I sat outside on the porch in the dark as I waited for everybody to show up back on the farm. Uncle Hershel, Glenn, and Rick are still in town - probably holed up in some building because of walkers. And Lori took it upon herself to go out and try to bring them home, by herself, without any backup.

I watched as one of the cars started up and speed off. A small figure walked towards the house in the dim light that the building provided. Carl walked up the few steps that were there and sat down next to me.

"Your mom's gonna be alright, kid. She's... Tough." 'Not smart, though.' I thought after picking the right word for the situation. "Whoever's gone off to get her will come back with her. Alive."

"How do you know? She's been gone all day! She could have been bit or lost like Sophia." Carl's tone filled me with sadness. Of course those would be his worries for his mother, especially after loosing his friend in a similar fashion.

I slightly nudged him with my arm, "You were shot and survived. If she was able to give birth to such a tough kid, she's tough, too."

"Where's your mom?" Carl asked in a quiet tone after a brief moment of silence.

"She died."

"How?"

"Giving bir- I see where you're goin' with this, Carl, and it's not the best place to be. Fillin' yourself with doubt and negativity is only settin' yourself up for failure."

He scoffed. "You're tough, though! It doesn't make sense. If I'm tough because Mom's tough and had me, then how are you tough if your mom died having you?"

"I- You're right, it doesn't make sense." I hate it when kids find loopholes in your excuses by using logic. I sighed in defeat, not wanting to create a whole complex web. "I was hopin' that you wouldn't question anythin', but I was wrong. Look, everybody has their own way of learnin' how to be tough and actually being tough. For me, I had a bit of help later on in life, but most of everythin' else, I learned on my own."

"You didn't really answer the question."

"Some things can't be answered 'cause there is no answer."

"That's stupid."

I chuckled. "That it is, kid. That it is."

We fell into another lapse of silence, which I was glad about. There was no way I would have been able to keep myself afloat in that conversation if it kept going. Carl was just as inquisitive as Shawn was when he was that age. And just like then, I would've sucked.

I let most of my nerves be soothed by the screaming cicadas and the smooth breeze. As much as it pains me to admit it, Lori had a point in going out to find the three men. It was stupid that she went out on her own without telling anyone, but emotions are running high, especially after the barn. Even though I'm mad at my uncle, I don't wish death or injury on him. I want to be able to hate him from the other room and not from out of town.

Carl's voice broke me out of my thoughts. His child-like voice definitely stood out from the sounds of wildlife. "Why do you have a snake on your arm?"

"'Cause it symbolizes a nickname a friend gave to me a few years ago."

"What's the nickname?"

"Striker."

"Why Striker?"

"Why the questions?" I asked back in the same tone as him. Gentle but questioning.

He shrugged. "I'm bored and I'm trying not to think about my mom or dad."

"Fine." I sighed. "I got the nickname Striker because I got into a lot of fights. I was about eighteen or nineteen when my friend said that I strike like a snake, thus dubbing me 'Striker'."

"Why did you get into a lot of fights?"

"Because... I didn't have the greatest of childhoods and eighteen was when I decided to do something with it."

"Why?"

"There was a bit of a lead up. I was bullied when I was a kid, my dad was off in some other country selling something, I started living here full-time, my uncle remarried, I had a lot of anger and I wanted to direct it properly, the list goes on."

"Do you like being called Striker?"

"Yeah, I do." I said after pausing in thought. "It's been a while since I've been called it, but it filled me with pride when somebody did."

"Why? Isn't fighting bad?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, it is. But, uh... When I got the nickname, I was fighting in a safe place - a boxing gym."

"Oh. Can I call you Striker?"

"Why?" It was my turn to ask the three-letter question and it felt good. No wonder why he asks it a lot.

"It makes you happy doesn't it?"

My face turned up in confusion at his question-like answer. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, you frown a lot. You look a little bit happier when you're with your family and around Daryl, which is weird because he's a jerk." I chuckled a bit at his opinion of the redneck. "You're either frowning or you're angry or something. Didn't you just say that filling yourself with negativity is bad?"

"Settin' yourself up for failure," I corrected. "But yes, I did."

"So can I?"

"It's fine by me if you want to." My eyes were drawn to the dirt road leading up to the farm by the headlights that were drawing closer. It came to a stop by the RV and two people came out. "Looks like your mom's back, Carl. Come on." I stood up and grabbed a hold of Carl's hand as he raced over to her.

Even though my pace slow because of my injury, my somewhat long legs helped me keep up with the boy. When we reached the small group, Lori and Shane were shoving each other and arguing. I made sure Carl was slightly behind me in case something went awry.

"I gotta- I gotta look after you. I gotta make sure the baby's alright, okay?" Shane let out the biggest info bomb of the apocalypse. A baby? In this economy?

Carl moved around me and walked towards his mom. "You're having a baby? Why didn't you tell me?"

Lori stared at her son, dumbfounded as fuck. Her scratched up face made her look worse for wear and it probably wasn't helping her case since she went out trying to play the hero.

"Come on." Dale held out his hand for Lori. "Let's make sure you're alright."

Andrea walked up to her and pulled her away by her arm towards Dale. "Come on."

I looked over at Maggie who was probably looking just as shocked as I was. My curiosity grew when I saw that there wasn't any shock or surprise in her eyes, just... disappointment? Andrea, Dale, Lori and Carl headed towards the house and Maggie and I were in tow just a few feet away.

