Isaac slipped outside and under the guard tower without being seen. None of the guards were in a position to spot him, because no one at the prison expected a runaway, so Isaac had a free shot down across the field to where the fences had been cut open.

I stopped just under the guard tower, and watched him, blinking a few times to get my eyes to adjust to the now darkened environment. He stopped at the first fence, pulling open the clasps and slipping through a new hole we made for emergencies, and closed it behind him. He did the same for the second fence, which is when I made my move. I kicked myself now for even telling him about the fences when he asked how long we'd been staying here, because now I had to catch up with him before he got too far into the forest, or I would be lost and he would be gone.

Twisting my body, I ducked through the holes in the fences and locked them back up so no walkers could get inside. The bank came next, and I kept my momentum as I ran up, using tree roots and holes in the ground to keep myself stable. As I came topside, my foot kicked against the rusted train track I'd completely forgotten existed, having not seen it since the day we moved the cars into the prison.

Dammit, my head whipped around as I scanned the area. Where is he?

I expected to see nothing but trees, but in the night, even they were consumed by the shadows of the canopy. My eyes flicked to the ground, hoping maybe there'd be some tracks, but even in the day the only person who'd be able to tell human footprints from a walker was Daryl. Without a torch, the ground was also just a flat abyss. Daryl wasn't here, so I had to do this myself. Somehow.

As I continued onward, I could finally start making out trees, my depth perception finally kicking into full gear before I could slam my shoulder into the tall piece of bark. I put my hand on the trees and scanned around with my eyes. It was eerily silent, the only sounds came from me stepping on twigs and rustling leaves on the ground, and my heavy pants. Part of me expected that my absence in the prison would be immediately noticed, that I'd hear the shouting from my family calling my name, that someone would've come outside to see me leaving and their bellowing would cut through the silence. None of that happened, and by some miracle, I was scot-free.

"Isaac!" I whispered loudly. "Isaac!"

Nothing—not that I expected an answer; he was running away for a reason and I seriously doubted he'd have such a quick change of heart at the sound of my voice. I was amongst the people who kept him away from his family, and even if he heard me, I was sure he would have kept his mouth zipped shut. I wouldn't have answered, either.

I toyed with the idea of turning back, letting him go, going back to the prison and playing dumb, pretending I didn't know what happened. If they caught me sneaking back inside I could say that I lost him, that I didn't want to get stuck in the woods and couldn't keep following him into the darkness. They would believe me, they would all believe me. But as much as I wanted to give Isaac that chance, I didn't want him out here alone.

In the distance, I finally saw it. Trees were suddenly illuminated as a yellow beam cut through the darkness, which I followed back to a shadow figure that held the torch out in front of him. It was a hundred percent Isaac, but I followed slowly, in the small case that it was someone else.

The closer I got, the more clearly I saw him. The bag that stuck out at his side, and the torch that was pointed out awkwardly from his braced hand because he had the crowbar in his left. I kept my eyes on the back of his blue jumper as I followed him, walking faster to catch up with him.

I placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, "Isaac—"

"Holy sh—!"

My body dropped to the ground before I realised what was happening, and I heard the swish as the crowbar swung over my head. Isaac threw himself off balance, clearly not used to wielding a weapon in his left hand, and stumbled over his feet.

When he regained his footing, he almost seemed panicked. Panting, he shone the torch at his shoulder, wide eyes inspecting the area I had touched as he panted. As I pushed myself to my feet, the light then found me, blasting straight into my eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?!" His voice wavered as he yelled at me. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"Sorry," I held my arm up, a feeble attempt to shield my eyes. "Sorry."

He blew out a heavy breath, and the light moved downwards. I blinked a few times, glancing around as I tried to get rid of the colours that moved independently in my field of view, always remaining in the worst places wherever I looked.

He calmed down a little, taking one more look at his shoulder before saying, "I could have killed you, you know?"

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I just saw you sneaking out and there's usually a lot of walkers outside the fences. I just . . . with your arm I didn't want you coming out here alone."

Isaac was quiet as he listened to me rambling, deep in thought as he looked off to the side. Part of me assumed that he wasn't even listening, just contemplating the gravity of having me following him for so long without realising.

His jaw set, and he met my eyes again. "You should go back to the prison."

"No—"

"—You can't make me go back there, okay?" He stepped back on foot to get more distance from me, worried that I'd convince him to go back to the prison with me. "I'm not leaving my mom alone."

"I wouldn't ask you to do that," I said. "That's not what I'm here for."

His brows furrowed. "Then what?"

