set up. It had been a deserted FEMA set up on the edge of Atlanta, far enough away that the soldiers felt comfortable they wouldn't run into many of the sick, but close enough that if reinforces showed up they would be found.
Maverick had become inconsolable as he cried for his father, finding his new life scary, and frightening, and even though he had his mother, and grandmother, he wanted the man in his life that was heartbreakingly missing. Calla had tried to explain but getting nowhere with the two-year-old, and feeling like her own sadness over the loss of Daryl not being there tug at her harshly. She had to do something. They would be safe here, but Calla had to start contributing and figuring out a way to get out there to find signs of Daryl and leave signs of her existence.
That's how she ended up signing up for runs, along with the mother from the highway, whose name she learned was Michonne. They had become fast friends, bonding over motherhood, and the fact that they would both do whatever they had to, to keep their kids alive, safe, and fed, even if that meant going out into the dangers of their new world.
Calla found that she liked Michonne's boyfriend, Mike, enough, but didn't like how he was more than willing to step back and rely on Michonne to go out and get them things, rather than volunteering sometimes as well so that Michonne didn't have to do it all alone. Calla knew that if Daryl were here, they would both be going out there, never at the same time, they wouldn't do that to Maverick, but they would share that responsibility. Calla would never simply be sidelined, told to stay at camp, and let him deal with it, oh, she knew Daryl would prefer that, but he also knew she wouldn't want to feel useless, or weak. He wouldn't want her to be that way. He would just worry about her safety the entire time, but they both would understand the importance of being able to handle themselves in this new life.
She missed him.
Going out there, on those runs, helped keep her occupied, to forget for a few moments of gut-wrenching fear, that she was all alone.
Back at the refugee camp, that's all she could think about. It terrorized her waking, and sleeping moments, refusing to allow her any sense of peace, or calm. Let alone sleep.
As her bond with Michonne grew, Calla noticed the way her mother's will seemed to diminish, growing weaker, as her own loss of a husband tore away at her. There was nothing Calla could do besides be there for her, but it was a growing worry that Calla feared her mother wouldn't have the strength to go on if they ever had to leave the camp for good. She functioned to keep watch over Maverick, there was no way she would ever allow that boy to get hurt, or not be cared for, but as soon as Calla found her way back, and Maverick was in the safety of someone else's care, she'd fall into herself, and sleep.
One of them was getting too much sleep, and the other, none at all.
Calla worried about the future, only growing slightly more comfortable when Michonne found a katana, a silent weapon, much more effective than their guns, which gave her an idea. On one of the runs a teenager, who was allowed to go out, had found a couple of bats, finding them effective against the sick, and she ended up grabbing one. It felt heavy in her hands, but the weight was nice, and she could easily swing it without much effort.
The first few runs she found it did the job nicely when one came a little too close for her liking, and no longer having only the gun to rely on, she found herself easing into confronting the sick.
After a week of using it, Calla ended up modding it, finding the added nails far more effective than just leaving it bare.
Michonne had commented on the likeness to the horror character Pinhead, and Calla had begun to affectionately nickname it as so. Both women found far more amusement in it than they should have, but they were coping in the only ways they could.
Though both women volunteered for runs almost every day they didn't always go out together, though it would have been preferred, Calla kept mostly to the outskirts of Atlanta, while Michonne took the trips inside its walls. Calla had made it a habit to carry permanent markers on her wherever she went, and regardless of what space she found, she had stopped feeling guilty about leaving behind her graffiti in the form of notes. She marked them on a map, keeping track of where each one was, and desperately searched for signs that Daryl would have left her.
She knew he would leave something.
Calla also knew he would come looking for her, needing to know if she had been in Atlanta when it was bombed, assuming she was alive until he was forced to think otherwise. That's how the two of them worked. He wouldn't give up, so neither would she.
Michonne had thought it romantic.
When they joined one another on runs it had become a pass time for Michonne to ask Calla for a story about their relationship to pass the time. Others had even started to listen in, a way to pass the time, and dampened the fear that surrounded them for a few moments.
It didn't bother Calla any, she found it kept Daryl close to her, feeling as if he was near, so she continued sharing their past, turning it into a story that the others had affectionally begun to call their Soaps.
