Journey to You

Chapter Six

The Man with a Charming Smile


I've been so busy with life that the idea of taking time to update has been very fleeting. But here I am! Finally, a moment to just chill out and a new update for you guys! We're getting closer to things happening. Hope you enjoy.


"You fall through the trees

And you pray with your

knees on the ground

For the things that you need.

-Willow Tree March by The Paper Kites


Winter was holding fast, slow to fade away, but their time at the farm had come to an end, quicker than Calla would have liked. She had picked clean the surrounding towns, and developments, finding what others had overlooked, but it hadn't lasted as long as Calla would have liked.

A part of her didn't want to leave that farm. Hope nagged at the back of her mind, telling her to stay, that Daryl would come back, someday, and when he did, she would be there waiting. A bigger, more realistic part knew that if she did stay, they would slowly starve. There was a reason he hadn't traveled back this way.

There was nothing here to survive on.

Maverick kept a firm hold on to the picture, every night before bed he took it out, whispering goodnight to his daddy, before kissing it softly.

It caused her heart to feel as if it was being crushed, under a weight of helplessness, and hope, that battled viciously inside of her. Neither had enough weight to push her one way or the other.

Before they had left Calla emptied Daryl's bag, and her own, repacking her things into his, adding a few of his shirts so she could wear them when it grew warmer, and feel closer to him before she repacked her old bag full of his stuff. A part of her wanted to bring it all with her, to just have a piece of him with her, but she didn't. There was only so much she could hold.

Turning toward the farm Calla silently wished it goodbye. It had taken care of them well over the last month.

She stepped out onto the road, drifting past the trees that she had grown familiar with, not hesitating when she came to the two cars that once had something written on them. One in white paint, and the other in black. Neither was legible, but Calla had suspected the blank paint had been meant for her, but nature had washed away its message long before she had been able to see it.

Life on the road had been easy for Calla to slip back into a role that never quite left her. At night they slept in trees, Maverick anchored to her, and she to the trunk, before dawn would rise, and she'd be back to walking once more.

The days began to grow warmer. Still too cold to ditch the poncho, but Calla could feel it, in time the heat would once more become suffocating, and they'd be back trying to fight against an entirely different evil.

She'd revel in the small opening they would get, where the weather would be on the brink of perfection, before dipping into another extreme.

Life quietly slipped them by.

Until one day, as she was walking down a deserted road, the sound of an engine cut through the silence. Calla stumbled to a halt, her knees locking into place, as she realized, due to her spacing out, it was far too late to slip into the woods and go unnoticed. Instead, she shifted her grip on the bat and waited as she watched the truck slow down, passing them, before coming to a complete stop a few yards ahead of them. The passenger side door was thrown open, revealing a man dressed in black, a heavy coat thrown over his shoulders, and an easy smile on his face as he dropped from the truck, rounding it, before stopping at the tailgate.

He didn't try to get closer.

"Hello there!" he called out. The window of the driver's side rolled down, smoke billowing out, telling Calla that they weren't going to leave the cab, but they were watching. "My name is Philip." He paused, a clear indication that he was waiting for her to introduce herself, but Calla didn't. She eyed him warily. Carefully. He tilted his head to the side, his smile softening, as he moved to lean against the truck, putting more space between them. "I run a community, not far from here, and we take people in. People like you."

That was new.

She hadn't run into someone who claimed to not only be part of a group of people but lead one that they had deemed a community. Calla was uncertain if she had come close to anything that could be considered anything like that since she fled from the refugee camp.

Then again, she avoided people like the plague.

Especially, since her last run-in with the living hadn't gone over well.

Most days she pretended as if it hadn't ever happened.

It struck her mind, causing unease to cloud her thoughts, as memories of the screams dug into her mind. Calla shifted, her mind playing tricks on her, forcing her to focus, as whispers to not trust dug at her mind. It was a cacophony, full of vicious whispers, words sweet, but deadly, as they reminded her of just why people were more dangerous than the dead. Her body tensed in an attempt not to give away what she was feeling or thinking.