"I want to go with you."

His expression changed to one more serious, but what he said did not match the look on his face. "No, I'll be fine on my own."

"Maybe. Probably," I agreed. "That doesn't mean you have to be on your own."

I could see the look in his eyes, a mixture of I should be alone and I want to be alone. He didn't want to be responsible for anything happening to me if I came with him and I didn't want to be responsible if anything happened to him and I hadn't come. Neither of us would easily convince the other that we were right, because we wanted the same thing, but in the opposite way.

"Why?" He asked finally. "Why do you want to come?"

After a breath, I answered. "I didn't get to find my dad. But you know where your mother is, and I don't want anything to happen to her."

I waited for an answer, some kind of confirmation that it was okay for me to go with him, but he had the same serious contemplating look I'd seen on him since he joined the prison. His lips pressed together as his nose wrinkled, and he remained silent.

There was a loud snap behind me, from the direction of the prison. Walkers stumbled our way, I could hear them, their growls growing louder the closer they got. Isaac moved the torch to point at the source of the noise, revealing five or six corpses heading our way.

"Yes or no?" I asked, stepping back. "Because either way, we have to move."

"Come on, the road is this way," Isaac bounced a few times, a way of getting ready to run as nodded in the direction he was headed. I ran after him, managing to keep up with his movements without losing him again.

We made it to the road and walked along it in silence for a little while. Isaac seemed to know where he was going, so I ignored the fact that I didn't and just followed him, whatever turns he made to get back to Lone Oak. I just hoped his confidence was not misplaced.

It was silent for at least an hour by this point, and Isaac made no indication that he wanted to talk, so I kept my mouth shut for a while. It was hard, but I managed to keep all my thoughts in my head, as much as I wanted to say them out loud. Besides, I assumed that Isaac already hated me for being on the council that made the decision not to go after the only family he has, so I thought it'd be best to leave him alone for a little while.

There was a rustling in the trees at my side, that brought me back to reality for a second. I stared into the woods, but I couldn't see anything without the light which Isaac had. I reached out to the side to get his attention, tap his arm, but Isaac dodged to the side, "Don't—"

My instinct was to pull my hand back, which I did almost immediately. I stared at him for a moment, wondering if he'd seen some kind of danger, but then I realised that the reaction was for me. My chest tightened as it crossed my mind that maybe he didn't like being touched, which could have been the reason for his reaction when I scared him earlier.

I dropped my hand to my side. "Sorry, I won't do that again."

"No, it's not . . ." he trailed off, and a breath shot out from his nose. "Your hands are dirty."

I looked down at my hands, barely able to see anything with the torch pointed at the ground in front of us. What I could see were the darker patches that rang along my skin and down my fingers, dirty from where I followed Isaac up the bank.

"Oh, um, sorry?"

"Don't . . . you don't have to apologise," he said. "I have OCD. I just . . . I can't touch anything dirty—I mean, I can, but I'd have to wash up straight away."

I thought about it for a second, going back over his actions since this morning. "Is that why you didn't shake my hand?"

"Alongside the fact that it's strange for people our age to shake hands with each other," he said. "But you were covered in grease or something?"

I nodded. "I'm a mechanic so I'm perpetually covered in grease."

"Good to know," there was an amused tone in his monotone response. "So, perpetually, you can't be touching me."

Isaac held the torch up and started walking again, and I followed after him. After a second of thought, I jammed both of my hands in my jeans pockets so he had one less thing to be anxious about as he walked with me.

It was so surreal, to hear someone have those issues living in an apocalypse. I thought the world ending was hard on me, but not being able to get dirty, be around anything unclean and then having to re-kill dead bodies. Even thinking about it, the semantics, gave me anxiety. What if you fell in mud? I couldn't ever imagine being that careful.

"Well, I am sorry," I blurted as we walked. "I didn't expect that anyone would have that kind of problem anymore, so I wasn't thinking about it. It must be hard now, to live with something like that."

"I'm better than I used to be, kind of. I can be in the same room as anyone who's dirty or sick now. I don't like it, but I can. I just can't touch anything—" Isaac cringed at the thought. "If I can avoid it, I will. The freakouts only really happen if I'm already scared or distracted or something."

I nodded, trying to take it in.

"Also, those kinds of problems don't just go away, okay? It's always going to be part of my life, it's just about how I manage it."

"Sorry. Again. I didn't mean it that way," even with what he was saying, there was one thing that bothered me about his OCD. "How do you kill walkers?"