"Did you know, Maggie?" My head was tilted slightly towards her as we walked. "About Lori being pregnant?"

When I was met with silence, I knew the answer.

"How long have you known?"

"Few days. Last time I went into town with Glenn, he had a paper that said 'Plan B' and I had him tell me the truth."

"So Glenn knew, too. Did he also know about the barn?"

She sighed, "I didn't tell him, he found out on his own."

"Since you seem to know just 'bout everything at this point, is there anything else I should know?"

"Dad probably went to the bar."

"I knew that." I scoffed. "I just hope one of them bring back some sort of drinkable alcohol, 'cause I need a goddamn drink."

Maggie made her way into the room that Beth was sleeping in, the moment we got inside. The others stayed in the living room to talk while I went into the kitchen to try to magically conjure up some liquor.

My usual go-to stress relivers were damaged or gone. Can't go into Atlanta and find a fight or go to the boxing gym. I can't use the punching bag because I accidently put a hole in it and I don't have the materials to fix it or replace it. That leaves drinking. All I have to do is think about all of my hiding spots for it and hope that it's still there.

The chatter in the living room died down a bit while I was balancing on the counter, looking in the back of a corner cabinet. I knew there was at least an old cereal box in there that held whisky or something. When I managed to grab the box that was thankfully still there, I made a quick escape through the back door and set up shop on the back porch for the rest of the night. Even if they come back empty handed, I would be content.

When morning came around, I grabbed the half empty bottle and went inside to see Beth. Nobody else was in there, so it was just me and her. I sat down in the chair next to her bed and just stared at her while taking small sips from the bottle.

The millions of thoughts that would normally be running through my head were not there for once. It was just the two tiny voices talking to each other as they tried to make some sort of agreement of logic. The proverbial angel and devil, if you will.

Is this what my family felt like when I was passed out in the hospital Merle took me to? Did they have a million thoughts or were their minds silent?

Two sets of footsteps were heard as they came down the stairs and into the room. I was successful in ignoring them until Patricia gasped and tried to pull the bottle away from my hands. I quickly moved my hand to where the bottle was under the chair and away from her. "What the hell, Patricia?"

"Are you seriously drinkin' right now, Vesper?" Patricia seethed. "Where did you even get it from?" An anger that I've never seen filled Patricia's eyes.

My reaction was a bit delayed, but when her words hit me, I scoffed. "Comin' from you, of all people, I don't gotta answer shit."

"Vesper!" Maggie was quick to scold me.

"No, no, no. You don't get to 'Vesper' me, Maggie." I swayed a bit as I stood up. "Neither one of you do. Not after the barn. Y'all watched me blame myself and cry over their graves when y'all knew that they were motherfuckin' walkers in the damn barn!"

"They were sick and needed help! But those monsters killed them all!" Patricia all but screeched. "And now you're just drinking your life away like your mother did before she had you!"

A tense silence fell upon the room. Tears that would've once fell were absent from my eyes. "Y'all thinkin' they were sick got us into this mess, Patricia." I walked slowly up to her and whispered slurred words into her ear, "And if you ever talk about my mother or talk about anybody in that group in the same way 'gain, me drinkin' will be the least of your issues. God as my fuckin' witness." I backed away from her and stormed out the room, barely sparing a glance at any of the women.

I tugged on my boots and headed towards the tool shed to grab the ax to start chopping some wood. It wasn't the best of ideas to handle anything sharp while drunk, but the small sober part of my brain took control enough for me to completely focus on something else.

I drank the rest of the bottle as I chopped away at the wood. The heat grew as time passed by and I peeled off my sweat-soaked shirt, leaving me covered by a pair of jeans that I had changed into and the trusty sports bra that I had for two years.

Swing after swing, my arms started to become sore and my vison really started to lag. The only thing that's been fueling me since dinner was the bottle of whiskey. That and anger. The only time I stopped was when an old red rust bucket came speeding up to the house. I walked around the building and Uncle Hershel climbed out of the vehicle.

He was wearing a white shirt that he normally wore under his button-down, and it was stained with blood. Maggie came running out the house, completely bypassing her father, and into the arms of her apparent lover. As Uncle Hershel walked by Patricia and Jimmy, I faintly heard him say for the blonde woman to prepare the shed for something.

I looked back towards the car only to see a blindfolded person sitting in the backseat. T-Dog pointed over to him and asked who the hell that was.

"That's Randall." Glenn answered as he walked away. Everybody moved towards the car to get a closer look at him while I stayed rooted in my spot. The name Randall rang a bell, but I am way to drunk to even try to figure anything out.

While the others checked out the newcomer, my eyes met the familiar blue of Daryl's. I merely gave a small nod in greeting, but my eyes had other plans. I raked my eyes over him from his short hair that I would kill to run my hands through, all the way down his torso and long legs before raking them all the way back up- only taking a few pit stops along the way.

I felt my lips turn upwards at the lustful thoughts that made my heart skip a beat or two. If it weren't for the whole end of the world thing, I would've walked my happy ass to a confession booth, but since it is the end of the world... What's wrong with yet another sin? I'm already goin' to hell.

My soul screamed at me to get the hell back to chopping wood when I saw that Daryl was still looking at me, but my brain was too out of it to listen. I was only able to force myself back to work when somebody capture Daryl's attention elsewhere, which made me able to do another look-over, but of his backside instead. And boy did his crossbow show off those broad shoulders of his and perfectly end right above his ass that I would love to grab.