"I'd like to tell you more about it, maybe tempt you to come along, but you don't have to. We don't force anyone to join us. We only want to help, and you look like you could use some help. A shower. A safe place to rest." Calla hardly cared about showers, but the fact that they even had a system rigged up caught her attention. "Food." Her stomach rumbled at the word. Her bag was dangerously low, most of its contents having gone to Maverick, as Calla kept putting off her own meals. "You don't have to be afraid. If you'd prefer, we could get you cleaned up, fed, take care of any medical issues you have, and then you can be on your merry way."

He was trying too hard.

It brushed against her mind that while his words were even, careful, there was a hint of something more, of the need for her to say yes. Without being able to delve into his mind, to see what exactly was going on inside his thoughts, there was no way to know if his intentions were pure, or otherwise.

Calla watched him, but his body language didn't give anything away, and that smile on his face looked genuine.

People were liars.

Instinct told her not to trust.

He sensed her unease, her unwillingness to come forward, as he nodded. His face pinched into concern, shrugging, as that smile turned sad, just a slight tilt downward of his lips.

"All right." He chuckled softly. "I get it. You can't save everyone. You don't trust me. Smart. If you change your mind, we're only ten miles down that road." He pointed ahead of them. "Take your first left, and another right about a mile further, and you'll come upon our front gate."

Calla didn't move, hadn't spoken the entire time, and here, as he gave her directions, seemingly intent on leaving her, she still didn't let anything slip about what she was thinking, or feeling. Her eyes, however, drifted behind them, off in the direction he spoke about, curious at how easily he gave away their base location. It spoke of confidence. He felt that they could protect themselves if need be. He was telling her that by her knowing, it wasn't going to put his community in danger. She wasn't dangerous to them.

Something tugged deeper inside her mind, a more feral part of herself, the half that had long ago decided to keep them alive for as long as it could, bristled, as it silently whispered that she was dangerous. She could be. Only if she needed to be.

Maverick moved against her, just a bit, his hand pressing against her in a silent question. She softly clicked her tongue in answer.

The stranger made to turn around, having said what he wanted, his hand on the handle of his door when suddenly the back driver's side swung open, stepping out a third man. Calla felt herself reacting, stiffening, as the bat raised in an attempt to make them think twice. Only it faltered as she came face to face with someone familiar.

"Calla, that you?" asked a man she hadn't seen since the refugee camp.

Martinez.

Her thoughts were dangerously dunked back to that day at the refugee camp. She could smell the smoke, death, and rot. It filled her nostrils. She choked on it.

The only sign that something had changed was the acceleration of her breathing, but they were too far away to notice.

Maverick's hand pressing against her chest, feeling the difference, brought her back abruptly. This was not the time to be distracted by past demons.

Blinking, she refocused on Martinez.

He hadn't been someone she had grown really close to, not like Michonne, who had become an anchor in this new, and dangerous life, but he had been good. She remembered that he had helped, always pitching in, and had been one of those that enjoyed her stories, always pressing for more, and lingering behind when the group would make it back to camp.

"Martinez," the name fell from her lips, as the bat dipped from its aggressive stance. "You made it out." She reaffirmed herself in the present by her fingers digging into the wood, feeling the familiar grooves, ones she had spent countless hours running over. She knew every bump, every dip, and chip like the back of her hand. It reminded her she was alive. That this was real. She wasn't in the past.

"I don't think many did," he said. "I had just made it back from a run when the dead arrived. Probably the only thing that kept me alive."

"You were with Michonne. Did she make it?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, forming something akin to a sorry in his eyes, as he stepped closer.

"You had a kid." His eyes glanced around, not seeing anyone else with her, and hadn't noticed the odd-shaped lump under her poncho. He wouldn't have. Not with how the fabric rose up as she gripped the bat.

"Yeah."

His eyes narrowed, falling toward the only place she could have hidden him, and nodded, looking impressed.

"You should come with. You'll be taken care of at Woodbury."

Calla hesitated still. Martinez had been a good man. Only, she hadn't seen him since the middle of the summer, and a whole winter had nearly passed by.

People changed.

Calla had.