"I . . . struggle," he said after a beat. "I avoid them if I can, and I did have a knife but Mom found this," he held the crowbar up a little. "I don't know if it'll be any better, but at least I don't have to get so close to them."

"It's pointed so there might not be so much backsplash," I suggested.

"That's what I'm hoping for."

"Does your mum kill walkers?"

"No, yeah," he nodded. "She can kill them. She doesn't have OCD if that's what you're asking."

I nodded, unsure why I even asked. After a while, I found it almost impossible to go without killing walkers, so I doubted that Isaac and his mother had been just dodging every corpse they came across. Besides, he has killed some himself anyway, so it's not like they were against it.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I wondered whether I should stop my interrogation while I was ahead. We had hours to walk, and I didn't want to make him mad or anxious while he was stuck with me. If he had been upset with any of my questions so far, he didn't show it.

"Do you think you'd ever be okay with it?" I asked finally.

"I was starting to be, I had treatment before to manage symptoms and act like everything messy wasn't the end of the world. But then, you know, the world did end, all on its own," he said. "The blood, the infection, I don't think I'll ever stop being anxious about that."

"You do know that—"

"—You turn no matter how you die, which means there's something in all of us," he parroted solemnly. "I try not to think about it."

"Just checking," I somewhat apologised.

Just hearing about how he talked about the infection made me curious. Maybe it was not the best idea to bring it up, maybe he and his mother had not come across the truth that it happened, maybe she was hiding it from him so he didn't freak out. I was happy to find out that he wasn't going to freak out over the idea and get us both in more danger than we currently already were.

"The idea, the fact that something like that is inside of me . . ." I hung onto the way he kept saying it, not that he was sick or infected, but there was something inside of him. Which there was. The thought, the way he was explaining it was not something I'd have normally done, but this was the way he thought about it. "I can't do anything, I can't get clean, I can't wash it off, I can't avoid it. It's just in me . . . the thought makes me feel so sick."

"I get it," I nodded.

Isaac shot me a look.

"I mean, maybe not to the extent you do. Not the same way," I explained. "But it's still scary, and, yeah, gross, knowing that it's there."

Isaac's expression softened. The air between us seemed to shift, a sense of calm and understanding being shared. I let out a sigh, tired from being up so long and now on this hour walk slowly draining any energy I had.

"Since I found out," Isaac began to confess. "I wondered if sick people felt that way, I don't mean just a cold. Something chronic, or terminal. Besides feeling the obvious symptoms, do they feel it? People who have cancer, do they sit there and feel it in them?"

I pursed my lips. "That's . . . I don't know what to say to that. I've never thought of it."

It reminded me of how often I'd spent in hospitals before, my mother never mentioned feeling anything like that, but she never wanted to talk about it and pretended for our sake that there was really nothing wrong. My mother could never not seem happy, in my experience.

"Because sometimes it's like I feel the infection there," Isaac continued, giving more of an explanation of how he felt, "an itch or presence. But then I just chalk it up to my own issues and over-thinking."

"Maybe," I replied quietly. His other words triggered more thoughts and questions in my mind. I continued, suddenly afraid my maybe sounded dismissal of his feelings. "I never thought of it so deeply, but I have thought about it. When I do, there's a pit in my stomach, and my whole body just feels . . . feels . . ."

"Wrong," he finished when I couldn't find the word.

"Yeah," I said and went quiet for a minute. "But it's like you said, I try not to think about it. I still do, and it's hard to stop when it starts, but I try."

"It is hard," he agreed. "When it starts I can't get away from it, I can't even try. It's probably just a part of the OCD. Something is there, I can't fix it, so I just overthink and obsess."

It got quiet for a moment, both of us just reflecting.

I quirked a small smile, looking down to step over a large tree branch that had fallen onto the road, "You know, you mention the OCD being responsible for all these thoughts and feelings. I'm starting to think you're just using it as an excuse."

When I looked back at him, his eyebrows furrowed at me, "Well, yeah, that's . . ." Isaac's expression softened. "Oh. You . . ."

"I'm joking. Yeah."

A small breath of a laugh escaped from him, sounding close to a scoff. "I was about to get really defensive."

"I noticed."

"What did you want anyway?" Isaac asked.

I frowned and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"When you tried grabbing my arm?" He said. "Seemed like you wanted my attention for something."

"Oh!" I jumped as I remembered. "I thought I heard something. But if it was a walker then it would've got us by now, so it's all good."

"Glad you gave up on that thought," Isaac muttered sarcastically.

"You distracted me."

