The Bite of a Blade, the Sting of an Arrow

by Shadows-Dancing-In-The-Hall

Audrey's life had never been easy. The walkers were a new twist, but surviving pain and loss was nothing she hadn't lived through before. But...Daryl Dixon was new too. And Audrey doesn't know what to make of him. Daryl/OC

16. The Way is Shut and the Dead Keep It

Bit of a longer wait. Sorry bout that but not as long as last time :D Anyway, here is my first attempt at weaving my story into TWD canon :) I kind of combined episodes one and two a little bit. The end of episode one is where Glenn hails rick in the tank and episode two is where everyone meets. That's where this chapter begins and ends. You'll see what I mean as you read :) Super long chapter ahead and I like this one LOADS better than the last and I hope you will too! Hope you enjoy and remember to review!

Oh and btw, I wrote this one a little different structure wise. It will become apparent right of the bat :}

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Chapter 16: The Way is Shut and the Dead Keep It

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Present Time

There is this funny misconception that people have about war, battles, and fighting in general.

Now, I'm not a soldier. Hell, I'm not even old enough to join the military, if we had one left that is, which we don't since that was about the first thing to fall when shit hit the fan, right before the national government, who, up until the very end, attempted to curb mass hysteria and promise that a cure was just around the next bend. So no, I'm not a solider. I haven't been to war, in the technical sense. I've never worn fatigues, never had some drill sergeant bark orders at me, never been out of the state much less the country, and I've sure as hell never fired a gun.

But, for the past two months, I've been fighting a war nonetheless.

Because that's what life is now: a war, a battle, a constant struggle to stay out of the enemy's reach and, more importantly, the grasp of their teeth. I've been fighting all my life, in one fashion or another, but these past weeks…nothing can compare. Not to the ice cold douse of fear I feel when a moan rises into the air. Not to the burning fire in my veins as I fightrunsurvive. Not to the crippling…nothing sensation when shock and disbelief set in as I realize…it's the fucking end of the world and I've got nothing left. And I have realized that too, slowly, steadily, over days and weeks, like an avalanche slow as molasses, burying me deeper and deeper and deeper.

The first time that it really hit me was the night after Amy and I had our sorta-not-really-kinda-fight, when she was depressed about her birthday and her friends and I was too oblivious to see. That night, I had lied awake until nearly dawn, just staring up at the grey material of the tent I was sharing with Abby, listening to her soft snores and replaying Amy's words and emotions over and over in my mind, like a perverse lullaby with the opposite affect because, instead of dropping off, my eyes refused to close. And, as I had lain there, gazing up unfocusedly, thinking about Amy's Emma and her fate, the fate my friends undoubtedly shared…I had been suddenly crippled with a paralyzing sense of hopelessness and despair that had blindsided me with a vengeance.

There was no refugee center; there was no safety.

I had known these facts for a while, days, weeks. It's why I was even in this camp in the first place, my unforeseen plan B that had been dropped in my lap. But, for some reason, it had truly just…struck me then, in the middle of the night, me on my back with a flimsy sleeping bag around my legs and a tree root digging into the middle of my spine. There was no refugee center; there was no safety. Those thoughts cycled through my head until the words were blurred and nearly unrecognizable, jagged vowels and rounded out consonants. Therewasnorefugeecenter;therewasnosafety.

Then I had thought that if the government and military couldn't even accomplish this small thing, couldn't even secure just one city, one sliver of land, the fact of the matter is they weren't in any condition to accomplish anything else. If they were even alive that is. And that was so unlikely I might as well have been waiting for Jesus Christ to come stepping out of the clouds, apology on his lips for the clusterfuck the world had fallen into, like God had accidently dropped the fucking ball.

So, what was left? That had been the question. My home was gone, the city more than likely razed to the ground. My family, sensei…I couldn't even think of their fates. Just picturing Mom, her red hair and laughing blue eyes, or Manny and his gapped tooth smile, or Irina and her freckled oh so innocent face…it had left me breathless and gasping and just racked with a pain so acute, death was a welcome alternative. There was nothing left behind me, just ravaged land and an ocean of corpses, both moving and non.

And…what was I to look forward to? That thought had been the worst of them all. The only thing that had kept me moving that first month was the thought that, if I kept moving, if I kept fighting, if I kept enduring, I would reach the promised land soon enough. All this death and devastation would be just a bad memory and I would be safe behind high fences, eating healthy amounts of food and sleeping in a bed, not having to worry if a walker was going to crop up in the middle of the night and drag me to hell. But that was just a pipe dream; there was nothing left, nothing but a rag tag group of survivors that had managed to find this small sliver of relatively safe land. But how long was that to last? How long could any of it last? The people were nice enough but it was the end of the fucking world. Nice didn't get you fucking anywhere; nice didn't promise you were going to be alive come next fucking sunrise.

As I lied there that night, it had suddenly been too much. Too much pain, too much hurt, too much suffering and for what? Nothing. I had fought for nothing. A few creature comforts and a semblance of security that was as safe as a paper-fucking-bag. That…wasn't what I had wanted, what I had looked for, what I had prayed for. It wasn't fair; it was a sick joke. It…wasn't worth living for.

A realization had come to me then, simple and clear, like a goddamn epiphany.

It was just so fucking easy. The only thing to do now, the only logical, reasonable, rational outcome in this completely fucked up, nonsensical world…was to give up. The second I had thought that, my sensei's face had jumped to the forefront of my mind and guilt had settled in my veins, leaden and immobilizing but I shoved it away. I wasn't being melodramatic. I wasn't being the typical teenage oh woe is me my boyfriend broke up with me I want to die girl here. My dilemma was real; my agony was true. Why the fuck should I keep enduring? It was a simple yet oh so profound question. My past was merely ashes, ashes and a pain so deep it was unfathomable. Tears had spilled from my eyes, unstoppable, untamable and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood sliding down my throat. Because my whole family was gone, gone, and my future only held the promise of a short, brutal existence that inevitably ended in painful and agonizing death. Who wanted to live when that was the promised plan of events? The thought alone had scared and disgusted me to the point where I broke out in a cold sweat. I didn't want to live like that, with the Grim Reaper's scythe poised just above my neck every second of the day, like some fucking cow just waiting to be delivered to the slaughter house. "Wouldn't it be so much nicer just to fall asleep here," I had thought suddenly. "Just fall asleep and just never wake up?" People did that all the time didn't they? I remembered I read something once about people who had severe depression; that they would sometimes just go to bed and die, painlessly, in their sleep. No heart attacks, no strokes, they just simply…gave up on living. "I could do that," I remember thinking. It seemed plausible enough. I certainly was in enough mental and emotional pain. And if that didn't work there was always the more…proactive approach. Suicide. And if people said I would go to hell because of it well then, fine because it couldn't be any worse than what I was experiencing already.

So, yeah; I had thought about killing myself. It was mainly in those first few days, in the dark watches of the night with no one around to see me look sidelong at the edge of my tanto and the wicked gleam the moonlight gave it. One could say that it was the rest of the survivors, Glenn and Amy and Carl and Sophia, that kept me alive, kept me going, that stayed my hand and, certainly, they did play a factor. I did, and do, find comfort in Amy's grin and company. I find solace in Carl and Sophia's quicksilver grins and childlike innocence, their bell like laughter. I find happiness in Glenn's attempt to teach me spare words of Korean, something no one really knows about and…I did find a certain measure of peace, skinning rabbits and squirrels beside Daryl in the depth of the woods. But, the main reason my heart is still beating, that I am still breathing, is…I'm really just chickenshit. I might have thought about it, contemplated it, but I could never really, truly, go through with it. Killing myself. Ending my life. The truth is, I didn't have the stomach for it, still don't, the courage or the cowardice or whatever you wanted to call it.

In result, I'm left fighting this war with no battle plan, no commanding officers, and no idea how to win. It's day to day, just trying to survive. More than once, I can't help but wonder if this is what the Vietnam War felt like, boys my age thrust into a similar fucked up situation with no direction or heading and a greater chance at dying than seeing the end of the shitfest they found themselves in. It really makes me wonder and I wonder if they also realized the misconception people have on war. I like to think that those boys did find out real quick, in those humid jungles, winding trails, and gangrene water. I can't think of any way they couldn't have.

See, people always think, at least I did before and a lot of Hollywood movies portrayed this sentiment alright, that it was the actual battles that fucked you up. And, to a certain degree, this is true. Fighting, especially for your life, does shit to you, no doubt about that. But that's not what really gets to you, at the end of the day.

It's the fucking waiting.

It's the goddamn anticipation, the calm before the storm, when everything seems fucking still and quiet and placid and you almost want to let your guard down if it wasn't for the warning, the unease at the stillness, screaming in the back of your mind. It's the bated breath you hold as you wait for the other shoe to drop and suddenly not being able to remember if the first one had already fallen.

When I'm fighting, it's different. Everything is action, reaction. Swing right, roll left, jump to feet and run my ass off. Keep moving. Don't let them catch you. Watch their teeth, their hands and don't you dare fall down because then you're dead or worse. There is no room for thought outside of the immediate; just muscle memory and strategizing how to survive this particular battle so I can live to fight another fucking day.

But leading up to a battle? When you know it's coming? When you're expecting it or, worse yet, when you're charging into it, as I am about to do? That's the fucking worst feeling. Even worse than after the fighting, when people have died and I've…left them behind. Because then…I couldn't do anything. What's done had been done and I had to keep moving because there was nothing I could change. But this before place, on the cusp of it…well let's just say that imagination is really a soldier's worst fucking enemy.

I'm usually not this morbid. I try not to be because if I start down this desolate path, reviewing the clusterfuck my life has become, the shit that I've lived through and the shit I've yet to face…it would make anyone want to eat a damn bullet. So, instead, I immerse myself in other things. In friends, Glenn and Amy, and asinine talk to keep the dark thoughts at bay. I dive into Carl's free laughter and Sophia's hesitant grins to stave off the shadows. But now…it's kind of hard to be all sunny sunshine and daisies and rainbows when I'm standing in this abandoned department store, bloodied katana nearly falling out of my lax fingers, staring at the ocean of the undead surging before me, two planes of tempered glass all that's between us and the flood.

"Every geek for miles around heard you popping off rounds," T-Dog snarls somewhere off to my right. I don't glance at the man he's addressing even though I can see the newcomer out of the corner of my eye, a blur of beige and dirt. I don't have to. The fear is pliable, in all of us, even without me looking into any faces.

"You just rang the dinner bell," Andrea says. Her voice is defeated, words shaky as we all take in the rabid walkers trying to batter their way to us. A tremor of my own runs the length of my body.

How did it come to this?

It was just supposed to be a routine scavenge. In. Out. No geek the wiser. This wasn't supposed to happen.

A particular walker, with a rock no less in hand, slams against the glass doors and cracks spiral out, a network of complex webs. All of us start at the sight and the noise; we take a step back.

But, as they say, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. (1)

"Get the picture now?" Morales growls to the man that had caused this, the man whose shots were the reason the walkers had found us.

And, I don't know about the other man, but I sure do.

There's no way we can get out of this. We're surrounded. Blocked in. Trapped. This was just supposed to be a routine scavenge. And it has turned into the death of us all.

I've said that imagination is a soldier's worst enemy and even though I'm not a soldier in name…I can fucking relate.

Not for the first time, I selfishly wish, in the blackest corners of my mind, that I had listened to Shane, that I had shut my goddamn mouth and stayed the fuck in camp. As I watch the geeks beat against the glass, a barrier that can't last very long, I spare a thought for Amy, looking towards the road, waiting the arrival of her sister, triumphant with supplies. She'll look for her coming but Andrea won't return. Miranda will patiently await Morales, her husband, Louis and Eliza at her side but she will wait for the rest of her life. Carl and Sophia will wait to know the ending of The Giver and, maybe, someone will read it to them. Their mothers perhaps. Maybe even Shane or Dale. But it won't be me.

I wonder how long it will take them to figure out our fate. Will they begin to worry by tonight? Or will they wait till morning to pace? Will it take a few days before the realization sets in? Will…will Daryl be back by then, dragging back meat that will last days more now that there were fewer mouths to feed?

Will he…will he spare me a thought or am I really not even worth the trouble, the energy, to think about? Will Daryl mourn me, a " business partner", as he mourns the loss of his brother?

I don't know. I'll never know. All I know is that, after two months of fighting, struggling to survive in this battle zone, I've finally made it to Atlanta. I've finally come to the end.

The glass shudders and the snarls of walkers echo in my ears, the moans of things aching for my flesh.

How did it come to this?

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A few hours earlier

It's not even dawn yet but I've been awake for hours. To be honest, I don't think I ever even went to sleep. Maybe there were a few seconds, a handful of minutes where I dozed off but it couldn't have been more than a half an hour. And that was really stretching it. The thing is…ever since Shane agreed to let me go…I've been in constant motion. After dinner was over last night, I had sat around with Glenn for a few hours, listening to what the plan was for today, the nuances he kept thinking of, the small details. He needed someone to bounce ideas off of, to listen, to input, and I guess I fit the job description perfectly. Man, I never thought Glenn was dumb but the way he thought of things, the angles and back up moves…I'll have to ask him one of these days if he ever played chess because I'm sure he could have taken on the best of them.

It had been well past dark by the time Glenn, yawning and barely able to keep his eyes open, had said goodnight and stumbled over to his tent, leaving me alone beside the dying fire. Amy had left the two of us not long after mealtime had finished, claiming she was tired and needed to rest. Glenn and I had mutually decided not to call out our friend on the fact that we knew she was worried about her older sister and just wanted to spend some time with her before Andrea went into the city. To be fair, Amy was worried about us too but…Andrea was blood. She came first.

Alone, save the flickering flames and Jim's quiet presence keeping lookout atop the RV, I had gotten up to head over to my tent, get some sleep before the "big day." But…I hadn't been tired. At all. I should have been; after everything the day had thrown at me I should have been ready to drop. But I wasn't. I think, am pretty sure, it had something to do with nerves and anticipation but whatever it was, I couldn't sleep if I wanted to. I had ants in my skin and energy in my veins and sleeping was not even an option. I had contemplated climbing the Winnebago and offering to take watch so Jim could catch some shut eye but I was almost certain the older man would turn me down, tell me to get some sleep. Kind of pointless even trying.

So, instead, I decided a little swordplay couldn't hurt. Truthfully, I was a bit out of practice. I did my best to squeeze in at least an hour of sparring a day but, with everything else vying for my attention, I had slacked off a little. Sensei would be disappointed. But, I had nothing else to do and, with Atlanta looming a few hours away, practice seemed the most logical option. Never know. It could prove helpful.

In the beginning, it had been a little awkward. It was almost midnight, the dark thick and unwavering, and the moving shadows the fire cast did nothing to help me keep my balance. Honestly though, I think I was just embarrassed. When I did find time to practice, it was usually alone or with Glenn, Amy, or Carl as an audience. The first two barely even acknowledged what I was doing either, usually talking me through my drills and, with the moves being so ingrained in me and feeling so at ease in the company of my friends, I had the barest of stutters. Carl, and occasionally Sophia, was a more rapt audience but he was a kid, innocent and awestruck, and sue me if I tried to show off a little for him. Others had seen me practice, hell the entire camp saw me fight Shane all those weeks ago. But usually, people only spared me a passing glance, vaguely curious but not enough to stop what they were doing. Having Jim on top of the RV, nothing to do but cast a cursory eye around for danger and then watch me, moving rapidly through reflexed moves and positions…just a tad bit awkward. I'm not saying that Jim was being creepy or anything! He's one of the nicer men of camp, quiet and reserved but respectful. It was just…weird, made me feel embarrassed. At least for a little bit. But then, as I got lost in the motions, the pull of muscles, the shift of my feet, it got easier. I forgot Jim was even there. And, for the first time since the world ended, I truly practiced. Went through every move Sensei had ever taught me and then modified some of my own, slashes and jabs aimed higher up, towards the head region instead the center of mass as I had been taught. I was so caught up in my own little world that I had nearly taken a limb off of Dale when he replaced Jim on watch, the older man concerned as he walked up to ask what I was doing.

I had been disoriented by the question, blinking stupidly at Dale as I processed his words. And when I finally registered what he had said, my body had chosen that moment to remind me, oh yeah Audrey, you've been moving, almost nonstop, for hours. Gasping for breath, with sweat running into my eyes, I had stuttered out something about practicing and the trip into Atlanta. It didn't make much sense to my own ears, what I could hear over the blood rushing in my head anyway, but Dale seemed to understand and the vague worry in his brown eyes turned into abject anxiety. He told me that it was a few hours before dawn and that I should get some rest before I left. The way he spoke…it was clearly obvious that he didn't like me going on the trip but, after everything with Shane and Daryl, he decided it was wise to keep his mouth shut.

A small part of me had wanted to argue, I could go on a little longer and I needed to be ready for this trip, but seeing the expression on Dale's face I had quickly relented. And by that time, fuck was I tired. Reluctantly, I had trudged back to my tent and unceremoniously tripped into my sleeping bag, letting my eyes fall shut before I was even all the way down.

I woke up a while ago. I'm not sure how long I slept but when my eyes cracked open, it was still dark outside, my tent nothing but shadows. And by the way my eyes stung and the dull throbbing in my temples, I know I didn't get much sleep. I tried to doze off again, I really did, but was unable, that itching feeling crawling through my blood again. Truth be told, I could have gotten up, started to do something, sharpen my blade, tanto, see if anyone else is up yet and if they need help but…here I am, still in bed, anxious to get moving but loathe to start.

A thought has been pulsing in the back of my mind for a long time now and, weakened by sleep deprivation and nerves, I finally relent, my will crumbling in the dark.

Turning my head slightly, I squint in the gloom of predawn to see if Abby's awake. Her back is to me, her auburn hair black in the darkness, but the rise and fall of her shoulders is slow and measure, the deep breaths of sleep. I bite my lip and keep my eyes on her for a second more, just to make sure, before I roll over and reach for my old hiking pack, stuffed into the corner of the tent, right near my head.

The fabric is worn between my fingers, threadbare, almost soft. It's once cobalt color is faded and lackluster, bleached by the unforgiving Georgia sun. There's a hole near the bottom, what used to be a small tear exacerbated into a rift the size of two of my fingers and if I looked closely enough, I can see straight inside. But I leave the hole alone for now and instead slowly bring the pack into my lap, curling upwards into a sitting position in the process. It's not as heavy as I remember but that's because what clothes I had stuffed inside that last night are now stacked around my side of the tent, there aren't many but together they had been quite a weight, and, obviously, there is no more food inside to weigh it down. There are a few protein bars, squirreled away at the bottom, but that's it. Most of the heft is paper and ink, books, a map of Georgia, and a plain manila folder stuffed in the back. I purse my lips at pale smudge of the folder in the dark and bypass it completely, digging towards the bottom. There are a few other miscellaneous items I come across, a flashlight, book of matches, a folded bandanna with a peach pit tucked into its center and a loose tube of chapstick. I blink at the small cylinder and pull it out, finding it nearly full. Huh. I lick my chapped lips and, though I should probably save this, I pop the cap off and drag the waxy substance across my lips, feeling the balm seep into the splits and tears of dehydrated skin. I close my eyes for a moment to revel in the sensation before slipping the tube back inside the bag, shifting things around as I search for my prize.

It usually isn't in this pack. I usually put it into the smaller backpack that Glenn got me, the green number that's lying at the foot of my sleeping bag. But the other day when I was with…Daryl, I had accidently gotten some squirrel blood smeared across the face of it. It wasn't so much the stain that bothered me but…I didn't want anything smelling the blood and well…you know. So, I had taken everything out of the bag and stored it back here, in my tent. My journal, The Giver, canteen and a few other odds and ends. I had cleaned the bag that day but, for some reason, hadn't put everything back in yet.

I finally find my journal tucked into the bottom corner, pressed between a copy of Catcher in the Rye and a spare water bottle that I didn't remember packing but somehow ended up taking with me. Carefully, I pull the small book into my lap and push the large hiking pack back into the corner, casting Abby a calculating glance when the movement makes a louder noise than I intended. When the older woman doesn't stir, I look down at my hands.

For a few minutes, I just stare at the nondescript, black, rectangle in my hands. It's not that big, smaller than a standard sheet of copy paper, but it's thick, compact, like the Christian Bible. A tiny bitter smile pulls at my lips in the dark. A bible; it's an adequate enough description. Daryl said I read it like one anyway. The thought of the hunter awakens a dull ache behind my eyes and I shake my head. No; don't think about Daryl. That's not why I pulled this out.

Still shaking my head, I flip open the book, feeling the worn leather cover bend easily in my hands. It's too dark to see any of the writing on the pages but I'm not looking for words right now so I skate over all the poems and quotes and little things that I've scribbled secretly into these pages, things I've shared with a handful of people, people I don't want to think about. As the pages flutter between my fingers, I think I see the words Hymn Before Action for just a fraction of a second but the shadows are too deep for me to be sure and I'm already countless more pages past before the sight actually processes.

I finally reach my goal near the end of the journal, wedged between the small section of empty pages I have left. There aren't many, just a handful: one, two, three, seven in all. They are of varying sizes, different ages, some bursting with color and others the muted shades of black and white and grey. I'm not even sure how these pictures ended up stuffed between the bindings of my journal. I certainly don't remember putting them there. It was probably out of laziness on my part to find frames or to fetch the scrapbook Annie Marie had given to me as a birthday present freshmen year. Whatever the reason, I'm speechless with gratitude because of it; without these pictures…I'd have nothing from my past than my swords and a few words hastily jotted down over the years. The back of my throat begins to itch, a tight constricting feeling, but I ignore it as best I can as I bring the few scraps of ink and paper and gloss closer to my face.

It's still really dark in the tent, everything blurred and soft around the edges with shadows. I'd probably see ten times better outside, with the moon and the stars and the soon to be rising sun, maybe even aided by the remnants of the fire, but I can't get myself to move. Even with Abby five feet away, I feel alone and private, huddled in my corner, and, more than that, I don't think I could stand to look at the pictures in more light than the barest of gloom.

The first picture is a small black and white number, no larger than the size of my hand. It's fairly recent; I can even remember the day it was taken. The tightness in my throat intensifies and my eyes get a little blurry but I can still see enough to make out my smiling face, squished in between Kaleigh's and Annie Marie's, Mathias' mischievous brown eyes and unruly mop of hair peeking up across the bottom edge of the photo. The corners of my lips twitch but they can't figure out if they want to turn up or down, smile or frown, and I end up pressing the trembling edges together tightly, the skin more than likely blanching with the pressure. Tentatively, with a shaking finger, I reach out and trace the frozen faces of my friends.

It had been spring break and, already, the air had been warming up, taking on the humid edge of summer. Kaleigh's parents had offered to take her to Miami for break but…the softhearted idiot had declined, saying it was senior year and she wanted to spend high school's last spring break with her three best friends, the three of us. This picture was taken at the community pool, down the street from Mathias' house. It wasn't exactly the "coolest" thing the three of us could have done but only Kaleigh had a car and it was in the shop so we couldn't exactly go anywhere far. Besides, it was just on the other side of warm and we were bored. Doesn't matter though. We had fun anyway.

A tear slips out unbidden and I start as it lands right on the image of my face, the droplet of liquid sliding across the glossy page and skating off the edge. I turn the picture over, shaking off the water, and I pause as I see Mathias' spidery scrawl across the back.

Me and my girls. Poolside. March 18, 2012. Spring Break, the cool way. ;)

The small winking face at the end is just so…Mat. I don't know whether to laugh or break down crying.

Swallowing harshly, I flip the picture back over and take one last look at the four of us, my hair still long, my face still rounded, Annie Marie with her striped one piece, a smear of sunscreen still stark against the bridge of her nose, Kaleigh in her sexy bikini, her smile a million watts and brilliant, Mathias' smooth brow and twinkling eyes, and set the picture aside.

The next picture is the one of Sensei and I, the day he gave me my katana, my young face practically beaming as I clutched the steel to me. This is the photo that had fallen out when I had tried to hide away those peaches I found, that day at East Point, the day I met Daryl, just a few hours later. It still causes a sharp pain in the center of my chest, no less potent by the passage of time. I was fourteen when Sensei gave me my own sword, just about to start high school. He had said that it was a gift; a gift, a reward, and a milestone. A gift for my birthday, a reward for all my hard work the last four years I had been with him, and a milestone as I began a new stage of my life. I remember I had been barely listening to his words, to busy still gaping at the shiny length of metal in my hands to give Sensei my undivided attention. I spare half a glance towards my own face again before I lock my eyes on Sensei.

Sensei was already…older when I met him; into his sixties. But, for some reason, he always seemed timeless to me. Even now, as I take in the stock of short white hair on his head, the deep wrinkles around his eyes…he seems ageless. I bite my lip and exhale a watery whisper of a chuckle. I haven't given up yet Sensei. I'm still enduring. I'm still continuing on. I hope…I hope you're proud, wherever you are. Letting my eyes rove over Sensei's visage one last time, committing things to memory, I set that picture aside as well, wondering what the next one will hold.

I'm barely able to suppress my gasp as my eyes focus on the next photo, the colors bright and stark and shiny, even in the dark. There's red tinsel in the background and along the outer edge I can barely make out the needles of a pine tree, white blurs along the fringe, the unfocused image of what had been flashing lights.

It's…a Christmas photo, the one from this past year, impromptu and completely random. Just like Mom always is.

Was. I stop breathing at that one word and am left just staring, unblinkingly, at the picture resting in my completely lax grip.

Mom is sprawled across the floor in the foreground of the picture, having dived there to beat the camera's timer, half cradling a shrieking-with-laughter Irina in her arms. Her dark red hair spills across her shoulders and into Manny's lap, who is kneeling at her head. There's a toy truck clutched in his little fingers and he's grinning from ear to ear, proudly displaying the gap where his two front teeth used to be. Irina is tucked against Mom's chest, her mouth as wide as it will go as she laughs without restraint, dirty blonde curls in disarray around her freckled face. Mom's face is pressed up against Irina's, smiling beatifically, her blue eyes bright with mirth and mischief. And then there's me, sitting cross-legged behind Mom, hair in a sloppy bun perched precariously on my head, an exasperated but no less happy smile stretched across my own lips. There's wrapping everywhere and the camera had been wobbly on its stand so the picture is slightly askew. We are all in our pajamas.

I don't know why I'm doing this. I've handled my journal countless times in the past weeks, reading to Daryl, to myself, and never have I spared a glance at these pictures. Sometimes it was purposeful, forcing my eyes away; sometimes it was accidental, caught up in the bet I had with Daryl. Either way…this is the first time I've actually sat down and…really done this. Thought about them. My friends. My family. I shouldn't be doing this now. Today is going to be the most demanding day that I've had in weeks. I need to be firing on all cylinders. I need to be focused, alert, undistracted. My life, and the lives of others, will depend on it. But…I need this. I need it like air and I didn't even know it until I was laying here, in the dark, straddling the edge of this day, Atlanta looming in the distance, calling.

Really, I can't even begin to explain all the reasons I needed to do this. Gaze at these pictures, memories captured on film, in ink. Maybe it has something to do with all the shit that happened yesterday. The fighting and the yelling and the running. It probably has something to do with today, Glenn and Atlanta and walkers. I don't really want to think about it. Any of it. All I want, for just a few seconds more, is to look at these pictures and not think, just remember.

But of course, I can't always get what I want. I rarely do. And because of that law that is almost as absolute as any of the laws of physics, the second that I try to lose myself, turn my brain off for just mere minutes, I hear the low baritone of Shane's voice call something out, not loud enough to be a shout but enough to be heard. The sound, after so much silence, makes me blink and look up and I realize that the tent isn't as dark as it used to be. There's a pale, grey light seeping in through the mesh window that Abby had left half bared on her side of the tent and slowly but surely, I begin to hear the stirrings of birds in the trees and the occasional snatch of voice as people start to wake and face the day.

Dawn's already here. And I have no time left.

"Shit," I hiss to no one. I still need to take a shower and pack a few supplies, get ready for the ride into Atlanta. That's not to mention how I need to sort out the details with Glenn, see who I'm riding with, what cars we are taking etc. We had talked about it last night but I need to make sure before we leave. Fuck. And here I've been, sitting in the dark, for hours. I really need to get it together. There is no room for mistakes or distractions today. Too many people depend on all of us being on top of our game.

Reluctantly, I soak in Irina's laughing face, Manny's grin, and Mom's glinting eyes for a second more before I clench my eyes shut and press the picture to my lips. My mouth trembles and my arm shakes and my breathing is anything except steady but I only let myself stay like that for the barest of instants. Then I'm tucking the photo, along with the six other ones, back into my journal and sliding the thick book back into the pocket I had found it in. I don't spare my hiking pack another glance; instead I shuffle forward as quietly as I can and grab blindly at the pile of clean clothes at the foot of my bed.

"Finish the tasks laid out before you; finish them and once you are done, then take the time to let the tears flow. But not before Audrey. Never before."

Sensei's words echo through my head as clearly as if he had said them right beside me. I purse my lips and nod absentmindedly, pushing everything down and locking it somewhere deep. I have things to do. Things to do and places to be and tasks to complete. Whatever strength I had thought to take from these pictures, these memories, if I thought to take any at all, I need to take with me now. Atlanta waits.

Taking a deep breath, I reach back next to my hiking pack and grab the katana and tanto, pulling it across my back as I stand in the weak dawn light filtering into the tent. It's too late to run down to the quarry for a shower but I should be able to use that tarp and bucket deal Shane and Glenn had rigged up a few weeks ago. (2)

---

Fifteen minutes later and I'm standing at the ashes of the campfire, foot propped up on a stray crate turned chair as I tie my shoes. The thin white strings are frayed and dirty but they have enough length and strength left to them that I'm able to do the smallest of double knots.

"You know…I think you'd get better support if you strap blocks of wood to your feet and bind them with duck tape." The teasing words come from above my head and I don't need to look to see who has come up to me in the growing light of this upcoming day.

Tugging definitively on the last knot, I straighten up and come face to face with a faintly smirking Amy, her face pinched at the corners and two shades paler than usual. There are purple half moons under her eyes, lavender and puffy. The whites of her eyes are red, the rims an irritated, bloodshot, pink. I wonder if she got any sleep last night. I wonder if I look the same or worse.

"Morning to you too Amy," I smile. It comes out a little more subdued than I wanted. "And don't diss my shoes. The holes make it easier to run. Extra ventilation and everything."

Amy cocks an unconvinced eyebrow at my ratty black Converse. "Mmhmm. Sure. We'll go with that."

Smiling a little wider, a little easier, I let my foot slide to the ground and turn to sit on the crate instead. The plastic squeaks slightly at the added weight but I brace my feet on the dirt to keep my balance. "Ok yeah they are pretty shitty," I admit, kicking a spare rock at my friend as she moves to sit beside me, all but collapsing in the foldable camping chair. "But if they can stay on my feet and at least have something resembling a sole, then I'm all good."

"You have pretty low standards," Amy says, flopping her head to the side, squinting at me in the dawning sunlight.

I shrug and drop my eyes to my feet, glimpsing flashes of my blue ankle socks through the multiple tears my worn shoes had acquired in the last few months. They had already been on the decline before I left Dalton. Now…they are seriously on their last leg. "We live in pretty low times." I didn't mean to say something so morbid and serious but…it's the truth.

Amy hums in agreement, unflinchingly, but doesn't say anything else. For the next few minutes, the two of us sit in silence, watching detachedly as people walk to and fro across camp, finalizing last minute details, crossing the t's and dotting the i's. I see Glenn standing next to Mr. St James' truck, which he had pulled up close to the RV a few minutes ago. He has a map spread out across the hood and is hunched over it, Shane craning to look over his right shoulder and Morales on his left. The three of them are talking in low tones and they all look more than a little worried, gesturing sharply with their hands. I bite my lip and try to quell the nervous feeling bubbling in my stomach. Glenn's done this a shit load of times. He knows what he's doing. Everything will be fine.

Something suddenly brushes against the side of my head and I jerk away from the unexpected feeling. I turn my head to see Amy grinning slightly at me, her hand half raised in the air, her fingertips gleaming wet. I send her a look of confusion and she laughs shortly, flicking specks of water in my face.

"What?" she asks, blue eyes teasing. "Did ya run down to the quarry for an early morning skinny dip?"

Suddenly realizing she's talking about my wet hair, I laugh and tug a still dripping strand in front of my face. I wrinkle my nose as water drips steadily off the end. "Oh yeah. Me and Glenn had loads of fun. I think I left my bra somewhere on the shore." Amy rolls her eyes and shoves me gently and I grin cheekily in response. "Ok, ok. Just kidding. Truthfully, I just took a quick shower at the tarp and bucket deal Shane made."

The look I get is one of abject skepticism and I nod in understanding. "Yeah I know. I was for sure the thing was gonna collapse on me at any moment and leave me buck naked right out in the open. However, desperate times and all that. Anyway, I survived the ordeal but I don't think I'm going to be using our "shower" again any time soon."

Snorting, Amy shakes her head. "No crap," she mutters and I see her eyes dart over to the blue plastic sheet thirty yards away that I had been standing behind not ten minutes ago. I follow her gaze and frown. While the gesture was nice, Shane really isn't an architect. The thing is really a piece of shit.

"Hey Dree?"

Blinking, I tear my eyes away from the haphazard shower and turn to Amy again. "Yeah?"

Something about the tone of her voice sets my teeth abruptly on edge and when I finally face her, Amy has her head tilted down, chin tucked into her chest so I can see nothing but her profile. Her hand flutters up for a second, swiftly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and she sighs sharply. When she lifts her head a few moments later, she meets my eyes for only a fraction of an instant before her gaze skitters away, alighting on something over my shoulder. This can be nothing good. My brow furrows and I open my mouth to say something but she beats me to the punch.

"Feels like it's going to be hot as hell today huh?" she abruptly asks. I'm bewildered by the off the wall question but I slowly nod all the same, mouth answering on default.

"Um…yeah. It's summer. In Georgia. Everyday is pretty much as hot as hell."

Amy bites her lower lip and nods but her eyes look unfocused, like she really isn't listening to me. I keep my mouth shut as I let her think because something tells me she isn't done talking. I shift uncomfortably in my makeshift seat, feeling awkward in my own skin. As the silence lengthens, I become acutely aware of the beads of water trailing down the back of my neck, the wet pieces of hair stuck to the sides of my jaw, the heavy, humid heat encasing my head. It's uncomfortable and after a few minutes of fidgeting I'm about to reach up and do something about my unruly hair, ring it out, put it up, anything, when Amy speaks up again.

"Just be careful alright? Don't…don't do anything stupid."

I freeze at her whispered words, hands half raised in the air to pry my hair off the nape of my neck. I'm blinking stupidly, just staring at Amy, and she slowly shifts her eyes back to mine. I don't know if it's the shadowed bruises below them or the pale cast of her face but Amy's eyes look stark in comparison. Their pale blue almost glows, translucent, and I can see through them clear as glass. I can see the fear and the anxiety and the stomach churning worry burn in her crystal irises and I suddenly realize that…even if I'm the one going into the city, Amy's the one that's running the risk of losing everything. I hadn't thought about this before, not yesterday, last night, or this morning but…both her sister and her only friends are about to walk into the lion's den. If something goes wrong…Amy's all alone.

Holy shit, and if I don't know that feeling.

Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I do my best to smile reassuringly at her. I'm positive that it comes across as a facial spasm at best. "Stupid? Me? Come on Amy. You know me."

Amy chuckles and the sound is watery and wavering. Her eyes are soft and wet. "Yeah I know. That's what worries me," she jokes. I poke my tongue out at her and she wrinkles her nose in response. The two of us hold our respective expressions for a few minutes before the moment passes.

"But no…seriously," I tell her, smile sliding off my features as I become more somber. I straighten up and look Amy dead in the eye. "Everything's going to be fine."

Amy shakes her head and I think I see her lip tremble. "You don't know that," she whispers, honest to God scared, and ok…I don't. A shit load of things could go wrong. But…I'll be damned if I let Amy lose not only her friends, but also the only family she has left. I'm not going to let her down like that. I'm not failing another person I care about and even if I've only known Amy a few weeks, I care about her a lot. Too much probably. Can't help it though. Don't think I want to. These few connections I have with these people are the only things keeping me human. Without them…I don't want to think about the alternative.

Taking a deep breath, I open my mouth to tell Amy all of this, that no, I can't tell the future but I would try my fucking hardest and then some to make it back to camp, everyone else and supplies in tow. Even if Amy is older than me, technically, I still have this overwhelming urge to protect her, like I do with Carl and Sophia and Morales' children. It more than likely has something to do with how innocent Amy is, how fresh faced and doe eyed and unused to all this fucking pain and violence and horror. I mean, she still fucking loves mermaids and unicorns for Christ's sake! Someone like her…I just want to shield her. Shield her from all the shit I had to endure: losing a friend, losing family. And even if she already went through this, already lost some of the innocence behind her eyes, I want to protect what little she has left because damn it all if she doesn't remind me of Annie Marie.

But as I think of what to say…I realize no platitudes would really work. Everything will be fine. I promise. There is no need to worry. Such utter bullshit. I feel hypocritical for using them before. They sound pointless and insincere, like lies. And I don't want to lie to Amy. Not again.

Again…I blink as I think of that word and suddenly…I know what I'm going to say.

The image of crystalline blue eyes, clear as ice and just as dangerous, flashes in my mind's eye I but I push it away and clear my throat, drumming up as much courage as I can.

The words stick in my throat for a second before they tumble out, head over heels and into the dirt. "Did you know that I was trying to reach Atlanta before I came here?" I'm still looking into Amy's eyes so I see the exact moment when the fear and worry in them shifts to confusion, like a filter being taken out and replaced.

"What?"

I nod and absentmindedly start picking at my nails, tearing the dead skin of my cuticles, the hangnails in the corners. "Yeah. When um…when everything went to shit…Dalton, where I'm from, was overrun and people were fleeing," I say. My heartbeat picks up as I distantly hear the echoes of screams and shattering glass, the smell of smoke and the heat of spreading flames. "Dalton is…was a pretty small city. I didn't think that the government would have bothered with us. But…we were near the border and the state was trying to quarantine Georgia, keep outside infection out and deal with what was within our own borders. So, they send a pretty substantial amount of the National Guard to Dalton. Everyone thought were we saved."

I swallow harshly and exhale a shaky breath. Amy frowns at me and there is understanding in the lines of her face as she reaches out her hand and says, "Audrey…you don't have to—"

"No," I say and shake my head. I try to smile at her. "It's ok. I…I want to." And, on some level, I do. I haven't told anyone this. It…it feels good to talk to someone and even if it's partially out of guilt, Amy still deserves for me to trust her with something and show her that I do. Amy's still frowning and doesn't look at all convinced but she relents anyway, drawing back into her seat.

"So, as I was saying," I continue and I suddenly have this urge to just get everything out. "National Guard got there and the city thought we were safe now. Except, when the outbreak really hit us, the Guard just became more bodies to turn, more walkers to fight. Within a week, we were completely overrun."

Amy makes some kind of chocked noise in the back of her throat but I press on, unable to stop. "There...that was still when the broadcasts were going out. Do you remember them? They were all that was being played on the radio at that point and they were the last things the television had shown before they went out. This is an emergency broadcast. Attention all citizens. The governor has declared Atlanta a safe zone. A refugee center has been built within the city. There is food, shelter, free of infection. It is open to all citizens. Upon admittance, you will be subject to medical examinations. There are no exceptions." I laugh dryly as I repeat the words. "I can still hear that one newscaster's voice ya know? Kind of ingrained in my skull. Well, when things got really bad, I decided to head towards Atlanta. Dalton was done and I had no other alternative so…I started walking."

"Walking?" Amy sputters suddenly. I blink and look up at her, see how her eyes are wide and huge, mouth open with incredibility. "But…but that's like…100 miles!"

"Eh…it's more like 80."

Amy doesn't seem to care for those 20 miles because she looks like I just told her I swam across the Atlantic. "How…how did you walk that far?" She's on the edge of her seat by this point and I've barely even told her anything, just the generalizations of where I came from.

I shrug at her question. "Put one foot in front of the other. I…I contemplated driving but…I didn't have a car. I probably could have stolen one but it's not like I know how to hotwire and what was the point? Most of the roads by this time were gridlocked with abandoned traffic. Walking was really the only option I had left."

"Why didn't you catch a ride? A lot of people were heading to Atlanta at that time. Andrea and I were when Dale picked us up months ago." It doesn't go unnoticed about how she doesn't ask about my family, why I was alone when I started walking. I'm more than a little grateful for that.

Laughing, I drag a hand through my hair, finding it still wet and remembering how I had planned to put it up and out of the way. I pull the wayward strands into a bunch at the back at my head and grope for the thin rubber band on my wrist as I look up at Amy through my lashes. "Well sadly enough, I didn't see any genial old men with Winnebagos in my travels. I wasn't about to jump into a car with some random stranger, especially a man. I may be dense but I'm not completely stupid. And most families weren't looking to help a wayward teen out. They were getting the hell outta Dodge, clinging to what loved ones they had left."

Amy has the decency to blush and look sheepish. "Sorry," she mutters and I wave her off.

"It's fine. I mean, I more than likely could have gotten safe passage for only a few 'favors' but…I'm not that type of girl I guess. So, I walked. I stayed mostly to small back roads and the woods, kept as far away from towns and cities as I possibly could. It was a bitch; let me tell you. I have got possibly the worst sense of direction in the world, even with a map. And, few days after I left Dalton, I went and sprained my ankle."

Sticking my leg out, I roll my right ankle, feeling a familiar twinge that never really went away. Amy gazes down at it like she expects the bone to be sticking out. "What happened?" she asks quietly, enthralled.

I scoff in derision and drop my foot back to the dirt. "Fell out of a tree my fifth night. I had decided early on that I couldn't sleep just out in the open unless I wanted to be…yeah. So, trees were the best option. Uncomfortable, but safe."

Even though she looks a little green, Amy lifts her head and smirks faintly at me. "I can see how you scaled that tree so fast yesterday now," she teases and I blush slightly, shrugging.

"Yeah, well the funny thing is I hadn't climbed a tree before then since I was like 6. Was way out of practice. Took me a few tries to even get on a branch that first night and I barely slept. I barely slept for that first week to be honest but by night five I was so exhausted, the moment I got high enough to be out of reach, I passed out. It was the first time I had truly slept since I started walking which means, of course, I had to go and roll out of the tree in the middle of the night."

Amy winces. "Was it bad?"

I nod. "Bad enough. I was lucky I didn't break it, or my neck now that I think about it. But a sprained ankle was difficult enough. Made walking that much harder and climbing a tree every night almost impossible. That's why it took me so long to reach this area. I walked as slow as a grandma and had to stop frequently to rest. I kept going though, had to. I just remember I kept praying that I wouldn't run into any walkers because…I didn't think I could get away."

The word walker tastes bitter and disgusting in my mouth and Amy goes pale as I say it. "Did you? Meet any w…walkers that is," she asks. I can tell that she is more than a little uncomfortable by now but this is the most I've ever talked about my past with her and she's eating it up like a starving man would a buffet. Even if it's nothing extremely personal, like about my family or my life before, it's something and apparently Amy will take what she can get.

I shift through my memories to answer her question. I don't have to look very far. "A fair few," I respond. "Just loners in the beginning, spread out over the days. One here, another there. I managed to avoid them most of the time. Heard them coming or saw them before they saw me. Sometimes though…I couldn't skate by and that's when I had to fight."

As if drawn by magnets, Amy's eyes drop to the katana and tanto at my feet, the scabbards gleaming dully in the faint light. "So…so you've killed some then?" she whispers and I nod, simultaneously proud and disturbed with myself.

"One on one, they aren't that hard to stop, especially if I know they are coming. It's nerve racking as hell, scares me shitless, but if I can keep a level head, all I have to do is draw my blade and with one slash, it's done. The first time though…it was really hard. No one really knew what was going on yet and…in the beginning they still look human you know?"

That sentence comes out sounding guilty, more than I want to admit as I remember the first time I had to draw my sword, the first time I had to actually use it, not just fucking go through drills with it, sparring with no intent other than to spar. The first time was three days before the city burned. Sensei had made me start carrying my blades for over a week at that point, protection he had said. I didn't know protection from what. Everything was still new; I had never even seen a walker at that point. It was just word of mouth and TV programs that had so much scientific mumbo jumbo, no one really knew what was going on. And since the government was keeping everything as quiet as they could, we really had little to go on. All I knew was something bad was happening; people were being attacked and killed. My family...we were staying inside by this point. The only time I left was to go check on Sensei down the street. Which…is when Mr. Blake found me. It was just around sunset. I had tried to leave earlier but Sensei and I had got to talking and lost track of time. When we realized how late it was, Sensei had insisted on walking me home, all but shoving me out the door with him right beside me. His house was on the end of my street and there were only six houses between us and there was still plenty of light outside but Sensei had one hand on my back the whole way and we were almost running.

Mr. Blake was my neighbor to the right. He was some executive businessman for some company in town. He was single and quickly becoming rich, had just bought a brand new car, a sporty number all sleek and silver. I don't think I ever said more than twenty words to the man over the years since he really didn't like children, had yelled at Manny when he had followed a ball into his yard. Which is why I even looked up when I saw him stumble out of his house as Sensei and I drew close. At first, I didn't even realize it. Mr. Blake was dressed in a suit, just like he always did, and I had thought the red streak down his chest was that crimson tie he liked to wear. It wasn't until he got closer that I noticed how dirty his suit was, how disheveled he looked, and that the red on his shirt wasn't a slim tie but a wide pool of drying blood. I had stopped dead at the sight, eyes wide and not breathing. Sensei had turned to me to ask me what was what was wrong but then he caught sight of Mr. Blake and he froze too. It was when the too of us had been standing there like deer caught in headlights that Mr. Blake saw us and began to stumble closer. I finally saw that his eyes were rheumy and bloodshot, wide and unblinking. There was blood around his gaping mouth, on his lips that were split to issue forth moans, and a chunk of skin was missing from the side of his neck. That's where the blood on his shirt had come from I had distantly realized. I just stood there staring for I don't know how long but Sensei was suddenly shoving me forward, telling me to sprint for the house and to not look back. I had whirled on him, confused, disoriented, because what was happening, why did Mr. Blake look like this and what was Sensei going to do, he had left his swords at home and the TV said attacks could get vicious. But Sensei hadn't let me question, just shoved me again and told me to run, run as fast as I could. I still didn't understand but he was my Sensei and I had spent the last eight years of my life listening to him so I just immediately did as he said. I made it as far as my sidewalk before I heard Sensei shout.

Heart hammering, I spun around just in time to see Mr. Blake grab the ends of my hair and yank. I screamed and fell towards him, unbalanced. It was pure instinct that made me reach for my katana at the last second, and years of ingrained training to yank it out and lash out with it, feeling the blade bite into flesh. The feeling made me gag but Mr. Blake didn't stop. Not even when his arm fell to the ground, still grasping strands of my hair. He just kept coming at me, moaning how they do, not even fazed by his missing limb. I had scrambled back, trying to get away, but he kept coming and I remembered how the TV said the "infected" people, the ones with this weird form of rabies one "expert" had said, didn't stop attacking until they were dead. The thought had made me almost black out because I couldn't kill Mr. Blake! He was my neighbor! He was a human fucking being!

In the end, I didn't have to. When I had cut Mr. Blake's arm off, I had dropped the katana in surprise and, in my haste to get away, left it on the ground. Sensei had picked it up and, just as I tripped and fell on my ass, he slashed out and caught Mr. Blake on the side of the head, just as he reached me. The top half of Mr. Blake's head went flying to the right and the rest of his body slumped forward, nearly landing on my feet. I really did black out then, watching Mr. Blake's blood soak through my shoes, and when I woke up I was lying on my couch and Sensei was standing over me, telling my mother to start packing. We were leaving in the morning.

"That's horrible," Amy suddenly says and when I look up, see her face, the sadness and the nausea, I realize with a jolt that I had said that entire story out loud. My face flushes with color, tips of my ears burning scarlet because I hadn't meant to. It's not that I didn't want Amy to know that particular memory I was just…caught unawares. I clear my throat and rub at the back of my neck. Where was I?

"Uh…yeah. It was. But I learned pretty quickly how to defend myself," I mutter, trying to change the topic back to my previous line of discussion. "And, as I said, they only found me one at a time in the beginning. It wasn't until about two weeks later, when I finally could put pressure on my foot again, that I started to run into larger numbers, pairs and small groups. I really tried to avoid them. Groups are harder to fight."

Amy nods like she's taking my words to heart, like she's mentally writing down what I'm telling her and storing the information for later. "But apparently nothing you couldn't handle," she says, going for light but the words jump an octave as she says them. I smile weakly and shrug again, not knowing what to say.

For a second, Amy is quiet, seemingly taking in all I have said, but then she bites her lip and looks at me expectantly. "Then what happened?" she questions and I purse my lips as I think of how to respond.

"Then I kept going. I did my best to walk a straight line but more often than not, I went in circles, completely wrong directions for miles and hours. I scavenged what little food I could from abandoned cars and sometimes went out of my way to find creeks and rivers for water. My ankle was still healing too so it took longer, way fucking longer than it should have, but I finally drew close to Atlanta. Or I thought I was close. Turns out, I completely went around the city because before I knew it, I was standing in front of this sign that said Welcome to East Point!"

Amy's delicate eyebrows draw together as her brow furrows, her lips tightening around the corners as her eyes narrow. "East Point?" she repeats, her voice colored with confusion. "But…that's—"

"South of Atlanta," I finish for her with a nod. "I know. I told you. Worst sense of direction."

A laugh of disbelief bubbles out of Amy's mouth and I roll my eyes at her. "Yeah you laugh now but I was fucking pissed when I figured out what I did. I had just run out of food that morning and was nearly empty on water. Backtracking to Atlanta was not on my desire list."

Still grinning slightly, Amy does her best to look contrite. "Sorry, sorry. That's…that's messed up. What did you do?"

"What could I do? I sucked it up and slipped back into the woods, did my best to make good time so I could reach Atlanta before sundown."

"But you never did," Amy says and it's not a question.

I shake my head. "No, I didn't. Few hours later I'm stumbling through the woods, tired as shit, hungry, thirsty, when out of nowhere, I get fucking shot in the head by a damn crossbow."

And here is what I had been aiming to say in the first place, what I've been trying to get to. I did want to tell Amy something of my past, but this is really what I wanted to explain to her. Daryl. I know she's been wondering, dying to ask, and after how I treated her yesterday, when she showed how much of a friend she was, I feel obligated to tell her. But, more than that, I want to tell her. Because I've been dying, since yesterday when everything blew up in my face, to know if I had been wrong, to have done what I did. My instinct says that I'm not but…maybe I'm too close to the situation.

And, if this conversation serves to take not only Amy's mind but mine as well off of Atlanta well then hey. Two birds with one stone.

Amy hisses in a breath between her teeth and I watch as her eyes flick to my temple, tracing the short scar there. Absentmindedly, I reach up and do the same with my fingers, feeling the slightly raised, smooth, skin. "Hurt like a bitch just so you know. The tip is what dug the gash but the shaft is what made it burn like fucking hellfire."

Wincing, Amy meets my gaze. "When I first saw you, your whole shirt was covered in blood. It was just dripping down the side of your face, soaking that ruined white shirt you were wearing. I remember thinking 'I can't believe this girl is still conscious' with all the blood you were missing."

I laugh and shake my head. "You weren't too off. By that point, I was exhausted beyond all recognition. Daryl had fucking dragged me all across the Georgia woods to finish his hunt before he led me back here," I tell her and, even now, it kind of stings to say his name. I wonder if Amy saw my slight grimace. I certainly saw hers.

"I still don't understand," she says. Her blue eyes, almost like someone else's but not quite, pierce mine with their puzzled haze. "Why did you even follow Daryl? He had just freaking shot you! I would have run in the other direction."

"I tried! The second Daryl stepped out of the damn bushes I took one look at him, one look at his crossbow, and turned tail! The son of a bitch had just shot me, not to mention I'm a little wary of men carrying weapons since I'm only this small scrap of a girl and fighting some dude is way different than killing a walker."

"So," Amy says, propping an elbow on the armrest of her chair and dropping her chin into her palm. "How the hell did you end up here, in camp? Not that I'm not happy about it! I'm just…did you follow him? Like the ninja you are?"

I roll my eyes at her. "I'm not a ninja for the millionth time and no I didn't follow him," I tell her. "One, I wouldn't have followed a dude who just shot at me. Two, the way I was running, I wouldn't even know how to backtrack to where we had been to start following him. And three, he was the one that followed me."

Amy's eyes bug out of her head and if her hand weren't holding her jaw closed it would be in the dirt. "What?"

I nod. "It's true. There I was, fucking sprinting my ass off, trying to get as far away as possible as fast as I could, and just when I thought I was safe, he pops up in front of me, panting and gasping and telling me not to run off again."

The disbelief in Amy's face probably mirrored my own when I saw Daryl that day, though it's lacking the shock and abject terror. "Why would he do that? I mean chase you. Daryl…it doesn't seem like him."

Opening my mouth, I go to explain it to her when my brow furrows and I cock my head in realization. "I…you know? I still don't know. I've never asked him. Thanked him for it but…never asked him why he did it." In hindsight, I never even gave it more than a passing thought. Those first few days I just wanted to thank him and then after that…well there was too much shit between us, both good and bad, to remember. Now, I wish I had.

Amy's lips are pursed but she only hums in response and I keep going. "Anyway, I was wary of him in the beginning, naturally, but he lowered his crossbow first so I…I don't know. I just stayed there. We just kinda stood there for a minute but I said something about Atlanta eventually and then, in a round about Daryl way, he told me that the city had fallen, that there was no center left."

The memory still makes my knees feel weak and this indescribably sorrow well in me but I don't act on it as I did before. Just continued to tell my story, robotic as I could. "I…well I freaked. Started screaming and shit. Daryl told me to shut up, tried to keep me quiet because we had somehow ended up pretty close to the city, on the edge of the woods. But I was gone man. After everything…all I had been focused on was Atlanta. And now that was nothing. I couldn't control myself. When he realized he couldn't shut me up…Daryl started to leave."

Amy snorts. "That sounds more like him," she mutters and I smile faintly at that.

"Yeah it kinda does. But, before, Daryl had mentioned something about a camp. And with Atlanta gone…I called out to him. Amazingly, he stopped. And after a second, he offered to show me, if I didn't "lose my shit" again because he said he had no problem leaving my ass in the woods," I say, grinning around the memory.

"Just like that?" Amy frowns. "He just…offers and you accept?"

Smile fading, I shrug. "I think…maybe he felt sorry for me? I'm not sure. As I said, I never asked. As for me, it's not like I had a lot of options. I was out of food, out of water. I had no goal in sight and nothing behind me but corpses. Even if he turned out to be some psycho rapist, which he thankfully isn't, I had no alternative. I kept on guard, half ready to pull my sword at any moment but nothing happened. He dragged me along as he hunted for some food and then led me to camp. The rest…well you already know." Rolling my shoulders, I sit up a little straighter and wait for my friend to say something.

Amy looks at me strangely for a moment after I stop talking and I cock my head at her. "What?"

She looks a bit uncomfortable for an instant but she scoffs a little and shakes her head the slightest bit. "I'm…I'm glad you told me all this Dree," she says and I can sense a but coming along.

"But…"

Ah. There it is.

"I'm obviously missing something if that's the end of the story because none of that explains…yesterday."

I flinch at the reminder, though I had been working up to this, though I was the one to start the conversation. "Oh uh no. I just meant that you knew the rest of me coming into camp. I…I wasn't finished."

Amy blinks. "Oh. Well…sorry. Go on."

Nodding, I contemplate how to continue, what I'm going to tell Amy. It's not that I'm going to lie to her but…some of the details I want to keep to myself. They're…private ya know? Stuff between Daryl and I and no one else.

"Right um. Yesterday. Ok, well you heard how I've been hunting with Daryl before yes?"

Amy nods.

"Ok," I went on. "Well him bringing me to camp is kinda where it all starts. You see—"

"Oh my god," Amy interjects and I look up in confusion. "You…you're…" She motions vaguely with her hand, eyes wide and breathing fast, voice high. "With Daryl?"

It takes me a minute to realize what she's saying and when I do, I gasp and wave my hands frantically, face burning as I try to backpedal. "What? N…no! Of course not! I was going to say that's how I started hunting with him," I nearly screech. "I…no! Daryl and I just hunt together, that's all!"

Amy looks like she doesn't believe me for a second. Her eyes are feverish and she looks caught between a grin and a smirk. "Hunting," she says, air quoting the word. "Doesn't account for your reaction yesterday Dree." She's teasing me. Unashamedly. After everything, Amy is still a teenage girl and this has got to be the juiciest gossip she's had in a while. I can't help but think if she knows about Shane and Lori.

I blush from the roots of my hair to the ridges of my collarbone and scowl at my friend. "Ok, so he's kind of my friend. A little. Or was. But that's it! I swear."

Narrowing her eyes at me, Amy scrutinizes my expression, trying to catch me in a lie. I continue to scowl and stare back at her. I have nothing to hide. Daryl and I are…were…sorta friends. That's all. Nothing more. The man in like 30 for Christ sake's! And apparently hates me. And his brother wants to kill me. So no. Just…no.

When she decides I'm telling the truth, Amy sighs and props her chin up again. "You're not lying," she mumbles and I roll my eyes, still blushing fiery red.

"Sorry to disappoint you. Now, will you let me finish?"

She nods and waves her hand at me. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

I huff and try not to pout. "Anyway. As I was saying. Daryl bringing me to camp led me to hunting with him. And," I hold up a hand when Amy opens her mouth. "Before you jump to any crazy conclusions, it's because I went to thank him. A few days after I arrived here, I went to thank Daryl for basically saving my life. He was cleaning some kill he had brought back and I just…I don't know. I saw how hard he was working and no one was around helping him, Merle was probably off getting high, so I just…asked if I could help him. First time around, he basically told me to fuck off. Second time around, same thing. But after I had asked several times, and after he saw I was serious, he finally relented. So…we started hunting together. I'm not much help in tracking or killing but I usually clear the traps pretty easily and Daryl taught me how to clean and animal so I help with that too. It's fucking hard and tiring work but…it wasn't too bad."

Amy is frowning at me again, like I'm not speaking English. "But why?"

I furrow my brow at her. "Why what?"

"Why keep offering?" she asks. "Ok, the first time I get. He saved you; you're a saint, blah blah blah. But after he told you to get lost? Why ask again? And again? What's more, his personality can't be that charming for you to defend him like you did."

Her words make me blush again and I drop my eyes, fidgeting with my hands. Sophia had asked me this question not to long ago but…this is different. Amy's not a child. I can't give her a child's answer. "I…I don't know. I kind of felt indebted to him at first. He'd saved my life; I could help him skin a few things. Then I started thinking in survival terms. We all needed to eat and what would we do if…if something happened to Daryl? Depend on Merle? Didn't seem very appealing. And on top of all that…I just wanted to help. I'm a goody two shoes remember?"

"So let me get this straight. This guy shoots you in the head, ok saves you from walking into Atlanta, but is then a nothing but a freaking dick to you and the first thing you do is think 'I should help this guy and then befriend him!'?"

I frown and reach up to tug on my hair, hand falling back into my lap when I remember my hair is up. "You make it sound so stupid," I mutter petulantly. "And I wasn't looking to befriend him at first. It just…sorta…happened."

"How?" Amy asks, tone firm and unwavering.

I groan and throw my hands up, frustrated and embarrassed but fuck, I asked for this. "It just kinda did. I'm not sure. He just taught me to skin and clean and he wasn't a total asshole when he was teaching me. And…I don't know. He's quiet most of the time and when's he's not 9 times out of 10 he's snapping or growling but…it's not that bad. I just kinda…got used to it. We hunt, we skin and clean and sometimes, we just sit with each other."

"Sit with each other?" Amy questions dubiously, eye brow raised.

I nod. "Yeah. We hang out."

"What do you talk about?"

"We don't really…talk," I say, wrinkling my nose. "I think Daryl's allergic to it. We just…sit there sometimes, quietly. Sometimes he'll sharpen his knives or clean his crossbow. Sometimes I'll do the same to my katana or tanto. Nothing exciting or anything." I smile sheepishly and duck my head, tracing invisible patterns on my leg. "It's just…I find it relaxing to just sit there, not really do anything, not having to talk. It's calming."

Amy laughs shortly and I glance up at her through my lashes. She still looks slightly puzzled but there's a smile on her face as she says, "Relaxing and calming. Yeah, not two adjectives I'd use to describe Daryl Dixon."

I poke my tongue at her and reach out to shove her arm, grinning as she squawks in indignation. "Shut up," I mutter. "I'm like baring my soul here and you're making fun of me."

Raising her arms, Amy tries to glare at me but the effect is ruined by the way her lips keep twitching and she finally gives in, smiling. "Alright. Soooorry. I'm just trying to wrap my head around this…thing. Yesterday, I thought you didn't even know Daryl's name and here you are, BFFs with him," she laughs.

I scowl and cross my arms, sitting back on my crate. "We aren't best friends or anything…just…yeah. Anyway, so that's the reason I got upset yesterday."

"Because Shane didn't want you going off into the dark with Daryl and called your not really friend who you don't talk to a hillbilly? Come on Dree. Even I think Daryl's a redneck."

"I said no. You aren't going out to the middle of nowhere with nothing but some backwoods hillbilly as your backup."

The memory of Shane's words, the steel line of his jaw, disdain and determination in his eyes for Daryl and I respectively, brings the temperature of my blood almost to a boil. Amazing. Even after what Daryl said, it still pisses me off the way people view him. Like Amy now. I'm barely able to keep the edge out of my voice as I respond.

"Yeah but he's not fucking trash. I might not talk to him much but none of you guys even try," I accuse, remembering how everyone regarded Daryl like a wild animal, like something gross and disdainful, something to be reviled.

Amy blinks at the hostility in my tone and scoffs. "And can you blame us Dree?" she demands. "Daryl isn't actually approachable. I think his only words to me have been 'Git outta the freakin way!', she says, dropping her voice and doing a mock impression of Daryl's drawl.

I sigh and drag a hand down my face. "I don't blame you it's just…ugh. It just upset me that Daryl's apparently good enough to bring you guys food, to keep you alive every fucking day, but he's not good enough to earn a little fucking trust." I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to quell the beginnings of a headache. "Yesterday, you all treated him like he was some damn rapist, like he was dragging me, kicking and screaming, by my hair into the woods. If he was really that kind of person, than why the fuck would he have even brought me here, to camp, in the first place? Why the fuck would he even hunt for the rest of us? Huh?"

Silence meets my rhetorical questions and I'm not really expecting Amy to answer but all of the sudden, there are cool fingers on my wrist, pulling on my arm, and when I look up, Amy's blue eyes meet mine head on. "Again Dree. Can you blame us? Carl comes running into camp screaming and babbles something about Daryl grabbing you and he looked pretty scared."

"He was just scared about me leaving," I mumble.

"But we didn't know that. The way Carl put it, we did think that Daryl was dragging you, kicking and screaming. And honestly, he doesn't have the greatest track record. He first brings you into camp, you're all bloody. Second time we see you together, you're bloody again. We were expecting blood when we arrived on the scene. Sorry but…circumstances were against him Dree."

I look into Amy's eyes, see the sincerity, see the apology, the regret and all my irritation bleeds out of me. I exhale slowly. "I…I know Amy but really? Do you think I would go off alone with someone that I thought would hurt me? And don't you think I could have defended myself if he tried? I beat Shane easily enough. I just…more than not trusting Daryl…I felt that you didn't trust me enough to not be that stupid."

Pursing her lips, Amy regards me for a second and then nods. "You're right. We didn't trust you. I didn't trust you and…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Or insult Daryl. It's just," she says and smiles faintly at me, shrugging with one shoulder. "You're my friend Dree and I care about you."

I find it funny, now that I'm thinking about it, that caring for someone usually results in the most fucked up situations. Amy cared about me, so she was ready to cast Daryl off out little Survivor Island. Shane cared, apparently, so he went to shoot Daryl in the face. I cared about my friendship with Daryl, so I lashed out, teeth and barbed words. I cared for the rest of camp, so I offered to help Daryl hunt in the first place. What's that saying again? The road to hell is paved with good intentions? Tch. No fucking shit.

"I care about you too Amy," I reply, placing my hand over her fingers that still grip my wrist. "And I'm sorry too. I overreacted yesterday. I was just frustrated and upset and Shane was kind of dredging up some bad memories but that is no excuse. So I apologize."

Amy blinks at the 'bad memories' part of my sentence, a question sparking in her eyes, but before she can ask it, before I can refuse to answer it, a voice over her shoulder interrupts.

"And I think it goes without saying that we forgive you," Glenn says as he comes up behind Amy, dropping into a squat beside her. The sun hasn't even fully breached the horizon yet but there are already beads of sweat standing out on Glenn's brow, sliding down the side of his neck. "I mean I'm a little sore from almost falling out of that tree but…" He trails off with a grin.

Doing my best to hide my own grin, I pull a face and cross my arms again. "Glenn, were you eavesdropping? Rude much?"

Glenn's grin widens and he nods, unrepentant. "Yes."

I roll my eyes but can't stop my smile anymore. "Jerk. But, while you're here, let me just formally apologize to you too. As you apparently heard, I was slightly out of line yesterday and I overreacted. So…sorry," I say.

Smiling, Glenn reaches out and nudges my knee. "I heard you and I said we forgive you. Forgive me?"

I nod without hesitation. "Good," he continues and Amy suddenly speaks up beside him.

"How long were you even listening Glenda?" she asks and Glenn makes a face at the moniker Amy has adopted for him when she's teasing. He shrugs and shifts so he's sitting on the ground, retying his own shoelaces. He's wearing converse too, beat up white ones, and damn they are almost as fucked up as mine.

"I don't know…around the time Audrey mentioned the broadcasts," he says nonchalantly and I gape at him, Amy shrieking indignantly.

"You've been listening the whole time?" She reaches out and smacks the bill of his cap. "Jerk!"

I laugh as Glenn throws his arms over his head and cowers. "Hey hey! No need to be violent! I came over to get Audrey but she was talking and I didn't want to interrupt! I was trying to be nice," he defends.

Amy's still muttering to herself about manners and privacy and 'girl talk' as I turn to Glenn with a confused smile. "What do you mean you were coming to get me?"

And just like that, the pleasant mood withers and dies. Glenn's smile slips off his face, Amy instantly goes quiet and I blink and stop grinning just as I realize the answer to my question.

"O…oh," I stutter, feeling vaguely colder than I did a split second ago. "Is it um…time?" It's like I've been doused in cold water, shoved unceremoniously into a tub of ice. I can't believe I forgot, even for a moment. Atlanta. The supply run. And here I was, shooting the shit with Amy for God knows how long. Jesus Christ. The last few minutes bleed from me, Dalton, Sensei, Daryl, and I'm left feeling hollow as Glenn swallows and nods.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "Everything's ready. Just need to pile in."

I frown. "You could have come and gotten me earlier. I wanted to help."

Glenn shakes his head and looks up at me. "Nah. We were fine. You helped enough last night, hammering out the final details with me." Mentioning last night makes me remember what little sleep I got, that is none, and the energy I got from my cold shower dulls down a notch, lethargy creeping into my bones. I resist the urge to physically shake it off.

I'm not completely mollified by Glenn's response but I accept it nonetheless. "Alright. Well…I guess just tell me what car I'm going in and we'll leave."

"You're riding with me," he says. "In Mr. St. James' truck. Jacqui's riding with too."

I'm still surprised that Jacqui is going on the trip but Glenn says she used to be a city manager in Atlanta or something and could be useful if they needed some insider information. "Oh. Ok. Um…" I flail for a moment, not knowing what to do. I've been waiting for this moment since fucking yesterday and now that it's here, I'm lost. Turning to Amy at last, I do my best to give her an encouraging smile. "Guess we'll finish this later huh?"

Amy nods her head sharply and then, simultaneously, we stand up and her arms are tight around me before I can even blink. She squeezes as hard as she can, bony arms like iron bands around my lungs, and I hug her back just as hard. "You know we will. I still want all the juicy gossip about your secret forest trysts Dree. But…be careful yeah," Amy says and I choke out something to the affirmative. That feeling is back in my veins again, that urge to protect Amy, from pain and sadness, and it wars with the other feeling of protecting Sophia and Carl from hunger. For an countless eternal instant, the two desires battle with each other, go and hurt Amy, stay and hurt SophiaCarlElizaLouis, but, in the end, the former one wins. Drawing back, Amy gives me a shaky smile before she moves over to Glenn and gives him the same treatment. I don't think I imagine the wetness on her cheeks. When she's done with Glenn, Amy gives the two of us this inscrutable look, her brows pinched tightly and mouth pursed like she wants to say something, but she shakes her head at the last minute and waves at us quickly before running off to find her sister.

I watch her blonde hair bounce behind her as she jogs over to where Andrea is standing next to a green Toyota 4Runner who belongs to…actually I'm not even really sure. The older blonde turns at the sound of her name and then she too has an arm full of Amy and I look away before I see anything else, letting the two sisters have their moment.

The day is breaking around us, sky streaked with pinks and orange and yellows. The heat is beginning, muggy and smothering. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, seeing those pictures again, black and white smiles and the red of Christmas tinsel, of Mom's hair. I can do this. I will do this.

"So…Atlanta," I awkwardly start, turning to look at Glenn. The older boy blinks and then meets my gaze, rubbing at the back of his neck in unease.

"Yeah. Should be fun," he jokes, laughing nervously. I smile, despite myself.

"Somehow…I kind of doubt that."

---

The goodbyes take longer than expected and are much more awkward than anticipated. Carl and Sophia hug me enthusiastically and make me promise to be careful and to come back safely. Though I feel like a hypocrite, I make those promises again and again. Abby gives me a quick clasp and a sad smile, like she expects me to break my promise to the kids no matter what. I try not to show it, but I move as quickly as I can away from her.

Jim gives me a quiet nod and Dale, though it looks like he tries to stop himself, hugs me tightly as well, drawing back with a stricken look etched into his face. At first, he tries to talk me out of my "ridiculous plan" but I quickly kill that line of thought, telling him that I'm going and that's all there is to it. He looks like he's going to argue till he's blue in the face but I move on before he can, promising to be careful as I walk over to Lori.

The brunette mother is standing with her arms crossed, a pinched look to her face, her blue eyes hard. When I tell her goodbye, her jaws ticks and she grinds out a short farewell, barely even looking me in the face. She tells me to watch out for myself and that she'll see me when I return. As she walks away, she gives me a motherly pat on the shoulder and a quicksilver, flat smile. She's gone before I can repeat the same lying promise, before I can even breathe to do so. I stare after her in confusion but Carol walks up next and I have to plaster on another fake smile.

Shane's the last person I talk to and he's almost as cold as Lori. He stands next to Mr. St James' truck, shotgun balanced on both shoulders and hands rested on it like he's in stocks. I smile at him and he tries to reciprocate, I can see that, but it comes out as a grimace and he quickly drops it. He tells me good luck and to remember what he said: to listen to Glenn and always stick close to Morales. He says I will be fine. I'm not sure if he is telling himself that or me. I nod and promise him that I would; another promise that I don't mean to but probably will end up breaking. Shane looks me one last time in the face, eyes blank but hard, and shakes his head as he calls out to Glenn, moving around me to finalize something.

"I wouldn't mind him," Andrea says, suddenly beside me. She nods her head at Shane, the former cop's back toward us as he talks to Glenn and T-Dog. "I heard him and the missus arguing earlier. Don't think he's getting any in a long while."

I blink in shock at the older woman, she knew about that?, but she just winks at me as she ruffles my hair and walks away, out towards the 4Runner which is set behind the truck I'm leaning against since Glenn will be leading the way to the city. I cast another glance at Shane, eyes darting to Lori who is glaring at him out of the corner of her eye, twenty feet away, arms around Carl. Huh.

Five minutes later, the watch on my wrist declares 7:45 and we are finally starting to pile in the trucks. The people who are staying in camp make a solemn semi-circle near the RV, down cast faces with fake, hopeful smiles. No one likes this idea but they like the notion of starving even less so they wish us the best of luck. I'm just waving one last time at Amy, smiling my best, when a voice I really hadn't wanted to hear today grates upon my ears.

"How bout me get this damn show on the road already? This ain't fuckin Miss America!"

Merle.

Fuck. I haven't seen him since yesterday, flat on his ass in the dirt, the impression of Daryl's knuckles still livid on his cheek. I thought he wouldn't even be awake this morning, let alone show up. Seems like I'm wrong on both accounts. Grimacing at Merle's aggravated voice, I turn to find him, expecting him to be standing at the back of the group, near the RV, spouting his shit as usual.

What I don't expect is to see him leaning out the fucking passenger seat of the 4runner, rifle propped between his feet. What…the….hell? As I continue to gape at him, he meets my eyes for a fraction of a second and leers, cocking the gun in his hands. His expression turns feral as he grins and licks his lips and then he turns to shout at Morales to get his "taco bender ass in the car."

No. Oh no. This isn't happening. Merle's just pulling some shit because this can't be real. No way in fucking hell is this real. Except…maybe it fucking is because Morales gives his wife one last kiss, his kids one last hug, and then he's rolling his eyes, moving over to the 4Runner and slipping into the driver's seat, not even sparing Merle a glance. In fact, no one spares Merle a glance. Not Andrea as she climbs into the seat behind him. Not T-Dog as he climbs in behind Morales. Not Jacqui as she makes her way towards the truck. Not even fucking Shane, saying one last thing to Glenn before the Asian makes his way towards me.

I feel like that kid in the Sixth Sense, seeing things no one else can and powerless to stop it.

Oh…my god. .God. Merle is going on the supply run? Merle is going on the fucking supply run. Merle is going into the fucking city, locked and loaded and what the fuck!

"Merle is going?" I hiss out frantically, whirling on Glenn as he walks up. He blinks at me and then winces, expression pained and nauseous.

"Oh yeah," he says guiltily. "You weren't there for that. Um…when you were talking to Amy, Simon came up and backed out of the run. Said Rebecca wasn't comfortable with it. Apologized profusely but…he wasn't going."

Simon and Rebecca are this married couple, older, in their 40s. They are nice people, though I really don't talk to them much, and I like them. Rebecca had been a teacher before, college, and from what I gathered, fair but a hard ass. And Simon had been in the Army, fought in Kuwait back in the 90s. He was a pretty big guy, short haircut, big muscles, knew his way around most weapons. Which is precisely why Glenn and Shane had asked him to go on the run in the first place. I could wield a blade like nobody's business but I didn't know how to shoot a goddamn water gun and while Morales, T-Dog and Andrea said they could shoot good enough, Shane had wanted something a little more reassuring. Hence, Simon, who could shoot a rubber band and make it dangerous.

But Simon backed out. Apparently. Shitty luck but what the hell were people thinking using Merle as a replacement?

Looking at Glenn like he's grown a second head, I gesture vaguely at the 4Runner behind us, too keyed up to be discreet. "So you turned to Merle Dixon as a Plan B?" I'm trying to keep my voice low but it ends up coming out high and reedy, vocal chords taunt in distress. Glenn sighs and looks over my shoulder, presumably at Merle, and winces again.

"No," he says, scrubbing at one eye as it twitches in anxiety. I'd feel sorry for Glenn if he wasn't trying to kill us all here by inviting the All America Psycho on our life or death expedition here. "When Simon backed out, I was just going to go without him. It wasn't ideal but I thought between Morales, T-Dog, Andrea and you, we'd be fine. Shane thought otherwise."

My eyebrows shoot into my hairline, jaw flapping open. "Shane suggested Merle?"

"Not…exactly. He suggested we convince Simon to reconsider but he told us that sorry, he just wasn't. As we were all but begging him, Merle came up out of nowhere and offered his 'services.' Shane kindly refused but Merle was like a dog with a bone. Brought up the fact that none of us 'city folk' knew how to shoot our way out of a wet paper bag; that we'd be dead before we even scavenged a can of beans. After bragging about his firearm prowess, well…Shane relented."

I blink at Glenn, waiting for the punch line, the grin, the April Fools! But this isn't a joke, Glenn isn't laughing, and it's the middle of sweltering June. I can't believe it. This is some Twilight Zone shit. Because in what realm, what reality, would Shane agree to this? I mean, I'm sure Glenn left out some details, summarizing to save time, but regardless! Yesterday, Shane practically threw a bitch fit when Daryl was concerned and then today he turns around and shoves Merle at us? Daryl might be a snappish dick at the best of times, but he's not his brother. Merle…I'm frankly surprised he hasn't gone postal in camp, killed us all, and ate us. And I know Shane thinks along the same lines. So what the fucking hell is he thinking now? Is he trying to get us all killed? I try to find Shane, ask these questions with my eyes, demand some answers, but when I finally spot him, he's propped up against the RV, eyes locked on the 4Runner, burning holes through metal and glass, right into the back of Merle's head. He has his arms crossed irately in front of him and his jaw is clenched so tight I imagine I can hear the grinding of his teeth all the way over here. Carl is tugging at his shirt, trying to get his attention, but Shane doesn't even acknowledge him, face closed off and looking more pissed than I have any memory of and yesterday, he had been pretty fucking angry.

And that's when I realize that maybe it's not that Shane doesn't know the danger Merle presents…it's that he does know, knows all to well, but can't do anything to stop it. There are no alternatives. Breakfast this morning had consisted of water, no meat, and I believe the last can of beans. This trip has to be a success or everyone is basically fucked. The hell with the walkers; we'll all succumb to starvation. Shane doesn't like it, not one bit, trusts Merle about as far as he could throw him which isn't far at all, but he's banking on Merle to think twice before causing shit in the city, to consider how his own survival banks on the success of this trip. On anyone else, this would be a logical, predictable, assumption.

But this is Merle fucking Dixon. And he's about as logical and predictable as a faulty atomic bomb.

All of the sudden, Shane looks up and meets my gaze and I see in his eyes the same thoughts that I have running through my skull. His brown eyes bore into mine for one, beat, two, flicker over to Merle again and then back. 'I'm sorry. Be careful,' they seem to say and I know he isn't talking about the walkers. I like this less than Shane, Merle hasn't threatened to kill him after all, but, as I said, there are no alternatives. This trip still needs to happen, we still need food, and I need to be there to help. This isn't just about Merle or me; it's about all of us. So, even if it leaves a sour taste in the back of my throat and a ball of nausea inducing anxiety in the pit of my stomach, I need to suck this shit up and move on. Feeling vaguely sick and dizzy, I meet Shane's gaze and give him an almost imperceptible nod. 'I'll do my best," I try to tell him and the way his lips purse, I know he understands.

Then Glenn's arm is at my elbow, tentative and questioning, fingers smooth and uncalloused.

"Audrey?" he asks worriedly. I tear my eyes away from Shane, don't give Merle another glance, and meet Glenn's concerned brown orbs. I try to look stronger than I feel.

"Yeah sorry," I say and flash a quick grin, frail and weak. "Um…just forget I said anything. We're wasting the day here. Let's uh…let's just get going."

Glenn frowns at me. "Audrey…" he starts again but I wave him off and grope behind me for the truck's door handle. I find the slightly rusted metal and give a sharp pull, listening detachedly as the old door creaks loudly as it opens.

"It's fine. Really. Come on. We're already behind schedule."

Not waiting for a response, I turn around, shrug off my backpack and katana, and slip into the passenger seat, scooting all the way into the middle so Jacqui, who has just walked up, can slip in behind me. Glenn continues to stand at the passenger side door, brow furrowed and frowning but then Jacqui calls his name, asks if he's ok, and he blinks out of his stupor. Shaking his head, he mutters something to the older woman and closes her door gently before jogging over to the driver's side and jumping in. He casts me a loaded look but starts the engine nonetheless, throwing the gearshift into drive and easing off the brake. As we begin to roll down the road, I turn around one last time, looking for Amy, Carl, Sophia, but the second I look back, Merle meets my gaze through distance and glass and smiles at me, nice and slow. The effect reminds me of a predator's snarl, bared teeth and lethal promises. My skin crawls and I whip back around, tightening my grip on the katana braced between my legs.

"You all right sweetie?" Jacqui asks beside me, laying a warm, comforting palm on my knee.

I give her a hasty nod and tight-lipped smile in return, turning to stare straight out the windshield, seeing the hazy skyline of Atlanta in the light of a new morning.

We are on the edge of starvation; we are past the end of the world. My…family is gone, my friends along with them. I have a journal left, some pictures and the few people around me whom I have quickly come to care about. I'm going into the city to help save them, to save Sophia and Carl, Amy, Glenn. I'm going so I don't fail another friend, like I failed Annie Marie, Mathias…Kaleigh and, in a way, Daryl. I'm putting my brave face on and trying to summon up the old Audrey, the new Audrey, whoever she is, the parts of me that feel no fear, that can face the devil and fucking laugh saying bring it on.

Because, I won't say it, won't breath it out into the open air, won't admit it anywhere other than in my own brain but…I'm fucking scared. Scared of the hunger I feel clawing in my belly. Scared of the city we are driving to; the walkers, the almost imminent death, brought on by teeth and nails and ear shattering moans. I'm scared of what lies ahead.

But…I'm also scared of what lies behind. I glance up and in the rearview mirror I see the green 4Runner bounce along the dirt road behind us as we wind down the mountain. There's too much dirt being kicked up in the air so I can't see through the windshield but I don't have to. I know who's in there.

"I catch you with him again, sugar tits, I'll cut yer throat nice and slow and be outta here 'fore yer lil lap dog cop can do shit 'bout it."

We are on the edge of starvation; we are past the end of the world. The dead no longer stay that way and, with one bite, one scratch, we can join them. The walking dead. And here we are, running towards them with open arms, pushed along by desperation. And yet, even now, it is not the dead that scare me the most. It's the living. Because out of every creation under the sun, everything that creeps and crawls and roars, nothing, nothing, is as dangerous as man. Especially a man with nothing left to lose and nothing to keep him in place.

I'm scared of Merle Dixon and, even though I hope my fear in unwarranted, I have a feeling it won't be.

---

It takes us almost a half an hour to reach the city. Simultaneously, it feels like an eternity has passed and that I have barely blinked before we are driving down the main highway that leads right into Atlanta.

Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I look out of Glenn's window, to my left, taking in the bumper to bumper packed four lanes that Atlanta's citizens had tried to take to escape. They barely even made it out of the city. We passed a blockade a few miles back. The city had been quarantined at some point. Nothing was supposed to get out. Needless to say, that plan obviously failed. As I squint against the morning sun, I think I see the shape of a body, wedged between two cars, but I turn my head away quickly, staring resolutely ahead. Don't think about it Audrey. Don't think about it.

Out of the corner of my eye, Jacqui has gone ashy and silent, the back of her wrist pressed against her lips. A single tear trickles down her cheek and I drop my eyes to my lap instead, clenching my fingers around the familiar hilt of my tanto.

A crackle of static fills the cabin of the truck and I turn to see Glenn lifting the walky-talky to his lips, right hand clenched on the wheel as we ease into the shadow of Atlanta. "The department store is ten minutes in," he says into the speaker, eyes hard and back rigid. "We're going to be taking a back route because there's a tank about a mile ahead that's blocking this road. We won't be able to pull right up to the store so we are gonna have to leave the trucks half a block over."

He lets go of the button and a few seconds later, there's a blast of static and Morales replies, "Alright. Just lead the way Glenn."

Glenn nods, even though Morales can't see him, and sets the walky-talky back in his lap. Sure enough, about two minutes later, we come across a tank that's flipped over on its side, charred and with holes blown in it. Bodies, of the unmoving variety, pile against its underbelly, drape over the missile launcher, the wheels, lay scattered across the road. Bile rises in the back of my throat but I force myself to not look away. The whole city will look like this and worst. I can't ignore it and I can't let it affect me.

As Glenn turns to the right, just before we reach the tank, a random snatch of words flickers across my mind, disjointed and unattached to a particular memory. "The way is shut," I murmur under my breath, craning my neck slightly to catch one last glimpse of the tank. "It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut." (3)

Jacqui glances at me in confusion but on my other side, Glenn huffs out a quiet laugh. "Lord of the Rings?" he chuckles dryly, flicking his eyes over to me for an instant before they zero in on the road again. "Really?"

I blink as I realize he's right, that's where the words are from, and shrug a shoulder at him, dropping my head as the ghost of a smile dances on my lips. "It just popped into my head. My friend…he was kind of obsessed with those movies. I've seen them more times than I could count. Nerdy but I could probably quote them for you." I meant the words to be light and teasing but Glenn falls silent beside me and I wince, picking at a hangnail absentmindedly as Mathias words whisper in my head.

"Damn is Orlando Bloom hot or what? I'd tap that even if he is 3000 years old."

The way that Glenn takes us, we come across literally zero walkers. The back streets and alleys that we drive are empty, abandoned, littered only with trash and debris and bodies that didn't move. More than one, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see something move, a slow, shuffling figure, but when I turn to look, there's nothing there and we continue to delve into the city, disturbing only ghosts.

Atlanta is not what I expected. Even aside from the silent streets and danger that is literally waiting around the next corner. I don't know it just seems…bigger than I imagined. Maybe it's the lack of people, the silence, but even with towering skyscrapers lining each side of the street, the city seems…too open, wide and echoing. I look up at what I think must have been an apartment building and tried to imagine living here, before the end of the world. I can't even begin. Dalton wasn't a bumfuck little town but we only had like 30,000 people. Georgia's former capital had more than 10 times that.

"It used to be beautiful."

I start at the quiet words, so sudden in the silence, and turn to see Jacqui staring at the same building I had been, eyes unfocused and wistful. "They city I mean," she clarifies, still not looking at me. "It wasn't Paris or anything but…it really was beautiful."

I remember how Glenn had said Jacqui used to be a city manager in Atlanta and for the first time I wonder…what was her exodus like? How did she get out? Did the emergency sirens wake her in the middle of the night, as they had woken me in Dalton, blaringly loud, driving fear and confusion into my bones? Did she slip the blockade, batter through it with a riot of people? Or had she left before everything went to hell, heeded the warning signs and got the hell out fast? I wonder if she lived around here, had driven these streets when they were packed with cars and people. I wonder…I wonder what ghosts she had left behind in the city when she fled and if they were catching up to her now.

Not responding to her statements, I reach over and gently squeeze her hand that lies limping in her lap. She turns to me at the pressure and gives me a small, shaky smile, squeezing tightly back.

We reach our destination, amazingly, without incident. As Glenn had told Morales before, we've pulled the vehicles half a block away from the store, parked in front of an alley that we lead us almost directly to the back door. Glenn says he's been here once or twice before, apparently he had lied when he said he only stuck to the city's fringes, and that he's locked up the building pretty tightly against geeks. It should be safe, on the inside. I'm not all that assured but it's what we got so I accept it.

However, there's still the outside that needs to be dealt with. To get to that back door, we have to slip down this alley and then quickly, quietly, onto the main street on the other side. From there, we run fifteen yards to the right and then slide around or under this bus that's been parked in front of another alley which holds the back entrance of the department store. Sounds easy enough.

Except Glenn says that, from what he remembers from his last visit, the main street is crawling with walkers. Not to mention how many will be in the alley when we finally steal into it. So yeah. Should be a lot of fucking fun.

"Everyone ready?" Glenn speaks into the walky-talky as he shoulders his own backpack on. I already have mine resting between my shoulder blades, tanto strapped to my hip. The katana's sheathe lies tight against my spine but the blade itself is gripped tightly between my fingers, tilted at an awkward angle between my legs and the truck's floor.

"Locked and loaded," T-Dog calls back. "Ready when you are."

Taking a deep breath, Glenn looks over at Jacqui and I. The older woman gives him a tight nod, her slim fingers wrapped around the handle of a lethal looking baseball bat. Glenn nods at her in return and then looks at me. For a moment, we just stare at each other, his brown eyes on my green. Countless words pass between us in those few seconds and then I give him a full-blown smile, feeling the adrenaline lick up my spine, setting sparks along my nerves. "On three?" I mouth and Glenn almost grins back in response before he pushes on the button on the walky-talky and hails T-Dog.

"Alright! On three everyone. Don't slam your doors and keep as low to the ground as you can. Follow me and, unless there's absolutely no other option, try to keep the guns holstered."

"Yes sir!" Andrea responds and, even though there is nothing particularly funny about this fucked up situation, I can almost here the smile in her voice.

Glenn grabs his own crowbar from between his feet and lifts the walky-talky up one last time. "One."

I flex my fingers along the katana's hilt, leaning into Glenn, ready to jump out right on his heels.

"Two."

A bead of sweat trails down the back of my neck and I take a deep breath, waiting for the plunge.

"Three!"

And then we're off.

Glenn throws open his door and drops out, Jacqui doing the same on my other side, the sound of gravel and creaking metal signaling the others are following behind us. As quick as I can, I follow Glenn out of the truck, swinging the door quietly shut before I take off after the group, falling into step right behind Glenn and right before Morales. I don't turn around to see if the others are with us because from the sound of footsteps and the absence of screaming and shouts, I assume they are.

The first alleyway is chocked with dumpsters and spare trash, a piece of rubble and debris here and there. But it's empty of bodies, both moving and non. Everyone is completely silent as we run, single file, towards the opening fifty yards ahead of us. It's in this silence that we first hear them. The walkers. The geeks. I haven't heard that noise in over a month but it's like it never left me. My skin breaks out in goose bumps and the hair on the back of my neck, along my arms, stands on end. The few spare moans that reach us seem drastically loud and they jar deep into my bones. From the stuttered pants behind me and the way Glenn's shoulders go taunt, I'm guessing they feel it too.

Right before the lip of the alley, a dumpster is shoved up against the wall, gaping open and putrid. I nearly gag with the smell of it but as we draw closer, hiding in its shadow, I see that the dumpster is empty, save some random pieces of paper and cardboard. That's when I realize that the smell isn't coming from the dumpster…it's coming from the street. I breathe shallowly through my mouth and press the back of my hand against my nose. Oh god.

Glenn throws up a hand to halt us and we skid to a stop, pressed up against the wall of the alley, hidden by the dumpster from the street. Turning to look at us, Glenn pants quietly. "I'm going to see how it looks," he whispers quickly. "Wait here."

I nod, even though he isn't just talking to me, and watch with my heart in my throat as Glenn creeps forward and slips around the dumpster's corner, peeking into the street. There's a breathless moment where I can't see Glenn, where all I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears and the echoes of moans, but then Glenn slips right back to us, face drawn and pinched but not completely hopeless.

"What's it like?" Morales asks, words barely louder than a breath. I can feel him pressed up against my shoulder, body radiating nervous heat as we crouch. Over his head, I can see Andrea shooting anxious looks behind us, keeping a look out so we don't get bit in the ass. Literally.

Glenn gulps down a breath and wipes at his brow absentmindedly. "There's kind of a lot out there," he starts and someone whines quietly in distress. "But," he continues, raising a hand. "I think we'll be able to get to the alley without being spotted."

"Ya think? Ya better be fuckin sure ya damn gook!"

Blanching at Merle's not so quiet, irate words, Glenn nods spastically. "Most of the geeks are on the other side of the street or further down, towards the intersection. There are about two or three between us and the alley but if I throw or rock or something at a car's window on the other side, they should go towards the noise."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Morales shake his head vehemently. "You can't do that," he grunts. "If the car has an alarm and it goes off, every geek for miles is gonna come stumbling. We'll be trapped."

Everyone shudders at the thought.

"Ok," Glenn relents but I can see an edge of panic creep into his eyes. We've been out in the open far too long. We should already be in the building. I can see as my friend tries to grasp for straws, come up with a plan that can get all of us to safety but fast. By the way his Adam's apple bobs, I can see he's got jack shit as of now. "Ok um then…let me just think for a second and—"

"Let me go first," I hiss out suddenly, interrupting Glenn's nervous babble. As one, I can feel every eye turn to me in incredibility, bugged out and freaked out. I purse my lips and look right at Glenn as he opens his mouth to argue. "No listen! You said it's only one or two walkers right?"

Glenn nods stupidly.

"Alright," I say then. "I can deal with a few geeks. Let me go first, I'll sneak up on them, cut them down, and we have a clear shot at the alley. No noise, no commotion. In and out."

The horror in Glenn's eyes matches the refusal in Morales' as he speaks up behind me. "No. No way. I'm not about to let you be geek bait. We'll think of something else."

Scowling, I whirl on him and he jerks his head back as it brings us almost nose to nose. "We don't have time to think of something else," I grind out, fear dancing up my spine. "We stay out here any longer, we're all sitting ducks. Look, I get this isn't ideal. You think I want to run out there? But we need to get in that building and to get there we have to get through this street. You want to just run out there and bring every walker in Atlanta down on us or do you want to do this quietly?"

There's a tiny voice at the back of my head screaming at me to shut the fuck up and let the adults deal with this but I begged to go on this trip because I wanted to help, not sit back and let everyone do the dirty work. This is why I came right? I needed to man up and take fucking charge.

Morales has his lips pursed so tightly, they've gone white with the pressure. Jacqui and Andrea look the same from what I can see and Glenn is groaning nervously next to me. I can tell they all want to argue, refuse, but suddenly, there's a moan just on the other side of the dumpster and we're all cowering against the wall, holding our breath and hoping the geek passes. It takes a few moments but the walker shuffles onward, leaving the alley behind as he lurches to infinity. I meet Morales' eyes and cock an eyebrow, as if to say, 'Well?'

The older man takes a deep breath and then another but he finally nods curtly, shushing the women's whispered protests with a wave of his hand.

"Shane's gonna kill me if he finds out but…Audrey's right," he mutters urgently. "We need a quick and quiet path and she's the best one to give us that. We've seen her with that blade," he says, nodding at the katana I'm holding tightly by my side. "She can do it."

He lifts his head and meets my gaze and even though I see fear and guilt in them, there's an undercurrent of faith and encouragement. Morales might fear for my life on principle but…on some level he believes I can do this. I hope he's right.

Giving Morales a nod of gratitude, I turn back to Glenn and grab onto his upper arm tightly, nails digging into his skin. "Follow me to the edge of the dumpster," I tell his hastily. "When you see that I've nearly made it to the bus, even if there is a geek or two left, make a break for it. I'll clear the path as fast as I can."

"And what happens if when you reach the alley and there are more geeks just waiting for you?" Glenn hisses, fear transforming his worry to anger. I bite my lip and make a helpless motion.

"Guess it's a good thing I stayed up all night running through drills huh?"

Glenn's eyes go wide and his jaw falls open, probably to berate me, but I don't give him the chance. Ducking my head quickly, I press a chaste kiss to his cheek on impulse and then I'm slipping past him, creeping as stealthily as I can to the edge of the dumpster.

As I reach the edge, a thousand memories crash through my mind. I can hear the screams of Dalton; I can feel the heat of burning flames; I can taste the flavor of ash and death on my tongue. My heart hammers a hummingbird's beat beneath my ribs and I've suddenly lost the ability to breathe. Sight narrowing to a pinpoint, I have just enough time to pray to whoever's listening that a walker isn't waiting right around this corner to bite my face off.

After the gloom of the close alley, the bright light of the open street blinds me for a moment. I blink rapidly and then, like a switch has been thrown, I see everything in high definition. There are cars lining the street, on each side, idled in the middle. Most have been busted out, some are charred remains, a few are even flipped on their sides. There's evidence of carnage everywhere. The asphalt of the street is shattered and buckled, by heat probably, heat from the bombs that the government had dropped in a last ditch effort to quarantine the city. Clothing and other personal items are so numerously scattered along the cement that I can almost not see the sidewalk and street beneath them. But all of that is nothing compared to the bodies.

They are everywhere; thrown around like the dolls of a child having a tantrum. The smell of death and decay grows sharper and I almost gag again. Prying my eyes away from the chaos, I lift my head and break out into a cold sweat as I see the walkers. Glenn hadn't been shitting; there are "kind of a lot." Thankfully though, he hadn't been lying when he said that most of them were on the other side of the street either, blocked by cars and obstacles. If everyone kept quiet and low to the ground, they might not even see us.

But it's not them that I have to worry about. It's the geeks to my right that lie between our destination and us. Taking I deep breath, I crane my neck over the lip of the dumpster, eyes casting about to find our obstacles.

There are three of them: a woman and two men. The woman is ten feet away, her back to me, ambling about thoughtlessly. The two men are farther along the sidewalk, right near the bus, also not looking my direction. I spare half a thought to the notion that maybe luck is on my side today.

This is it; the moment of truth. I lock my eyes on the female walker, fingers flexing on my katana. I can do this. It's nothing I haven't done before. I can do this.

A part of me meekly asks what if I can't but I don't have the time to entertain that idea because the walker is slowly turning towards me and if I let her spot me, if I let her raise the alarm, we are all dead.

I won't let that happen.

With my heart beating on my tongue, my stomach lying leaden in my shoes, I exhale sharply and then I'm moving, shoving out of my crouch and sprinting, half bent over with my sword extended at my side. The thing that used to be a female, maybe someone's mother, sister, definitely somebody's daughter, completes her turn just as I reach her and when her eyes lock on mine, her jaw falls open, throat working to issue that bone chilling, gut clenching moan. It never hits the air.

Just as her hands come up, just as her vocal chords begin to vibrate, I straighten my knees with a snap and haul my katana in an upward slash, cleaving right through her neck with a silent snarl. Her head tumbles to my feet, blood arching through the air but I don't stop. Still moving, I corkscrew my sword down, stabbing right through the eye socket of the decapitated head. There's a sickening crack, followed by a squelch as I rip the blade out and keep running. My feet slap what I feel is echoingly loud against the cement but I don't turn to see if the other geeks have noticed; I keep my eyes locked on my next target that's five yards and rapidly drawing closer.

The second walker, 6 foot tall and stocky, doesn't even see me coming. One moment, he's bumping aimlessly into the belly of an overturned car and the next, half is head flies to the left as his body slumps limply forward.

I'm just starting to think that this insane plan of mine just might work as I reach the bus and the last walker that's trying to squeeze into the alley I need to get into when I kick a stray can I hadn't noticed and the aluminum skitters loudly against the pavement, colliding loudly with the building's wall. My heart stops and my blood runs cold as the sound echoes and I push myself that much faster to reach the last walker in time but I'm too late. I'm ten feet away and closing when the geek turns and spots me, glazed over eyes widening at the first sign of food in god knows how long, and lets out a moan that resounds in my ears like the noise of a jet plane taking off.

Baring my teeth in rage, I swing out swiftly, hoping to lop off the thing's head like I had with the woman, but it moves faster than I anticipated, motivated by food, and the edge of the blade catches on its shoulder, grinding into bone as the walker stumbles into arms reach, fingers groping for me. Instinct in me freezes, my muscles going for the deer in the headlights lock up as my hand slips from the katana's hilt, geek too close now, almost crashing into my body. My first reflex is to try and grab for the katana, still lodged in the geek's shoulder, but I shove that thought away and instead, let the sword go entirely, spinning to the side and letting the walker stumble past me. My momentum has me slamming into the back of the bus, the impact making my vision swim and my ears ring but then I remember that Glenn was supposed to be right behind me and I'm shoving off the bus like a rubber ball rebounding.

Sure enough, Glenn is nearly five feet way from the walker, eyes wide and face blanched. I see Morales' mouth curse, Andrea open hers to scream Glenn's name, T-Dog half raising his arm, gun in his grasp, but then everything else is eclipsed by the walker's broad back as I slam into it, the tanto that I have just ripped from my side burying itself into the hollow at the base of the geek's skull. The geek twitches once in my grasp and then he's careening to the ground, like a puppet who's strings have been cut and I have just enough foresight to yank the tanto out of its head before it takes me down with it. The walker lands face first at Glenn's feet and he looks from it to me with this awe struck, disbelieving expression but I don't take time to reciprocate. Leaning down, I wrench my katana out of the walker's body with my left hand and jerk my head towards the alley, already running back towards the bus because a few of the walkers down the street have heard the commotion and I would like to be inside before they reach us.

The bus is shoved almost completely perpendicular to the mouth of the alley, leaving only a sliver of space for a person to squeeze through. Sheathing my tanto quickly, I inhale sharply and wiggle through the gap, feeling the brick building scratching along my forearms and catching on the bulk of my pack before I finally fall through, stumbling to right myself. Gasping, I snap my head up, ready to face another slew of geeks but the alley is empty save one walker, far in the back, right near the entrance. Turning my head, I watch as Glenn slips through the space after me, Morales, Jacqui, Andrea, Merle, and finally T-Dog falling through after him.

"One more," I pant out, gesturing with my sword at the lone walker. Glenn blinks at me and half raises his crowbar, wordlessly offering. I shake my head and readjust my pack. "Just get everyone in the building. I'll be right behind you."

Pursing his lips, Glenn doesn't look happy but he doesn't argue, gesturing for the others to follow him to the right side of the alley as I head to the left, walking towards the geek. It catches sight of me almost halfway and it drops what I realize, swallowing bile, is the carcass of what use to be a cat. Teeth dyed red, it snarls at me and begins to run, ambling quickly towards the bigger meal. Learning from my last mistake, I time my swing to the geek's speed and, within a few moments, its head lands at my feet, my sword imbedded in its mouth.

"Audrey!" Glenn calls out frantically from the doorway. Gritting my teeth, I jerk back and jog towards the door, crossing the threshold just as another walker squeezes itself past the bus.

The door slams behind me with a definitive bang and I lean back against it panting. My pulse is still pounding and my breathing is erratic and I feel like I've just run thirty miles instead of yards. But…aside from physical exertion…I think I'm fine. I think.

After a few minutes have past in which I try to catch my breath, I open my eyes to find six other pairs staring at me in varying levels of shock and amazement. Well, except for Merle. I can't tell what's in his eyes but I don't very well like it.

"What?" I ask finally, breathing still slightly irregular. The others blink at me, also gasping, sweat running into their eyes as they clasp their respective weapons. "What?" I repeat when no one responds.

Morales is the first one to extract himself from his stupor and when he does, he shakes his head and starts to laugh, first quietly but then escalading into full blown, almost rolling on the floor, laughter.

"Mijita," he manages when he can breathe properly again. He looks up at me and grins, flash of white teeth and twinkling brown eyes. "You have got to have the biggest cojones I've ever fucking seen."

I blush at his praise and stick my tongue out at him, feeling the blood pool in my cheeks as the blood on my katana drips to the floor. T-Dog laughs beside me, and I turn to see him set the bag of Dale's tools that we had brought on the ground as he slides off his hat and rubs the sweat off his scalp.

"I second that," he chuckles. "I mean damn. How does so much bad ass fit in someone so small?"

Rolling my eyes, I shove off the door and twirl the katana in my grasp, snapping my wrist down to shake off the blood and pieces of flesh that are clinging to its edge. "Alright, alright. Enough with the blowing hot air up my ass. Don't we have a job to do?"

The group huffs as one and then, we quickly set about barring the door, spreading out the supplies, slapping a map on the small table in this little back room that we've made our headquarters as Glenn starts to lay out the plan for the trip.

And, if while Glenn is organizing our little scavenge party, I'm draped across his back, face pressed tightly into his shoulder, faking looking at the map as he points out who's going where and when, and just breathing, trying to lock my muscles so they don't shake out of my skin, well…no one's the wiser.

---

Four hours later, and we are almost done. I can't believe it. And, what's more, none of us are really worse for wear. Ok, so I might have twisted my right ankle again about half an hour ago but it wasn't my fault! The thing's faulty and Glenn also hadn't told me we were going to be doing the Spiderman, dropping from roof to roof. Besides, it's not even that bad. I can still walk on it. For the most part.

Anyways, the trip has been an uncharacteristic success. Glenn had pointed T-Dog and Andrea to an out of the way little supermarket/convenience store a few blocks away. There had been two geeks inside but they apparently had been quickly dealt with and the two came back conquering heroes, a whole pack full of canned food, boxes, bags, and even a few spare meds, Tylenol and Advil, nothing major but better than squat. Jacqui and Morales found a little less success in raiding the department store we had holed up in but they did manage to find some nice clothes for almost everyone in camp. Jacqui even found me new shoes, some high priced Nikes that were just the right size. I don't have them on now though, but I know exactly where they are, at the bottom of my bag, just under the large bag of rice.

We had almost left a couple of minutes ago but Glenn had suddenly said he wanted to check one last place, a few blocks over. I had offered to go with him but, with my ankle on the fritz, I was outvoted. T-Dog had stepped up to take my place but Glenn had waved him off as well, saying it would be quicker if he could just dart on over alone and back again. Everyone was a little leery of letting him go alone but he pointed out that he's done this countless times and that he would be fine. He said he'd be back in half an hour tops.

So, here I am, sitting on the edge of the table in our center of operations, aka the service entrance/storage room, alternating between swinging my legs and rotating my ankle. I wince when the muscle pulls painfully but exhale slowly and work through it. I need to be able to run by the time Glenn gets back so even if it hurts like a bitch, I have to stretch this sprain out. Actually, I don't think I really sprained it this time. The site isn't as tender as it was on the road to Atlanta. I think I might have just overexerted myself. Either way, stellar move Audrey. Real gold. Sighing, I drop my head back and close my eyes, wishing Glenn would hurry it along.

"Uh oh. Seems our resident ninja has run out of juice."

Cracking open an eye, I look over to see Morales standing in the doorway, grinning his head off. "Have you been talking to Amy?" I ask. "I don't know how many times I've told her that I'm not a ninja. Or a samurai. Or some type of super hero."

The older Mexican man chuckles and walks farther into the room, pulling out the chair beside me and collapsing into it with a sigh. I cock an eyebrow. "And talk about running out of juice huh?" I tease.

"Sue me chicita. Not all of us are spring chickens any more."

I roll my eyes and nudge his shoulder playfully. "Yeah yeah. Where is everyone anyway? Thought I heard Andrea in he hallway." Leaning a bit forward, I look to see if anyone else had been standing behind Morales. The doorway remains empty.

Morales shakes his and rubs tiredly at his chin. "Nah. She's 'shopping' with Jacqui still," he says, air quoting the word shopping. "I think she said something about Amy but I walked away before I heard the rest of the story."

Smirking, my hand absentmindedly trails to brush against my pocket, a small, rectangular shape straining the fabric of the slightly large, green cargo pants I'm wearing. It might have been a little selfish but, while everyone had been out, except for Glenn and I since it was right after I fucked up my ankle, I had perused the store, looking for a gift for my friend back at camp. Her birthday was in two days after all. I hadn't been planning to look, not consciously, but the opportunity just presented itself and I jumped on it. It took a while and I was just about to give up when I saw something out of the corner of my eye and, upon seeing it, I thought to myself that I couldn't have found something more perfect. It was a little cheesy but…just right. I hope she liked it.

"Yeah I bet she is," I say in response to Morales' statement. "It's her birthday in a few days. I'm sure Andrea wants to get something special."

Morales looks at me with raised eyebrows. "No shit?"

I nod. "No shit."

"Hmm…maybe we'll break out that cake mix T-Dog grabbed. We don't have eggs but…we might be able to find something."

I smile at the prospect. Maybe Amy will get her party after all. "By the way, where is T-Dog? Don't tell me he's shopping too," I joke lightly, imagining the burly man modeling shirts in a dressing room mirror.

For a moment, Morales snickers, probably envisioning something similar to my image, but then the smile slips off his lips and is replaced by a slight frown. He scratches at his scalp and sighs as I furrow my brow at him in confusion. "Ah no. Dog went to go check out the look out station. See if everything's…kosher."

I stare in shock at Morales, blinking as I freeze mid ankle rotation. "The look out station? Are you serious? Isn't—?"

Morales nods before I can even finish my question. "Yeah. I told him not to go up there but…he wouldn't listen." He groans and rubs at his eyes, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. "I just hope Merle doesn't throw him over the side."

I'm barely able to restrain my grimace because Morales doesn't know how warranted his fear really is. Racist is a polite term for what Merle Dixon is. I won't mention the impolite names. Shit. Frowning, I follow Morales' lead and gaze up at the ceiling, wishing I could see through the ten floors above us and up onto the roof.

After the initial sprint that got us in the building, and when that bout of adrenaline finally faded, my brain had done a pretty good job in reminding me, 'Oh hey. You know that guy that wants to kill you? Yeah, he's five feet away holding a loaded rifle. Just FYI.'

To be fair, just about everyone else in the group had been between us and I didn't actually think he was going to kill me right in front of everyone but, regardless, I could feel his eyes on my and my skin had been crawling ever since. The entire trip, I had done my best to stick close to at least one other person, never going off alone and never, ever, being in the same room as Merle unless at least two other people were present. For the most part, it had worked. There was only one instant where I fucked up, trailing behind as we cleared the department store, making sure there were no walkers. I took my eyes off of Glenn for one second, gaze drifting over to a shiny dress that was actually very pretty, if not very expensive, and before I knew it, someone was running into my back, jarring the katana out of my hand and onto the floor just as the stale odor of tobacco, liquor, and sweat reached my nose.

I had frozen as Merle breathed down my neck, hand twitching near my tanto, as the older man chuckled in my ear and took a step back. Fearing that he was going to gut me while my back was turned, I spun to face him, ready to fight, to scream if he tried anything and I just knew he was going to because he had promised and here we were, all alone, because I was a mother fucking idiot. But, instead of going for my throat, or his gun, like I thought he was, Merle just smiled at me, sickly sweet and slow as molasses before he bent down and wrapped his hand around my sword. My heart had jumped into my throat because, wouldn't that beat all? Merle, killing me with my own blade. I was just about ready to open my mouth and shout for help, muscles coiling to shove Merle away, when the older Dixon plucked my katana up and offered it to me, hilt first. All I had done was blink at him stupidly, unable to process thoughts let alone audible words when Glenn and Andrea came jogging back into the room, instantly on high alert when they saw Merle and I together. Andrea had come up nice and slow and asked what was going on as Glenn sidled up beside me, crowbar in hand, just in case. Merle didn't seem fazed by the thinly veiled hostility in the room; in fact, it seemed to amuse him more.

"Just helpin our little savior here," he drawled and, from the distance I had been standing, I could see the dilation of his pupils, the almost imperceptible white power dusting the bottom of his nose. Merle was feeling no pain at that point and, for that split second in time, he was actually acting cordial. I still can't decide if it had been a ruse or just the drugs talking.

"Ya should hang onto this little tighter sugar tits," he had said then, addressing me as he prodded my hand with the katana's hilt. I groped for it blindly, hurriedly, as his smile took on a certain edge, just under the saccharine crap he was spouting. "Wouldn't want to get caught without it."

He had walked away without further incident but I still can't shake the feeling that his last words had been a warning, a threat. Needless to say, I was fucking relieved as hell when Morales had suggested that Merle take the lookout position on the roof since he had the long-range weapon and was the best shot. He told Merle to make sure everything was clear for when people were returning off their scavenges and to shoot only when things looked dangerous. We had all waited with bated breath to see if Merle would argue, or worse lash out, but the older male had just grinned sloppily, higher than a Georgia pine, and relented, climbing the stairs without any further comment. That was about three hours ago and I haven't seen Merle since. Thank fucking God.

"Hey," Morales says suddenly, making me drop my head and look at him. He doesn't meet my gaze right off the bat, rubbing uneasily at the back of his neck, eyes averted. After a few moments pause, however, he lifts his head and looks me dead on, curiosity bright in his brown orbs. "I have to ask mijita. It's not really any of my business but I've been dying to know. What was with you and Dixon yesterday? Daryl, not Merle."

The question is so off the wall and random for the moment that all I can do is gape and stutter for the next few instants. "W…what?" I finally manage to get out, voice high and breaking. "I…n…nothing. We…we were just going hunting. Before Shane came and uh…misunderstood things. W…why?"

Morales smirks lightly and cocks an eyebrow at me. His expression automatically reminds me of Amy's teasing from earlier today and I can't help but blush and duck my head, staring pointedly at my ankle as I rotate it. "I don't know why you people keep looking at me like that," I mutter, feeling the tips of my ears burn. "Daryl and I just hunted a few times when he needed help. That's it."

"Mmmhmm," Morales hums, sounding unconvinced, smirk stretching into a Cheshire grin. "And those few 'hunting trips' urged you to defend Daryl's honor yesterday?"

I scowl at the older man and kick my leg out, catching him in the arm slightly. "Oh shut up Morales. I was just trying to be a moral fucking citizen. Daryl's…an asshole I'll admit it but…" I trail off, fingers itching to trace the scar on my temple. "But he saved my life and, honestly, he's not completely horrid. Taught me how to skin and clean things without taking my head off so…I don't know," I shrug. "I consider him an acquaintance."

The word feels as awkward in my mouth as partner and I think Morales can tell. "Acquaintance?" he repeats skeptically and I flush a deeper read, the word friend stamped on the inside of my eyelids. Chewing on my tongue, I open my mouth to try and explain what I thought was between Daryl and I, maybe not as in depth as I had with Amy, when all of the sudden, gunshots rings out, loud, one after another after another, followed by T-Dog's voice echoing out through the store, worried and distressed.

"Guys! We have a fucking problem!"

Within seconds, Morales and I are on our feet, conversation forgotten completely, the flare of pain in my ankle all but eclipsed as my fear soars through the roof and I taste the acid tang of bile in the back of my throat. What the fuck in happening!

Morales stutters for the doorway but T-Dog beats him to it, sliding down the hall and almost face planting into the room, Andrea and Jacqui hot on his heels. "What the fuck T-Dog!" Morales demands and it's like he's taken the words right out of my mouth.

The other man straightens up with a gasp, sweat running down his face, and holds up the walky-talky in his hands, gesturing to it wildly as he tries to catch his breath. My stomach clenches and I feel like I might black out. Glenn.

"I…was on…the roof," T-Dog gasps, chest heaving like he's having an asthma attack. I distantly realize he must have sprinted down all ten floors to reach us. "Glenn…called. I couldn't…understand him and then…gunshots."

"But Glenn didn't take a gun," I point out harshly, heart hammering out of my chest even worse than when I had faced those walkers in the alley because this is Glenn and he can't fucking die. That's the reason I came on this trip in the first place, at least one of the main reasons. I was supposed to protect him. He…he can't die while I was sitting on my ass shooting the shit with Morales, nursing a bruised leg. That…that's just too fucked up, even for this world.

And here I was thinking that we were just about home free.

T-Dog nods and gulps in another lungful of air. "I…I know but it wasn't me and…I was with Merle. Wasn't him either." He shrugs helplessly. "I don't know."

The world shakes from side to side, colors blurring and meshing and it takes me a moment to realize I'm shaking my head in denial. "No," I say and I feel hysteria build beneath my skin, like too much air in a balloon, fit to bursting. "No, we have to go look for him."

"Are you nuts?" Andrea shrieks, staring at me with huge blue eyes, just like her sisters. "Every walker in Atlanta is gonna be headed this direction. We can't go out there looking for him! We have to—"

My eyes go wide as I mentally finish her sentence. "Have to what?" I snarl, not liking what I think she's implying. I take a step toward her and she flinches, retreating an equal step back. "Leave Glenn? Is that what you were going to say?" The idea pisses me off just as much as the shit with Daryl did yesterday. Even more so, actually, because this was Glenn's fucking life we are talking about, not his fucking reputation.

Andrea cows at my tone, my words, and immediately deflates. "N…no," she whispers and it's only then do I realize the tears in her eyes, the tremble to her lips. "But what…what the hell are we going to do?"

And that's the million dollar fucking question isn't it? Because Andrea is right. Those gunshots would have been heard for miles. All the geeks of Atlanta are probably stumbling towards us. We need to find a way out. And Glenn…Glenn's still…

The image of his smile and every stupid fucking memory I have with the infuriating Asian jumps to the forefront of my mind because he might be dead and I've lost yet another loved one.

Suddenly, the crackle of static screams out in the silence of the room and we all jump. Bewildered, T-Dog lifts his hand up and all of us stare at the walky-talky with bated breath. I stupidly, at the back of my mind, consider crossing my fingers.

There's a beat of silence and then, gloriously, we hear it.

"I'm back," Glenn's breathless voice calls out through the static. My knees shake and I almost collapse to the floor in relief. "Got a guest," he continues, voice cracking and wavering. "Plus four geeks in the alley."

We all glance at each other in shock for a moment, a guest?, but then we realize that Glenn is probably coming down the fire escape on the other side of the alley and that there are four walkers between him and us. Scrambling, I'm about to run to the door but Morales beats me to it, shoving me back as T-Dog shoves the walky-talky at me, both men pulling on the hockey helmets they had donned all day when going out, preventatives against any geek juice that might get on them. I never bothered with it but to each man his own.

The two men share one last glance before they slam the back door wide open and sprint into the alley, the sound of walker groans quickly eclipsed by the sound of bats caving in skulls, an urgent shout, and the slap of feet on cement as Glenn and another man come barreling into the storage room, panting and pale.

The second that I see him, alive and not covered in blood, something in my chest unhitches because oh my fucking god my friend is alive and I didn't let him die. "Glenn," I scream out, unable to control myself. Before I know it, I'm throwing myself at him, wrapping my arms as tight as I can around his neck and stuffing my face into the hard line of his shoulder. The slight man stumbles at the unexpected impact and the sudden weight but he wraps one arm loosely around my waist regardless, gasping my name in my ear as a response.

I rip my face away from his shoulder, drawing back just enough to see his face, and open my mouth to ask what the fuck just happened but Andrea cuts me off.

"You son of a bitch," she snarls at the newcomer, a man of average height, lean build, dirty face and blue eyes that jar something familiar in me, like a sense of déjà vu. She shoves the man up against some spare boxes and crates, face twisted, and then she has her gun right there, nearly pressed against his cheek. "We oughta kill you!"

The man looks frightened, gasping as he stares down the barrel of Andrea's gun, but Morales steps up suddenly, having just slammed the door behind him and T-Dog.

"Just chill out Andrea. Back off." He's yanking off his helmet as he says this, sweat dripping down his jaw, and starts to work on the padding T-Dog and him and worn all day as well, more preventative measures.

Jacqui steps up then, worried and wide-eyed. "Come one. Ease up," she implores Andrea, gazing at the gun like it was pointed at her.

Andrea snorts scornfully, shoving the weapon closer to the man's face. From my angle, I can see the tears starting to slide down her cheeks. "Ease up? You're kidding me right. Audrey said it. Glenn didn't have a gun. It was this son of a bitch! We're dead because of this stupid asshole."

I blink as I process Andrea' words. I hadn't thought about that, hadn't given anything beyond Glenn and him being alive a second glance. But now that Glenn is standing right next to me, pressed into my side, alive and breathing, I look over at the man that Andrea has pinned down, eyes dropping to the pistol that he has strapped to his hip. A pistol that I would bet my life, if it were even worth anything at this point, that is riding on empty.

"Andrea!" Morales snaps sharply, yanking his chest pads off. "I said back the hell off!"

When the blonde woman doesn't move, doesn't drop her weapon an inch, Morales scowls and leans in close to her. "Or pull the trigger," he drawls, almost taunting her. The man on the other side of the gun shoots Morales a desperate, pleading look and strains back as Andrea just shoves the gun farther into his face.

There's a tense moment where no one moves and everyone barely breathes as we wait for Andrea's next action. It takes a few seconds but she finally drops the gun and steps away, face collapsing as she looks at the man in disgust and hatred.

"We're dead—all of us—because of you," she says and it feels like a punch to the solar plexus because what the hell just happened? We were almost out of here, heading back to camp the conquering heroes! How did it go up in flames so fast?

The stranger is still panting, from fear, from exertion, and spares each and every one of us a confused look. "I," he starts, the first words he's said, and his voice is a warm timbre, slightly gravelly with a thick Georgia accent. "I don't understand."

Morales, who as just finished unvesting himself, snarls quietly, the first time I've ever seen him angry, and grabs tightly onto the man's upper arm, spinning him around and shoving him towards the door that leads to the department floor. I spare Glenn a bewildered glance but he shrugs his shoulders helplessly and we stumble after Morales.

"Look, we came into the city to scavenge supplies," I hear him explain sharply. You know what the key to scavenging is? Surviving! You know the key to surviving? Sneaking in and out, tiptoeing!" He shoves the strangers forward with each word, harder and harder, angrier and angrier, until we reach the main section of the store. I slide around a rack of clothes, Glenn glued to my side, just in time to hear Morales say, "Not shooting up the streets like it's the OK Corral!"

As his words echo in my ears, I lift my head and that's when I see them.

And that's when the world crashes and burns around my ears.

Again.

---

Present Time

The walkers are still hammering away at the glass, the sound like a snarling waterfall, pounding water and tumbling stones. Or in this case, pounding fists and tumbling moans. Glenn mutters something next to me but it's too quiet for me to hear and at the exact instant, the geek with the rock smashes into the top corner of the outer door and the glass peels inward, drooping down and letting grasping fingers poke through, bloody and hungry.

"Oh god," Andrea gasps and I can't help but think that if there ever was a God, he's not exactly listening anymore.

We were on the edge of starvation; we were past the end of the world. All we wanted was to scavenge a little food, some meager supplies, to keep ourselves, our friends and families, going, if only for a little while longer.

How did it come to this?

---

(1) Quote by poet Robert Burns.

(2) In this behind the scenes deal on TWD DVD, Steven Yeun had pointed out this tarp bucket thing that was supposed to be the shower :) Idk how to really explain it xD

(3) Quote from The Return of the King, the last part in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I'm a LOTR nerd. Not going to lie. Can quote all three movies for you. Sue me.

Dun dun da! *suspenseful music*

So? How was that? :} I tried to stick as close to canon as possible but, obviously, with some minor tweaks. Did it work as well as I had hoped? :/ Please tell me!

Got some more insight into Audrey's past here and some rapport with Amy and Glenn. :) Which makes future events even sadder T.T But we will cross that bridge when we get there. :P

I hoped you enjoyed this installment and PLEASE remember to review! I love seeing story alerts and favorites but, since you have to click on the review button to do either of those options, please drop a line or two of feedback :) I really want to know what you guys are thinking!

Until next time!

~Shadows

PS: Is anyone else a little weirded out by the new fanfic format? O.o I'm still trying to adjust.

PPS: Random question but is anyone out there a Supernatural fan? Just curious.