She was no longer the same woman from before, who would have hesitated to hurt anyone, but now, she could remember the fear, the desperation, that came with protecting oneself, and child. It was white hot, spiraling, something that gripped tightly to you, and dragged you down in a dizzying sensation of anxiety, and fear.

She licked her lips, shifting her weight to the other leg, as she attempted to get herself to say yes. They were offering everything, anyone, these days would want or need.

But what would the price be if she said yes?

"I don't know."

"Come on, kid." She bristled at the familiar nickname. He wasn't that much older than her. He knew she hated it. That had never stopped him before. "It's a stupid offer to turn down. You'll end up showing up at the gate sooner or later. Your cheekbones have sunken in, and I bet that boy of yours could use several good meals."

She felt Maverick move at the talk of food, his fist pressing against her chest insistently, as he silently asked her for something to eat. Lately, it was like she wasn't able to keep him full, forcing her to eat less, so that he could have more. Calla suspected a growth spurt. He needed the extra calories.

A breeze shifted the poncho, tugging at her knotted, bloody hair, hiding the movement of the boy.

"You've got a kid?" called out the man from before. The leader.

Calla's eyes locked back onto him, having not forgotten that he was there, not daring to allow such a threat to go unnoticed. Maverick continued to shove at the fabric. He didn't hear the dead. His mama was talking, and there was someone replying, a voice that he recognized, but another that he didn't. Calla whistled lowly, sharply, a warning, as Maverick went still.

She fell silent once more. The man frowned, the first time she had seen such an expression on his face and felt herself breathe a little easier. It was always the ones that smiled with ease that should be watched. He was showing her his true colors. He was still a threat, but he was more humane now in her head.

"Think about what they need," Phillip continued. "Are you really going to turn down such an offer?"

Martinez held out a hand, directed toward her, as he patiently waited for her to take it.

Her eyes followed the motion, locking onto it, as she calculated the risk that he posed to her, and Maverick. It wasn't high. He wouldn't force her hand.

Calla didn't take it.

"I think I'll wait and see if I show up at your gate."

She took a step back, each step deliberate, as she watched their reactions until she was certain they would allow her to leave in peace. Neither one made to follow after her. Nothing was spoken, as they silently watched her leave until she faded into the woods. She easily blended in, becoming one with the trees, as she kept close to their trunks, the bare branches, that would soon be back in full bloom, her only cover. There, once she was certain neither could see her, Calla waited and watched.

Phillip stared after her, his eyes drifting over the trees, no longer able to see her, as he called out to Martinez. She couldn't hear what was said, but the man she had grown familiar with turned around, moving toward the truck. He disappeared inside the cab, suddenly reappearing, a small bag in his hands before he placed it down in the ditch before climbing into the truck. Phillip disappeared next, and this time neither reappeared, before the truck was rumbling to life and taking off down the road.

Calla watched, and waited, not moving from her spot, as she patiently allowed time to pass her by. No one had returned, she hadn't sensed anyone watching her, nor had she seen anyone. The only sound came from the wind, whistling through the trees, and the songs of the birds. Only then did she step forward, reemerging from the woods, as she cautiously stopped in front of the bag. Crouching, her hand coming up to press against Maverick, securing him to her, she unzipped what was left behind, and stared at the contents inside.

Applesauce, cans of green beans, and beef ravioli.

It caused her stomach to cramp.

At the very bottom were two bottles of water, and a bottle of apple juice.

Zipping it back up Calla glanced around once more and secured the smaller bag to her larger one before she began walking again.

This time she carefully stuck to the edge of the trees.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── ·

Calla had found herself, two days later, circling the town that Martinez had called Woodbury. She didn't get close, having noticed the way each gate held sentries, people watching for the dead, and for others, like her. Occasionally, when she grew closer, Calla could hear the sounds of people, and once, in the breeze of the wind, she had heard children.

They had children.

Who sounded happy.

Their shrieks of joy were a song inside her head. Had she ever believed the world could be filled with such a sound again?

Even Mavericks were kept quiet, on the rare occasion she got him to giggle, during those nights they had holed up inside the farmhouse.

Maverick had shifted, turning his head, as he tried to listen for a source of noise that he hadn't heard in so long.