"No, no," he said. "I think it's good that you got so easily distracted with potential danger around."

"I don't know why you're complaining, we're alive aren't we?" I questioned. "You don't have to worry, I have everything all under control."

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Isaac moved the torch around, back and forth quickly. "I thought I saw a bird."

"Funny," I nodded, but I couldn't stop my lips from twisting up into a smile.

"Call it payback for scaring me."

"With birds on the brain now, are you going to start thinking and being scared of bird germs and getting bird flu?"

Isaac stopped walking, eyes wide. I had continued only a couple of steps before noticing he stopped, feeling sudden regret. I stopped myself and turned to face him, rambling out some kind of apology almost immediately.

"Oh, shit. Isaac, I-I'm sorry, that was—" Isaac's expression shifted immediately into a smile, and I threw my head back and rolled my eyes. "Wow. You're a dick."

"I got you."

"Not funny."

"It was a bit funny. Besides, I'd never touch a bird," his nose scrunched in real disgust as we continued walking.

"Of course," I sarcastically agreed. "That would just be awful."

"I hate birds."

"Just the worst."

"Is this it?"

The only thing I saw was a single house surrounded by trees, but in my experience, sometimes these lone houses were a part of a small town. That's what I heard about Lone Oak, anyway, that it was a small town somewhere.

"No, this is somewhere else," Isaac pointed the torch around, before landing on a sign. "Grantville. We probably have another hour to walk."

I nodded. "Lush."

Isaac frowned, glancing over, "What?"

"Good," I corrected quickly.

"Okay," he dragged out before completely ignoring me, and his pace quickened a little. "Come on, we should speed this up."

And I sped up.

It was a long walk down a road with houses every couple hundred yards until eventually there started being more town buildings. There was a community building, a row of flats and shops all right next to each other with a railway track that ran across the road at one point.

There was some graffiti across the bricks, some old and some new, warning signs left by people who had been here before. The light scanned across some of it, but Isaac didn't seem very concerned, because there were no other indications that the dead were there.

"This town seems boring," I glanced around.

"Have you seen one that's interesting?" Isaac asked.

"I suppose not."

As we made it closer to what seemed like the centre of town, Isaac stopped. I watched as he pulled his bag around the front of him with his braced hand, still holding the torch. As he pulled the flap up and realised his hands were full, he held the crowbar out to me. "Hold this for a second, just need to check the map."

"Did you steal our map?" I asked, taking the crowbar.

"No, I did not steal the map," Isaac seemed somewhat offended.

"You stole that torch," I said. "And Daryl's bag."

"It's my map," he promised in a fed-up tone.

"Oh. I'm sure it is," I joked sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes and held one end of the map so it hung awkwardly downwards. Despite how awkward it looked, it seemed okay for him to read because he just turned his head side on and pointed his torch at the paper.

"Okay," he nodded. "I'm good."

"I'm glad you are."

He put the map back in his bag and held his hand out for the crowbar, which I handed back to him. The second it was in his hand he kept walking, and I followed along. At least he knew how to read a map, otherwise, this could've been a lot longer than six hours.

As we walked past this street, I heard a metallic crash that sounded like someone had knocked over a bin. The light shot over to the source of the noise, and I saw a walker coming out from a lane between the buildings.

"Infected."

"Walker," I said at the same time. "I got it."

"That'd probably be best," Isaac agreed.

I pulled the axe away from my holster as Isaac raised the torch to illuminate the corpse. Biting my lip, I walked forward, pulled back the axe and swung it straight down. The walker fell, and the body squelched as I pulled back the axe.

"Gross," Isaac muttered as he joined me.

"Yeah."

"This way," he nodded, taking the biggest path around the body. I chose to step over the top of it and followed him.

WELCOME TO LONE OAK. The beige sign did not shine with the torch on it, caked in dust from the dust. It was the first indicator I had that we were there, in the right place. Next, my eyes landed on the small group of houses settled just down the road, each spread so far apart that I was sure it was to hide the fact that there were less than ten houses.

The size of the town along with the fact that every road out was blocked by cars and debris from recent storms made me realise why Isaac and his mom chose to stay here as long as they had. It was almost impossible to find.

"This way," Isaac picked up the pace into a jog, which left me running to catch up with him. "It's this way!"

I could feel a residual pain at the top of my chest as I ran, which I pushed down because it didn't matter. My chest was almost healed, and this short run would not hurt it any more than it had been a few weeks before. I just wondered how Isaac felt with his sprained arm moving around as he sprinted ahead of me.