That's why when Michonne asked for a memory, on one of Calla's rare journeys into the city, she only hesitated long enough to find one that she didn't mind sharing. There were many that the group didn't get to hear, that she kept locked in her heart, for only her reminiscing to pass the time, but with it just being Michonne and her today, Calla didn't mind divulging one of the more personal ones.
It had been heavily on her mind lately.
The memory that had been interrupted at the zoo.
Calla had tried to call back on that anger from earlier but found the sparks dying out, feeling herself become drained, as the emotional week crashed down around her. Her goal wasn't to fight with him tonight. It was to understand him, this relationship, and where it was going. She had thought she would be fine with what they had, to just keep going as they had been, but Calla wanted more. Once she had acknowledged the love for him it demanded to be known, to see if it was reciprocated, to finally know if he wanted more from her, just as she wanted more from him.
That ignited some of the courage as she stepped forward, not bothering to knock, as she never had before, and stepped into the room unannounced.
Daryl's back was to her, rolled onto his side, as he seemingly stared at the wall, or his phone, though she had rarely known him to spend much time on the device outside of talking to her.
"Fuck off, Merle," he grumbled, the blanket being tossed higher over his shoulder, as he huffed. "Don' want to hear it."
"Not Merle," she said, her voice flat, as she continued to stare at him. She watched as his shoulder tensed, his back stiffening, as he continued to face away from her as if that would be enough to cause her to leave. She crossed her arms over her chest as a huff fell from her lips. "I'm not going anywhere until you give me answers, Daryl Dixon."
He didn't move from the cocoon of blankets, but she could see signs of distress from him, knowing him well, just as she knew he was not a man who dealt with confrontations of emotions well. Calla even haggard a guess that it wasn't something that was ever taught to him, to properly feel things, as his worry usually made itself shown in the forms of anger, and signs of affection sent his way was met with embarrassment, and uncertainty.
It gave way to the kind of life he had been raised in, but Calla had accepted that he may never react the way she wanted to things, but it didn't matter to her. Daryl was enough for her, and that included the ways that he didn't handle things well, or how he had run the first-moment love had come into the equation.
Hell, she had already forgiven him for it. Calla just needed to know how he felt and if they'd ever have more, or if things needed to be cut off here, before she threw herself any deeper, and wasn't able to climb back out.
Not that she thought she ever could.
Calla had fallen hard.
"You can't just ignore me forever." Her words cut through the air, showing her vulnerability more than she had liked, as her voice wavered before she could regain control back over it. "I said that I love you, typically you'd say it back, or you'd let me down easily unless I'm supposed to take your running away as an answer. Are we even still together, or should I never have even shown up, cause honestly, you're ignoring me has started to make me believe that maybe I should have taken the hint, and allowed you to fade from my life."
Just speaking the words shot daggers through her heart, but she had to let it out, for it to be known so that he could tell her what it was that he wanted from her, and it would be understood perfectly clearly.
That caused him to move. The blanket was flung from his body as he slid from the bed. She took in the way that he had been home long enough from work to have taken a shower, his sweats hanging low on his hips, and one of those infuriating sleeveless shirts adorning his chest. It caused her to lose focus, her body reacting instinctively to his presence, and only forcefully being removed from her own heated thoughts by his sudden presence invading her space.
She straightened her back, glancing up at him, as she narrowed her eyes, not wishing to lose this battle, as she wouldn't be leaving until he answered her.
"So, which is it?"
"I gotta love yah back or yah leavin' me? Is that it?"
"No." She blinked. She wanted him to love her, but she knew that her heart tended to move at a faster pace than most others and didn't expect him to love her back just because she loved him. "I just want to know if you can, someday, love me too."
"What if I can'?"
She bit her lip. Would she just move on? If, knowing, that he could never love her back, would that be enough to make her want to leave? She was uncertain of the answer but didn't think she would have it in her to do that. Not if he could accept that she did, and he'd be her's, regardless.
"It… would… hurt." It would. "But if you were still mine if you could accept that I did love you, and we could still be together, I think that could be enough."
Daryl's eyes were intense as they watched her confess, yet again, how much she cared for him. He listened as she stood there, demanding to understand why he had left, when any other woman would have dropped him, annoyed, and hurt by him merely leaving without a word, but being ignored for a week after, would have crippled any weaker-willed woman's resolve to go after the man.
I don' deserve yah."
He shook his head, glancing away, as he began to gnaw on the tip of his thumb, a tic he only ever used when he felt uncomfortable, or uncertain about something.
Calla felt confused as she watched him. She didn't know what he was getting at, unsure if his line of questioning was any hint of what he was feeling, or if it had just been said because he had reacted on gut instinct. Calla knew, hell Daryl knew, that it wasn't what he was actually feeling that typically slipped out. At least not the full picture.
"I don't understand." She felt so lost. "I feel frustrated, and hurt, I just want answers, Daryl. Can you please tell me how you feel? What do you mean you don't deserve me? Can you love me? What's going on inside that head of yours?"
Her hand reached out, forcing her to move to her tippy toes, as she reached up to gently brush her fingers against his forehead, trailing a path down to his cheek, before resting on his jaw. His hand came up, hesitantly, to press against her own, before he gently tugged it away from his skin.
"Yer too good, yah deserve more than anything I can give yah." A frustrated groan forced itself from his lips as he held onto her hand, the act borderline desperate, a way to anchor her to him, as his words tried pushing her away. "A life with me won' lead to something lavish, or grand, and the name Dixon only paints a target on yah back. People don' expect much but the wors' from us. Don' want that for yah."
Calla almost wanted to laugh in relief at what she was hearing. For the first time that week Calla wasn't thinking how he had possibly grown bored with her or scared him off with her intensity. No, she was starting to understand what had happened.
"Daryl Dixon," she said sternly, the affection leaking through, as she tugged at his hand. "When have you ever known me to care about what other people think? I could care less what anyone thought about me being with you as long as they knew I was yours. You're a good man. I don't need a lavish lifestyle, full of materialistic objects, all I need is you. All I expect from you is what you can give me. I know you. You'd make sure I had what matters." She took a step toward him, her free hand raising, as she wrapped it around his neck, dragging him down, as her lips claimed his own. "I just want to be yours, Dixon, we'll figure out the rest as we go, but I know I won't regret choosing you."
She recaptured his lips, feeling as he reacted, beginning to take back control, just as she knew he would, before she pulled away, just mere meters from him. She opened her mouth, to ask again, to seek her answers before they lost themselves in each other's touch, her mind already beginning to float away, as her will to stay on task was slowly being bought out by her desire to engulf herself entirely in him.
Only Daryl beat her to it, shutting her up effectively, as he began to speak.
"I love yah," he whispered out as if it were a treasured secret, which was for her ears only. "I shouldn', and if I were stronger, I'd let yah walk away, and find a man who could give yah the world, but I'm selfish, and yer willing." He nipped at her bottom lip, causing the haze in her mind to build, as she tried to chase after him, but he stayed just out of reach. "Stupid woman. Yah should seek someone better, but yer mine, and I ain't lettin' go."
Calla ignored the stupid comment, chasing after the high that the words 'I love you' pretzeled her mind into.
"I'd fight you if you tried." She pushed forward, forcing him back several steps, toward the bed. "I'm not letting you go, Daryl. You're stuck with me now." He hit the edge of the mattress, sitting down, as he continued to watch her every movement. Shifting forward Calla moved to straddle his lap, her lips hovering over his, taking in the lust-filled gaze, noticing something deeper in the depths of his eyes, and allowing it to drive her own flames higher, as it warmed her heart. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair as she gazed back at him with the same intensity and emotion. "You'd miss me if I were gone."
His fingers dug into her hips, keeping her there, as their lips met in the middle, hungry, and full of desire. Nothing would be slow tonight. She wasn't looking for slow, and romantic, wanting the fire, and passion that hid inside his gaze.
"Yah, ain't goin' nowhere."
And she hadn't, spending the night in his bed, neither moving until the early morning hours, where they were greeted with a 'Fuckin', thank God there ain't gonna be no more moppin,' from Merle the next day as he stumbled through the door, looking knackered, and high giving them a warning of never doing this shit again before carrying himself to his bedroom.
It was a fond memory which had caused Michonne to chuckle, as she shook her head.
"There is no way the two of you won't find each other again," she said quietly, as they eased their way down streets, and through alleyways. Each of their backpacks was lighter than they would have liked and only had a few more hours before they were to be back at camp. "I'm calling it now. It would be too damn tragic to rid the world of a love like that. I want to meet this man of yours because no one can be that perfect."
Calla laughed.
"He is. I only tell what happened. No, making it sweeter, or changing the past, it's all like what I went through. He's a little rough around the edges, but he's perfect."
"You're so in love it's sickening." Michonne lightly bumped her shoulder against Calla. "My teeth are literally rotting as I listen to you."
"I don't gotta keep tellin' the stories, yah know." Calla mimed zipping her lips. "I could just stop and keep them all to myself to privately think about at night."
"Yeah, you shut up about it and I might consider fighting you. Your stories are the only thing keeping me from dying of boredom. There's only so much a three-year-old can talk about before he starts repeating himself."
It was Calla's turn to laugh quietly.
"I understand, Maverick is the same way, and mama doesn't talk much these days. You've got Mike though, right? I'm sure you've got a story or two to keep you entertained by your past, and someone to hold interesting conversations with. His friend, Terry, was it, he's there too, right?"
"Mike is great, but I can't say we've got quite a romantic story like your own. We met, fell in love, I got pregnant, and we kind of stayed together through it all. Our life was comfortable. I was content, but I think that fire burned out pretty early on. I love him, don't get me wrong, but you, the way you love Daryl, it's in a league of itself."
"I guess." Secretly Calla could see where she was coming from. Calla had always loved a little differently from others, a little more intensely, and Daryl just matched her perfectly. His was a little more hidden, only for certain people's eyes, but that didn't matter to Calla, because she could see. "So, the two of you haven't been having any conversations recently?"
"Things have been tense. Life is a little tense right now." A bitter laugh escaped Michonne. "We're constantly on edge, and it doesn't leave many moments for romance that's for sure. Our discussions are a little closer to fights than anything else recently. I've got to say that talking to you, listening to your past, is the highlight of my day."
"Despite that being pretty sad," Calla teased, making sure to turn and allow Michonne to see that on her face. "I'm really glad that we've become friends. Our talks are the highlight of my day as well."
Rolling her eyes Michonne nodded toward a section of the wall they passed, deciding it was time to redirect the conversation.
"That looks like prime writing space right there." Michonne was hinting at the daily quest Calla had set for herself. A big part of the reason she signed herself up for runs.
Calla pulled the cap from her marker, having written his name and begun on the next couple of words, when a gunshot rang out, followed by more, far too close for comfort.
"What fucking idiot would be shooting, here, of all places?" Michonne hissed, her sword out, and held it in front of her. Calla glanced around, trying to pinpoint the direction it came from so that they could go in the complete opposite direction. "Are they new here? That's ringing the damn dinner bell for any of the sick in the area."
"We should get out of here." Calla was on edge. A part of her wanted to go find whoever was shooting, make sure it wasn't Daryl, but a bigger part of her knew that this wouldn't be him. He was smart. He wouldn't have used a gun, especially not when he had better, quieter options, and just knew that he had drug along his crossbow. She couldn't picture him using anything else. It was easy to follow Michonne, slinking away, as they made a break for it in the opposite direction.
They dodged the sick, not confronting any unless it couldn't be helped, before deciding that the city would be useless to them today thanks to whoever decided to announce their presence.
A while later Calla barely managed to catch the sound of another gun going off, this one sounding different, the type vaguely familiar, before deciding that there were a lot of idiots in the city today.
Idly she hoped no one died. Idiots or not people were scarce these days, and she didn't have it in her to believe that they deserved to die because of a mistake.
· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·
The next day Calla opted to stay back, telling Michonne she wouldn't be going on a run, that Maverick had caught a fever, and she needed to stay with him. Calla also worried about anyone else noticing the sick child, people's fear was easy to trigger, and they were unlikely to listen to reason given the chance. Michonne had understood, stating she wasn't going into the city today, but to a nearby town, and would be back earlier than usual. They made plans to catch up later, and Michonne promised to keep an eye out for anything to help with the fever, before heading out.
Other than comforting a sick child Calla had seen the day going well.
She was upset that another day was going by without any sign of Daryl, but she had begun to come to terms with that, and had mentally, somewhere deep inside her mind, begun to prepare for the day when she accepted that maybe they wouldn't ever find one another. As it was, Calla wasn't ready to give in to such a notion and allowed it to fester in the darker parts of her mind.
It would only come out in her weaker moments.
This was not one of those.
That's why when the screaming started up Calla found herself surprised, hesitating, before instincts, that she had grown since her time out on runs, kicked in. She handed Maverick over to her mother, grabbing at her bat, as she poked her head out from the tent, only to be met with disaster.
People were running by faces struck with panic, and a little way away she could see a group of the sick, mauling those too slow to get away, as others were beginning to trample over tents. Something tight gripped her chest before she was twisting around, grabbed the nearest bag, tossing it over her shoulder, before turning to her mother.
"We don't have time to grab anything else." It was their go-bag. The one that kept everything important to them inside of it. All that they would be leaving behind were the cots and blankets. Calla had been too paranoid to unpack and properly settle in. It would seem that it had been the right thing to do. "We've got to leave."
Grabbing a blanket she wrapped it around her son, pulling him close, as her mother began to help secure him to her, tying the blanket around her waist and shoulders to keep him in place so that Calla could move.
They exited the tent, Brianna on her daughter's heel, as they maneuvered around tents, dodging the dead, and when they couldn't Calla drove her bat through their heads.
"I gotta check in on Andre!" Calla called to her mother, as they took the detour, moving toward the tent that would only be a few aisles from their own. Michonne wouldn't be back yet, but she was due soon, and Calla would never forgive herself if she didn't make sure Mike had gotten the boy out.
Only horror met her sight when the tent came into view. It was overrun with the sick. She couldn't get close, and her heart tightened at the thought that she couldn't see if anyone made it or not. She prayed that they did. That she wasn't just going to turn away, allowing them to turn, but there was nothing she could do. There were so many. Her hands shook, but her mother tugged her away, and the heat that burned through her son reminded Calla that not only was her son sick, but they weren't safe here. It wasn't just Calla. She had others to protect.
Something inside of her broke at the thought of Michonne, never forgiving her for not being there for Andre. For not getting there sooner, to make sure that he survived, but she buried the hurt, deep down, as she focused on running away, and getting somewhere safe. She couldn't dwell on such things. Not now. Later.
Her footsteps were too loud in her ears as they ran, screaming at her that they were making too much noise, but they didn't have the choice to take it slow. It was to rush, or to die, as they were cut off at every turn, their options dwindling fast, as they turned yet another corner flooded with the sick.
"What do we do?" Calla cried, swinging her bat, feeling it catch on one of the sicks' head, as she fell back. "There's too many of them." She was struggling to breathe, finding it hard to keep up and running with the weight of Maverick and the bag wearing her down. She could feel her stamina wearing down fast.
Her mother hesitated, grabbing at her daughter, and kissing her forehead, before moving to do the same to the top of her grandsons' head.
"You go," she said sternly. Calla reached out, fearful, as she clutched desperately to her mother's hands. "You go and live, Calla Josephine Wells, you turn around, and run, and don't stop."
"Mama, what are you saying?" Calla could feel the tears building in her eyes. She already knew. She knew exactly what her mother was about to do. Calla had worried about something similar since they had arrived at the camp.
"I'm doing my job as your mother and keeping you alive, baby girl. You remember that your father and I love you. So much. We're so proud, but you gotta go, and you gotta live."
"No," she shook her head. "No, mama, we'll find some other way. We're both getting out of here. We're both living. I can't lose you as well!"
Brianna took a step away from her daughter. She shook her head. Her lips were pursed, and tears had already begun to fall from her eyes, but she was standing firm.
"This was a long time coming. I can't live without your father. I can feel it in my heart, I'm already dying, but this way, I go out on my terms, and my heart gets to live on in the two of you. You go be a mother, you get that boy somewhere safe, and you go find his father. You're gonna need Daryl, and I know he needs you. Let me keep you alive."
"Mama."
"Go!"
"I love you."
Calla began to take a step back, her hands shaking worse than ever, wondering if she would even be able to raise the bat to defend herself if she needed to. The tears refused to fall because she knew once they did, they wouldn't stop, and she needed to be able to see.
"I love the both of you so much. You go, now. I'll keep them from following."
Calla turned on her heel, fleeing, ducking behind a tent, as the first screech filled the air. Her mother's yells, sounding as if she had already been caught, rang through, causing her to flinch, but Calla didn't stop.
She kept on running.
Dodging, and swinging at anything that dared get too close.
Most were too busy dragging themselves toward her mother to notice her.
Calla ran.
And ran.
And ran.
Even when those screams turned to squawks, that leaked way to moans, before they fell silent.
Calla kept running and didn't look back.