They never moved that far away from the town, as Calla struggled with the decision to turn up at the gate or to continue life as she was. She had some luck in the surrounding towns, finding food, and a few other essentials, but it wasn't like they were thriving, and she could only hold so much. Calla had begun to take the things she found, and could not carry, and hide them, sometimes burying them, and leaving behind some kind of sign so she could come back for them later. It wasn't much, but it set her mind at ease, knowing that there were a day's supplies waiting for them, for when they needed them. That was a day's difference between starving and not.

A day later, after Calla had moved a little further away from Woodbury, settling in a camping area where she and Maverick slept in an actual tent, that was when she heard the sound of a familiar engine. It broke through the trees, bouncing around the once silent area, as it automatically turned toward where he would appear. Her eyes narrowed, as she motioned for Maverick to go back inside the tent, to hide there until she said otherwise. Calla, herself, drifted into the surrounding trees, watching, and waiting, as the truck pulled up, and out stepped a lone man.

The leader.

He glanced around, moving to search a tent, that she knew he would find nothing in. She had already searched the place, and there had been nothing to find, except for a lantern that still worked. Nothing, except, for her child, and the lone pack of supplies.

She waited until he had gone to the next tent, only one away from her own, the last in the line, as his back was to her, before making her appearance known. Her bat settled calmly against his back where she could jab at him, throw him off balance, before taking a swing, if he ended up being trouble for them.

"There's nothing here," she said. He froze, his hands coming up, as an easy chuckle left his lips. It was breathy with surprise. Not fake. He hadn't known they were here.

"I didn't realize the spot was already called for." He didn't try to turn around, not while that bat was still digging into his skin. "Just found this place on the map. Decided it might be worth checking out."

"It's not."

"Do you mind if I turn around?" He shifted on his foot, not trying to turn, but to displace the weight from one foot to the other. He was still slightly bent at the waist. It was probably uncomfortable. Calla only frowned. "I'd like to talk face to face. It's always nice to know whether or not I'm starting to offend the person with a weapon."

Calla bit her lip.

He hadn't tried anything back on the highway.

He had carefully kept his distance and showed her how he could keep to the invisible boundaries that she had sprung up around herself.

He was with Martinez.

None of that was enough for her to trust this man in front of her.

It didn't matter that at one point in her life, for a short period of time, Calla could trust Martinez, to have her back, and to work with one another toward a common goal. None of that same trust existed anymore, and she wasn't willing to reach out blindly and give this man in front of her the same benefit of the doubt. Not even with the offer of a safe place, and the food he had left behind for her, and Maverick.

Shifting, and stepping back, Calla brought the bat away from him but still held it defensively.

He took that as his sign that it was okay. She watched as he turned, staying put, as that polite, but charming smile was back on his face, and the only sound came from the crunching of his shoes on the dry, dead, grass.

"Calla, was it?" he asked.

She didn't confirm or deny, but they both knew he remembered what Martinez had called her the other day. She suspected it hadn't been the last time her name had been brought up.

"Are the two of you doing, okay?"

She tensed at him asking about her son, a boy he hadn't even met yet and wasn't sure if he even still existed. He hadn't caught the movement under the poncho, too busy watching her face, her expressions.

Again, she didn't respond.

She watched as the muscles in his jaw tensed, annoyed, before he frowned, once again showing his true colors. He brought a hand up to ruffle at the clean hair there, clear signs of being washed and maintained. It was wavy, curling just right, as it bounced back into place as soon as he dropped his hand. She noticed the obvious signs of how he had shaved that morning, his skin smooth, and clear of stubble. He had the means to take care of himself. It spoke even more of what type of community he had managed to build in this world.

"Back to silence again?" He shrugged, before holding up his hands once more, telling her silently that he didn't want her to start to swing the bat. It caused her to be tense. That meant he planned on doing something that would cause her to go on the attack. "Don't hit me. I'm just grabbing something from my truck. All right?"

Calla stepped back, permitting him to move, but she followed closely behind, not allowing him to do anything without her first being able to see. He made to grab for a bag, but she pressed the tip of her bat into his back, a warning, the only spot that didn't have a nail embedded into it, besides where she held it.

"It's nothing to be worried about," he said soothingly. "Just got something for you. Martinez asked if I had run into you again and sent a care package your way. Just in case."

"You're out here often?" she asked. "Being the leader and all, I figured you'd stay with your people. Leading." Her words were accusatory as she tried to ignore the fact that Martinez was sending her things to keep Maverick, and herself, alive. She wondered if he had felt closer to her than she had to him. At least she wasn't worried about any secret feelings of love on his end. He knew how in love she was with Daryl. He had heard all of the stories, and she knew he had lost his family at the very beginning before he joined them at the refugee camp. He had been mourning. Probably still was. Just like herself.

This was more than likely just him not wanting anyone else to lose their lives in this world. He had seemed the type. Especially when it came to children.

Phil, or whatever his name was, Calla couldn't quite remember, not when her mind was spent in a daze half the time she was out here, handed her another small bag. Carefully she reached out, made to grab it, as she took several steps away from him. Distancing herself from him.

"More of the same from last time. I think this time there's no juice, but stale cereal, and powdered milk. He put a little more water in there for you." Calla glanced up at him, deciding to check the contents later after he left. "As for your question, I'm not out here often, but if I'm going to be sending my men out, then I should live by example. Don't you think?"

Calla held no personal opinions on this matter. The last time she had been a part of a group she had been a volunteer to go out there, knowing it was the only way to get what she needed for her boy, and mother, without worrying about someone putting their own family above hers. Being a leader was not what Calla wanted. She didn't have many opinions on how this man should run his town.

He seemed to accept her silence. Beginning to expect it now.

"I can see this spot is called for. There won't be anything for me to find. I'll be on my way now but know you're welcome back at Woodbury. If you'd like."

Calla's eyes watched him, the brown hard, darker than its normal warm honey tones.

He seemed to get the hint.

"All right. See you around."

Calla hoped they didn't, but she was going to find that it wouldn't be the last time he stumbled upon them.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── ·

She spent weeks holding out. Avoiding going to Woodbury and joining the community.

It hadn't been the last time she ran into Philip either.

A name he had insisted she used, those rare moments she spoke at all.

Not every time did he have a bag of food for her. He didn't find them often enough to cause Calla to believe that they were being followed, it was always by accident, and sometimes, she would stumble upon him instead.

This happened to be one of those times.

"I don't have anything for you today," he called out, having heard the way her foot crunched against loose gravel, as she snuck up behind him. The weather had begun to grow warmer, she wasn't wearing the poncho today, and it left a clear sight of the blanket tied to her, and the bulge inside it. He turned around, slowly, and carefully, a practiced dance, having only ever seen the bat on her, but he couldn't be sure that there wasn't a gun. He knew she'd shoot him first, ask questions never if he accidentally spooked her. "Didn't think I'd run into you again. You seemed to have disappeared from the area. I thought you moved on."

It had been a while since he had seen her, but Calla had been aware of where he was at, watching from a distance as she tried figuring out what type of man he was. Calla was wearing down, and their way of life was harsh and tiring. So much of her wanted to finally give in, settle down, and take the offer of safety that was being handed to her. She had lost so much weight, the food Martinez kept sending them was the only thing keeping her from growing so weak that staying out here on her own hadn't become a concern, as of yet. Calla had barely managed to keep Maverick from suffering similar consequences.

It was the single most important reason that she kept accepting the food.

Otherwise, she may have told them to go to hell sooner.

It was hard to trust.

Harder than anything Calla had ever had to do in her life.

She wasn't sure if she could manage it.

The urge to sway on her feet was brought on by a moment of vertigo, but it quickly fled, and Calla righted herself before he could notice.

"I will be," Calla said, startling him, as he had turned back to searching through the clutter at his feet. "I'll be moving on soon." Daryl wasn't here, she hadn't found any sign of him, and Calla wasn't sure what was keeping her close.

"Why's that?" He raised an eyebrow, honestly curious, about why she hadn't accepted his offer and seemed hell-bent on ignoring Woodbury.

"I'm looking for someone." He continued to stare. Not enough information. He wanted more. "My husband, Daryl." She took a step toward him, before stopping, freezing, as she wondered if Daryl had already stumbled upon Woodbury. "Have you met anyone by that name?"

"Short on Daryl's I'm afraid." His eyes fell to her hands, catching sight of the wedding band, and engagement ring, having missed it all those times before as they were just as dirty as her hands. "I don't think I caught your last name."

"Dixon."

"Supposed if I come across anyone by that name, I'll let him know I saw you."

"I'm not telling you where I'm going."

She didn't trust him enough to give that type of information out. Even if it could have led to Daryl finding her. Her instincts, and heart, battled for dominance, but instinct won out. It was louder, trying to keep her alive, and Calla was skittish enough to always lean toward it.

"You're a hard one to gain the trust of you know." The man chuckled a little. "More like a wild animal." His gaze swept over her, taking in how true his statement was, Calla was the perfect picture of feral. She belonged to the woods. "You know, I'm not just offering you safety, and food, but we'd help you find that man of yours. My people go out almost every day. We've met many people, and have brought in more than you could know, we could help you."

"I don't need your help. I didn't want your help."

"You keep reminding me." He straightened, wiping his hands onto the fabric of his jeans, as he narrowed his gaze to her. "That first bag of food we gave you, it came from the town's supply, but I couldn't keep doing that, not for an outsider, when I had plenty of mouths that needed to be fed. Martinez took that food out of his own personal supplies. To keep that boy alive. That wasn't me. My help has only come in the form of an offer. Nothing more. You should thank him personally for that."

Calla bit the inside of her cheek.

"I hadn't asked for him to do that."

"No, but you took it anyway because you'd do anything for that boy. You're looking for your husband, I get it, I'd be looking too if my wife was still alive, but he's not here, and you have no clue where he could be. Seems to me I'd be taking the offer that helped me keep my boy alive." Phillip bent over, snatching up the bags he had been messing with, before tossing them over his shoulder. "I hope I see you around, Calla Dixon."

She watched him climb into that truck, the engine roaring to life before he drove away, and Calla watched him, making sure he had left, before turning to leave.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── ·

Calla had every intention of leaving, just as she had told him, but every time they hit the road, she found herself circling Woodbury, knowing she needed to head out further if she was going to find food, but in her spaced-out moments, she found herself hiding in the trees, watching the town. It was not her finest moment. She told herself it was because deep down, she thought of this place as somewhere safe for her son, that it would be hard for any mother to walk away from those walls. To willingly stay out in the world, where danger was literally around every corner, but Calla still held herself back from actually walking up to that gate.

Who knew what waited for them on the other side of those walls? Would it be the paradise she so desperately sought after, or a prison, that she had willingly walked into because she had given in, and desperation had called louder than instinct to survive?

Nothing worth fighting for was free, not like what this man seemed to offer, and Calla knew, the moment she gave in, and walked through those gates, there would be something taken for such a privilege.

That was, until the morning she woke, her mind feverish, her body aching, as she felt more dead than alive. Shadows of memories long lost hovered above her. Beckoning her forward, but Calla resisted, catching onto the sickness that flowed through her body. That twisted her mind.

A headache pounded away at the back of her head, and the ability to walk, to do anything other than sleep was simply impossible. She faded in and out of consciousness for hours, always waking with a start, panicking, as she sought out Maverick.

One of the sick would stumble upon them. Eventually. Calla was so sick she couldn't hold anything down, not even water, and felt as if her strength weakened with every coherent thought she managed to have.

Maverick wasn't safe.

Calla couldn't keep him safe.

Not like this.

On shaking legs, ones that refused to hold Maverick, and herself up, Calla forced them to move forward, as she held tightly onto her son's hand. He was wrapped in the poncho, complaining about the heat, but he would smell like one of the sick, and they would let him be, and that was all that mattered to Calla. She kept them walking, and even when Mav grew tired and begged for them to stop, they didn't. Calla simply hushed him, swaying with the breeze, the pulsing of her heart rang loudly in her veins, reminding her that she was alive and that they needed to keep moving, as she felt as if they stopped, even for a moment, she wouldn't be able to get back up.

That would be it.

There was no doubt in her fevered thoughts that if she didn't keep going, they would die.

She whispered encouragements the entire way, sometimes the only things that her mind could latch onto, as Maverick repeatedly asked if she was okay, and Calla had to make him promise to stay close, to not let go of her hand, as it grew harder to think straight. More often than not his hands, holding onto her own, were the only thing keeping them tethered together, as thinking caused her to grow weary, and heavy, and such thoughts would slip right out of her head.

More than once she would come to realize that she had led them astray, wandering away from their goal, and being forced to correct their stance. She was beginning to act more like the sick, than the human that she was.

Maverick was more than fearful, as on occasion his mama led them toward the sick, but he never let go of her hand, remembering the rules, to stay quiet, as they walked among the creatures he feared. They smelled, stinging his nose, causing tears to build behind his eyes, as he forced the sneezes back.

Sometimes he'd have to tug quite harshly on her arm, to wake her back up, and force the glassiness from her eyes, to lead them out of the throngs of the sick. She would be horrified, apologizing quietly, as she guided them away from the danger.

Eventually, they saw the walls. High up, makeshift, not pretty to the eyes, built from random parts, but spoke of safety. One's that he recognized from the times his mama would watch, and listen, as they slowly walked the perimeter. He wondered if this would be their next temporary home. He hoped so. There were children on the other side of the wall. He could hear them. He didn't want to be out here, among the sick, anymore. Not where his heart pounded so loud within his ears that he could hardly hear anything else.

Glancing up Maverick saw the way his mama stared ahead, not seeing anything in front of her, merely on autopilot as they continued to walk. He tugged at her hand, hoping to pull her from wherever she had drifted to, but there was no acknowledgment. They walked past cars parked in a way to corral anything that would try to sneak up, only allowing so many sick in the space at one time. He stumbled over a rather large rock in the road, accidentally tugging against his mother's hand, as he tried to regain his balance, to not fall over, but she hardly seemed to notice.

"Inbound!" called out someone on the wall. Maverick could make out movement. He grew afraid. His hold tightened, as his hands grew sweaty, threatening to cause him to slip free, as the rushing in his ears came back.

"Is that a kid?"

The voices drifted to him, sounding muddled, and far away, but he tried to focus, to know whether he was safe, or his mama had brought him somewhere dangerous. Maverick remembered his mama saying that they needed to stay away from people. That they couldn't be trusted. That many would be bad.

Were these people the bad? Or the good?

He tugged some more but his mama still didn't say anything. She just kept walking.

Maverick watched as something was pointed at them. He felt like crying. Tears began to fall down his cheeks, as his free hand came up to rub at his face, the skin raw from previous tears, before he was now forcefully pulling at his mother. He didn't know if she had meant to bring them here.

There was something wrong.

He didn't understand.

"Hold your fire!" That voice was familiar. A figure jumped over the fence, landing in a crouch before the man began to jog toward them. "Calla?" His voice was rattled, sounding confused, but Mav felt better at seeing him. He remembered it had been full of laughter the last time he had heard it back at the camp before they had run away. He preferred that version of this man.

His mama came to a stop, swaying in place, as a relieved breath escaped her lips before she suddenly collapsed. Her body fell limp, like a noodle, startling Maverick so badly he hadn't managed to let go of her hand. He hollered out, wondering if someone had hurt her, as he was dragged down to kneel next to her. His knees scrapped against the gravel of the road, stinging, causing hiccups to fall from his lips. Their hands were still connected. She hadn't let go. He couldn't let go.

"Help, mama!" Maverick turned toward the man. He recognized him from so long ago. "Help her."

The man, Maverick couldn't remember his name, other than that it started with the same letter as his, scooped his mother up into his arms, before softly nudging him to follow along.

"Come on, little man," he said. "We'll get your mother some help." His voice had softened, the tone soothing, and nice. It eased the anxiety building inside Maverick's chest. Easing it and forcing down the phantom sensation of not being able to breathe.

Maverick reached out, his fingers digging into the cloth of the man's shirt, as he followed along silently.

The gate was opened, beckoning them in before it closed with a thump behind them.

Maverick stared wide-eyed at his surroundings.