We sprinted across field lengths; the majority of land that surrounded these houses was open grasslands that eventually faded off into a line of trees. Isaac always remained ahead of me, basically unaware that I even existed anymore.

I didn't—couldn't catch up to him until he stopped, staring at a brown house down a long drive. He glanced at me for a second, and nodded to the house, "Here, it's this one."

"Okay," I nodded and reached for my gun. "Let me go first—"

Isaac ignored me and walked ahead, his strides so large that he made it to the door in a second. Instead of stopping or waiting, he slammed his body into the door and burst inside, with me just behind him. "Mom? Mom, I'm here!"

It didn't bother me that he didn't announce my presence with him, but I was a little worried that if his mother had seen a random person enter the house then maybe she'd attack. I couldn't fight back, so if something like that happened then there'd be a good chance I left here very injured. Shoving the thought down, I waited for Isaac to look for her.

There was no reply, and Isaac yelled out again. "Mom?! Where are you?!"

Again, nothing. It felt like a punch to the gut when deja vu hit, and I didn't get a chance to shove down the memories before they took over my brain. Everything was happening the same as it had done before when Shane brought me back to the house to see if my dad was there.

Isaac turned to check the front room, and I raised my gun and walked towards the back. A door was open, partly, not enough for me to see inside. When I saw the white tile that met the carpet of the hallway, I assumed the room was a kitchen. Holding my gun up, I pushed the door back with the palm of my hand.

And I found her. Isaac's mother was the first thing I saw when the door opened, lying still on the ground between a counter and the kitchen island. Her eyes were opened into a deep stare that remained fixated on the ceiling, but she was not alive.

There was so much blood.

Her blonde hair was matted, half of it now a deep shade of red-brown and stuck down the side of her neck. The tiles around her head were pooled with blood, coming down underneath her, soaking into the back of her shirt. She was shot, but not before she was tortured.

Bruises extended the length of her body, the rest hidden under her shirt and open jeans. Her lip was burst, and dried tear stains carried down her cheeks. Her left sleeve had been ripped and rolled up, exposing her forearm and the trails of blood curled down around her wrist. The lines carved into her arm formed a word: CLAIMED.

"Oh my God," You should have been here. You should have stopped this.I clenched my teeth and turned away, trying to silence my mind that kept cursing me out.

There was another one. Another person died because of me. My heart was pounding against my chest, and slow quiet breaths worked in and out of my mouth as I tried to clear my head. Not now. This wasn't the time, I needed to stop—

"Mom?" Isaac's voice made me realise that he was behind me, now staring at the scene I'd found. I could see his watery eyes turning red, his brow furrowed together as he stared into the kitchen.

"Isaac, don't . . ." I caught his elbow, knowing he'd hate my hands on him, but I had to stop him. I placed a hand on his shoulder as he tried to pass me, hoping I could stop him before he'd see too much. He struggled, and yanked his arm away, almost falling into the room with her.

He knelt down next to her, his knees just shy of the blood. "Mom, I'm here."

My chest cracked, and God, I prayed that she would answer him. I wiped a tear from under my eye and held my breath, holding in any noises that threatened to come out. Isaac raised a hand, and it hovered over her bloodied shoulder for a moment, hesitant. It then changed course, coming to rest on her bare cheek, and he moved her head a little, trying to shake her awake.

"What—what are you doing?" He asked in broken whispers, sniffing as he stared at her. "I'm here. Wake up. Please, would you wake up and talk to me?"

I knew better, but at that moment I wanted nothing more than for her to wake up. Isaac would have his mother back, and there would not be more blood on my hands. My heart bled for Isaac because I knew what he was going through.

I'd been there.

"Mom. Mom, please," he begged. "I-I can't do this without you. I can't—"

His voice choked off with a sob, and his braced hand came up to the clean streaks of hair out of her face. She remained still, unmoving, her glazed-over expression remaining fixated on the ceiling. I clenched my teeth, turning away and breathing slowly out of my mouth to stop myself from crying.

"No, no, no, no, no," he was shaking his head, moving his braced arm down to the other side of her face. I saw his body lean forward, over the blood, and he rested his lips against her forehead, mumbling for her to wake up. "Please look at me. I'm here, please look at me."

As he pulled back on his knees, I took a step forward, taking the spot next to him. "Isaac—"

I placed my hand on his shoulder, but he recoiled away from me in an instant. His body fell back, and he kicked himself away, stopping when his back hit the wall. Isaac covered his face with shaky hands, and he let out a series of strangled cries that tore at my chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ."