We moved from the cars and walked down the road for a long while, so long that my feet wanted to give out from under me and stop there and then. Once again I had resorted to walking down the bank from the group on the treeline so I was more in the shade.

Walking on the leg was sort of getting easier, not that I could deny the pain. But I had been feeling better after the haircut and the new outfit that Rosita did for me. I had started liking her a little more for actually helping me because we had still been at odds with each other after my attempts on Eugene's life.

While I was lost in my thoughts, Martinez pushed my head down under the branch that was very obviously taller than me. "Watch your head."

My patience with the constant jokes about my inability to stand on my own feet or avoid very clear obstacles because of the heatstroke had been wearing thin. I thought of a way to annoy him back when I remembered an earlier conversation. "Rosita said I should call you a coconut."

"What?!"

Oh. He seemed to react more to that than I would have expected, seeing as Rosita was nonchalant when she said it herself. "I didn't know when the right time to bring it up was."

"There isn't a right time to bring up something like that!" There was a smile on his face but he was more in disbelief than anything else, his gaze trailing up to Rosita who looked back down at us and grinned from the road.

"I was waiting for you to annoy me," I raised my wrist and checked the invisible watch. "Took you approximately 43 minutes."

Still, he was shaking his head, rolling his eyes.

"I still don't know what it means," I said.

"Really?" He asked sarcastically. "It means like, brown on the outside, white on the inside. Like calling me a fake Mexican."

"I don't know how to respond to that. How can you be a fake Mexican?"

"It's to do with mannerisms," he said.

"The only Spanish I've heard you say were swear words," I reminded him. "And they were directed at me."

"Yeah, yeah," he rolled his eyes.

"Problem?" Rosita came down to join us on the road.

"Coconut, really?" He asked.

"It's just something I noticed," she smiled innocently, "I thought it might be something you want to hear from your best friend."

"His last best friend was a redneck," I added to the list of some of the only mannerisms I knew of him.

He shook his head, bewildered, before pointing at her. "She's sleeping with one!"

I'm not sure when the argument ended really, but I was happy enough to have caused it. While they walked away, or she walked away and Martinez continued to argue with her, following her back onto the road. I remained in the shade feeling no better than previously.

Still, we pushed on. I was starting to feel the same way I had when Isaac started speaking to me back on the road before I fainted, and I began looking around for someone to tell. Carl was behind me and seemed to notice.

Carl placed a hand on my arm, looking back at me over his shoulder. "Ace, are you okay?"

"I'm okay," a partial lie came out. Physically, I was worse for wear, but mentally . . . okay, maybe it was just a lie. My head was pounding, like it would burst out of the barriers of its skin. Even the shade was boiling me alive. "It's just my head." And the rest of my body. Everything. "I'll be okay."

"We can stop," Carl said, to remind me that I could take a break that we had carelessly neglected. I assumed Rosita's help was enough, but even with the new haircut and outfit, I wanted to hurl myself into the Antarctic Ocean. Hell, even Britain would have been better than this.

I considered his suggestion for a moment, before nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, we should probably stop."

"Dad," Carl let go of my arm and turned his attention to the front of the group. "We need to stop."

Rick stopped, along with the others. He made his way back to where me and Carl were standing, placing a hand on my shoulder and leaning down to look in my eyes, concern etched into his features. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "I will be, I just . . . I need a break."

"Alright," Rick agreed, squeezing my shoulder. "We can stop for a little while."

With a wave of his hand, he gestured for the others to sit down and rest. I sat down in the shade, covering my face with my hands. It was too warm for this. The sound of a shoe scraping against the ground got my attention as Isaac lowered himself to the ground in front of me. He gave a small smile as he dropped his bag beside him.

I, instead, laid back on the ground. Even sitting felt like too much effort at that point. I glanced over as Isaac unzipped his back, and my arms came to my sides to hold the bottom of the dress against the ground. I couldn't wait for this day to be over.

Twigs crunched from the forest behind us, and my head snapped up into a sitting position almost immediately, looking over my shoulder. Rick had pushed himself forward, hand over his knife, ready to kill. As the sound continued, an arm swung down to push the branches out of the way, and Daryl stepped out from the trees. He stared at Rick expectantly, who shook his head in silent communication.

No water.

No nothing.
I leaned forward again, my hands holding up my head to keep me up. Isaac looked back down at his book, the pen continuing its artistic scratching against the blank page. It was only when I remembered the one landscape he showed me at the prison that I realised, I had no idea what he drew. The last time we had spoken about this, Isaac changed the subject away from his hobby and onto my trauma. Sneaky.

He was getting close to the end; the book had very few drawings left in it before he'd have to start another—if we could find another. I'm not sure why the thought of him running out of pages made my chest tighten, but it did. Could be because he wouldn't have a way to ease the anxieties his OCD caused him, but maybe that wasn't the case anymore. Any time I saw Isaac looking at the book, his face was filled with a sorrowful gaze I couldn't explain.

"So all we found was booze?" Tara asked.

"Yeah," Rosita said.

I followed her gaze to Abraham, who had perched on the mound where the tree had forced the ground upwards. He sipped from a glass bottle, square in shape, and stared off at the tree line. Despite taking time out of his day to pick on Isaac at the cars, Abraham had reverted to his quiet and sullen self, a mood he had been carrying around for almost three weeks.

Tara palmed the butt of her gun. "It's not gonna help."

"He knows that," Rosita said, resting her head on the back of her hand.

"It's gonna make it worse," she persisted.

"Yes it is," Rosita agreed with a nod.

The thought of drinking alcohol made me feel sick at that moment. Acetaldehyde symptoms aside, we had no food to soak up the excess liquid, and the drink would just make him more dehydrated, and more in need of water we didn't have.

"He's a grown man," Eugene said. "And I truly do not know if things can get worse."

What a stupid thing to say—a quote from my rational thoughts, overshadowed by my ever-burning hatred for Eugene. I meant to reprimand him because, obviously, things could get worse. (Not that I believed he could jinx us.)

Rosita was the one to break through the silence, speaking the words that had plagued my mind since Eugene had said that. "They can."

Not even seconds after she answered, there was barking as dogs ran out of the tree line behind me and started barking. I sat up, reaching for my gun, and Isaac pushed himself backwards. They barked and growled at us, and I wasn't sure I had it in me to fight the dogs. My heart was racing as we all sat still, ready to do whatever we needed to, but none of us made a move.

Then came the quiet shots as each of the dogs fell to the ground with a high-pitched squeak. My eyes trailed over to Sasha, who had her suppressed machine gun aiming at them. Rick looked at her, before pushing himself to his feet and walking past Abraham to the trees. He grabbed a twig and snapped it in half.

I knew what he was doing, and the fact that I considered it made me feel awful. Rick told Sasha to get some firewood as Daryl grabbed his knife and walked over to the dogs. Isaac frowned, looking away as Daryl began skinning the dogs. I could tell with even the thought of having to do something like that, maybe it was the fact that it was dogs that made him turn away as he scribbled in his book.

I wasn't bothered so much by the gutting or skinning done by the other members. The smell of the smoke and cooking meat made my stomach turn, and it took everything for me to sit there while they cooked the food.

My stomach grumbled, but the thought of eating made me want to run into the tree line and be sick. My hand came up to cover my mouth as I gagged.

"Ace, you okay?" Glenn asked.

"I feel sick," I mumbled.

"You should still eat," he said.

I shook my head. "I don't think I can."

Not too long later, the first batch of meat had been cooked and handed out to Carl first. When the others had cooked some more, Rick held out the meat towards us, but still, the smell of the smoke and cooking meat made my stomach turn. I wanted to eat so bad, but if I threw up again I would just make myself more dehydrated and sick. I shook my head, and Rick sighed but moved on to Isaac who looked like he'd rather eat the book in his hand.

"I'm not that hungry." His tone was different, showing that he was hungry, just not hungry enough to eat a dog. Then again, he looked like he'd rather just die than eat a dog. Part of me felt the same way, the other part of me knew that if I didn't feel so sick, I'd probably be eating too.

Rick understood, and moved to Glenn and Maggie, offering them some of the meat. Their faces looked grim as they accepted the food, even Martinez beside Tara frowned as he took some of the dog meat from the stick.

I laid back down.

As I did, Isaac muttered to himself, "Stop moving."

I turned my head to look at him, frowning when I saw him use the rubber to erase what he had done in the book. "Why?"

"What?" He glanced up, his eyes wide as he only now realising that he'd been talking.

"Are you drawing me?" I asked again.

Isaac was shaking his head, his mouth open as his eyes flickered back down to his book. I could tell he was contemplating between the awkwardness that could come from answering me and the option of ignoring me. It wouldn't work, I would just push the topic. I didn't mind if he was drawing me, I found it cute. (I mean . . . what?)

"I, uh, I draw everyone," he stammered. "You changed your hair."

"My bad," I pushed myself onto my elbows. "Can I see it?"

"If I can finish it, I guess."

"So I have to stop moving?" I frowned.

Isaac grinned, realising he was getting the upper hand. "If you want to see it."

I scrunched up my face and sighed, staying still was boring but I wanted nothing more than to lay down on the ground and rest. "Can I lay down?"

"I guess," he said. "Just . . . Turn your head this way."

"Can do," I mumbled, laying back down but turning onto my side so that Isaac could see my face. "That good?"

Isaac nodded and hummed as I closed my eyes, taking my time to rest. I didn't know how long I lay there, I didn't even know if I had been asleep for the duration of the silence. The group continued to eat, or rest, but nobody spoke to one another. Every so often he would give me an instruction to turn my face differently, but mainly he let me lay there.

After a while, everyone became restless, and Rick stood up. "We should get back on the road," he announced to the group.

There was a shadow that covered my arm, bringing a sense of cold to my skin. When I moved my arm, I saw Tara standing over me. "You good?"

I just grumbled, pushing myself to my feet as I grabbed my backpack. Hopefully, this day would be over soon, so the feeling of being sick and the headache would leave. Or at least I would get some relief by sleeping. (Or when dehydration takes my life.)

"My head hurts," I answered.

"Sorry," she said, her voice full of pity. "I wish we could do more."

"It's fine." (I'll die soon.)

Noah walked with Isaac, but they weren't talking as they would have been before Richmond. Everyone was too tired now, too exhausted. Daryl left on the walk, and I'm not sure I noticed anything else happening since that happened. I tripped over my own feet once, catching myself before I could fall which caught the attention of the others around me.

"Puta madre," Martinez muttered to himself. "Don't do that shit again, fuck's sake."

"I just tripped," I breathed out.

"Took three years off my life," he corrected.

Other than that, it was uneventful. We walked, and walked, and walked, and there was something else after, that I can't quite put my finger on. Must've been walking. I rubbed my eyes and followed him, noticing Rosita eyeing Martinez with an eyebrow raised. Weird. I just ignored them for the most part, and followed Carol.

"What's that?" Martinez questioned, pointing down the road ahead.

"I don't know," Rick answered.

As we neared, the blurry item in the road revealed itself to be a group of water bottles. "I don't think mirages work like this," Isaac commented.

"Nuh-uh," Carl agreed.

We stared at the bottles, neatly organised into rows. There was so much of it, enough to last us days even if we couldn't find any more water. I knelt and grabbed the paper that was folded up and held down underneath the plastic bottles.

FROM A FRIEND.

MAKE SURE YOUR GIRL GETS WATER.

Hmm, concerning.

"Rick?" I looked over my shoulder and showed him the note.

He took the paper from my hands, his eyes narrowed into slits of anger. Glenn stepped over to us, and Rick tilted the paper in his direction so he could read it, and his head whipped around, scanning the area. Glenn's hand was on my shoulder.

"They know about us?"

"We're not exactly discrete," Martinez pointed out. "17 people and a baby wandering down a long empty road isn't exactly inconspicuous."

"No, but they're inconspicuous," Sasha pointed out. "And they've been watching us long enough to know that Ace fainted. What else could they know?"

"Just keep your eyes open," Rick told them.

"We need the water," Tara said.

But her point was ignored by the deafening fear that had been struck into everyone. This wasn't something we could trust, and my mind was racing with much of the same concerns as when I was offered water by Martinez as I was dying from dehydration. (Now that I thought about it, it was peculiar that I so often ended up in this state.)

Daryl exited the woods one final time, grabbing our attention as we were sure this time it could have been an enemy. He wordlessly walked over to Rick, who held up the paper for Daryl to take. The second he was done, he pulled his crossbow from over his shoulder.

"What else are we gonna do?" Tara asked again, trying to get an answer.

"Not this," Rick grumbled, eyes scanning the area. "We don't know who left it."

"They know about Ace," Glenn said. "It's too risky."

"If that's a trap, we already happen to be in it," Eugene pointed out. "But considering the circumstances, including the factor that we are travelling with a dehydrated, fainting risk, I—for one—would like to think it is indeed from a friend."

"What if it isn't?" Carol asked. "They put something in it."

Martinez nudged my shoulder with his elbow, his arms crossing over his chest. "Back when I found you shot up on the side of the road . . . I get it now."

Despite the group's concerns, Eugene stepped forward and grabbed one of the bottles, opening it hastily with shaky hands so no one could stop him—not that I ever dreamed about stopping him. It was odd to see him stepping up for a change, even if he was doing something that would get him killed.

"Eugene," Rosita called.

"What are you doing, dude?" Tara was next.

"Quality assurance," he answered. I almost considered admiration, if it wasn't for the fact that he was utterly stupid.

As Eugene went to take a sip of the water, Abraham stepped forward and smacked the bottle out of his hand. His face in its usual contortion of anger he held when he was quiet; maybe it was having to save Eugene again, after losing so much because of him. I'd feel the same way.

"We can't," Rick said finally when Abraham stepped out of the group.

There was a clap of thunder overhead, which made me realise that the grey clouds were rolling in. As I looked up, a raindrop fell on my face, followed by more and more and more. The sigh escaped my lips as I realised, good, I wasn't going to die.

People were laughing, trying to drink the water as it fell from the sky. Michonne held Carol's arm as they looked up at the rain. Rosita and Tara lay down on the ground beside each other, lying as Tara used her hand as a cushion.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," Gabriel began to cry.

"Everyone, grab the bags, anything you can find," Rick ordered. "Come on!"

They began grabbing our empty water bottles, placing them on the ground to gather the water before the rain stopped, but when the next clap of thunder came, something told me it wasn't going to stop. Judith began to cry as Carl tried using the hat to shield her head from the rain, but I could see the concerned look on Rick's face as another bang followed. Glenn stood up, watching as the clouds rolled in, and everyone looked panicked.

"Let's keep moving!" Rick yelled, but no one knew what to do, or where to go.

"There's a barn!" Daryl said, turning to him so he could hear.

"Where?" Rick asked.

Daryl began walking back from where he came from in the woods, signalling for the rest of us to join him. It was unsettling to be led through the trees when there was a thunderstorm rolling in, but we didn't have another choice. There was no shelter around or any kind of protection.

We weren't walking for long before we saw the barn that Daryl had mentioned. Rick took a group of them in to clear it while the rest of us stood in the doorway to keep dry. Carl held Judith who was still crying. I had to hold the skirt of my dress balled up into one hand to stop it from blowing everywhere.

"It's all clear," Rick said. "Everyone in."

Rick was sitting beside me, and I felt the ice underneath his skin from the rain. Unless that was me? It was hard to tell anymore. The wind shot in through the cracks in the wood and battled with the fire in front of us.

"Get your coat," he whispered, pointing over to my bag in the corner.

"Don't tell me she's too cold," Carol joked and elicited a chuckle from Martinez. As I leaned in their direction, she reached across Michonne and placed the back of her hand against my cheek. "Your face is warm."

"That's where she burnt," Michonne explained, before making a pouty face and continuing in a deep voice, "Poor baby."

"Shut up," I mumbled tiredly, unable to stop the smile. When I retrieved my coat, I put my arms in the sleeves and moved the bag away from me to get more comfortable in my seat. I brushed some of my hair aside, my sunburn flaring up as my nails gently scratched my skin.

Daryl was still working on the fire in front of us, which was barely coming up over the metal dish we had set it in. It was funny how badly we wanted the rain before it showed up and ruined any chance of us getting a good fire. Eventually, he gave up, throwing a stick away as he sat back.

"I'll try," Glenn said.

"No," Daryl said. "Too wet."

"Here," Isaac reached into his bag, pulling out his book.

He placed his fingers at the edge of the page, but before he could rip it out, Rick stretched out an arm to stop him. "Don't, they're yours."

"They're not good for anything," Isaac argued quietly. "And they're dry."

"Maybe not yet, but they will be." Rick placed a hand on the ground and pushed himself back, squatting beside me. "They're a record of everything, us."

Isaac frowned, his eyes flickering to the leather-bound book in his hands. "Do we want that? A record of everything, everything we lost? Why keep that?"

"It's a way to honour them, keep them alive in our hearts."

"Everyone says that but it feels like no one knows what that means. You can go on that we were better for knowing them once, maybe made us better or have good memories." Isaac shook his head, "I don't know, whatever. Stuff like that. But it doesn't feel that way; it's just pain, over and over. I think about the people we lost, and I can't focus on any good times. Only how shitty and how much it freaking hurts that they're gone."

He's right, I wanted to say. Everything just hurts.

"Exactly right, think about that. That grief and pain can cloud over any perception you could have on anything good—anything worth keeping and remembering," Rick paraphrased. "You don't always know what's shaped you, but you can have ways to remember. When that fog clears you can see more than your pain."

Isaac looked tired, his lips twitching ever so subtly. "What? Another grieving cliche? I feel like enough time has passed. Nothing feels healed."

"It's a cliche, but it can be true. It's different for everyone; you can't judge whether it's been enough time. What tells you it's enough? Because you want it to be? I understand, Isaac. Okay? But you keep it. For now, don't argue. It's yours and if at some point after today you want to do something with it, get rid of it, lose it, hide it away—"

"Burn it?"

Rick gave a single nod. "Sure. If you do, it's your choice. But not here, not like this. Not today."

"This isn't good for anything else, it's dry, we can use it. Nothing else I ever do is useful."

"What you do, it can be useful," Rick promised. "We're just not in a position to use it yet."

Isaac didn't look convinced. His face was grim as he threw the book to the side, which skidded atop of his bag a few centimetres away. He leaned back against the beam behind him and pulled his knees to his chest, avoiding eye contact with those around—not that I blamed him. The talks of healing the wounds from our past were ones I avoided, but this drew his insecurities to people he wasn't necessarily close with, just because he wanted to help.

I leaned my head back against the wall and sighed, feeling the tiredness set in my eyes. My head was still pounding, the pinching feeling at the base of my skill had been there since I woke up on the ground. As I pulled my legs underneath one another, crossed in front of me, the dress came down and around my knees to keep me warm. Still, I felt chilly underneath my coat, (ironically, as Carol pointed out).

When I looked back at Rick, I saw his eyes on Carl who was lying on the ground on the other side of him, fast asleep with Judith in his arms. I considered doing the same if I thought I could get any sleep with the thunder that rattled the walls.

"He's gonna be okay," Carol got his attention. "He bounces back more than any of us do," she finished much quieter as her face fell.

Rick nodded, his eyes coming down to the ground in front of us. "I used to feel sorry for kids that have to grow up now. In this. But I think I got it wrong," he looked back at Carl. "Growing up is getting used to the world. This is easier for him, his age."

"This isn't the world," Michonne cut in next to me, her voice no higher than a whisper. "This isn't it."

Across the fire, I noticed Glenn looking back over his shoulder, at Maggie who was lying with her back to us at the other end of the barn. "It might be. It might," he repeated himself when he got a look from Michonne.

"That's giving up," she said.

"It's reality."

"Until we see otherwise," Rick stepped in quickly, "this is what we have to live with."

Martinez placed his hands on the ground and lifted himself to pull his leg out from underneath him, before tilting his head in silent agreement.

As my head fell forward tired, Michonne tapped my arm and pulled me over so I was leaning back against her, practically lying down. She brushed my hair back from my face before rubbing up and down either side of my arms. Daryl was opposite me now, but he kept his eyes on the ground. He'd barely looked at me since Beth died, same as Maggie.

"When I was a kid," Rick started, "I asked my grandpa once if he ever killed any Germans in the war . . . He wouldn't answer. He said that was grown-up stuff, so—so I asked if the Germans ever tried to kill him. But he got real quiet," Rick messed with a stick on the ground in front of him and finally looked up. "He said he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory. Every day he woke up and told himself, 'Rest in peace. Now get up and go to war.' And then after a few years of pretending he was dead, he made it out alive."

Michonne's arm came to rest across my chest, and she squeezed my shoulder, making me release a breath I didn't remember holding. Rick had told me about his grandad before, I remembered, the day we found Hershel a prosthetic leg in the clinic. I remember thinking how I'd known him for so long, but he'd never mentioned any of his family outside of the ones in the group. It was like how everyone had just found out where I was from the day Tyreese died.

"That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do and then we get to live," he promised. "But no matter what we find in DC, I know we'll be okay. Because this is how we survive." A beat. "We tell ourselves, that we are the walking dead."

We are the walking dead, my brain repeated in an echoed distance. Part of me felt like I had been living my life that way already, but what I had done was different. I was burnt out, struggling to get by day to day, but it felt good to have something to work on. These past few days, on the road, that is what Rick was talking about.

Daryl shook his head. "We ain't them."

He pushed himself to his knee and broke some more of the sticks to throw into the fire. Rick leaned forward to look him in the eye and said, "We're not them. Hey, we're not."

"We ain't them." Daryl stood up, grabbed his crossbow and walked to the front of the barn.

The quietness soothed me, and I closed my eyes, still lying against Michonne. She rested her head on my own

A clap of thunder startled me awake, leaving me to wonder how I ever managed to close my eyes in the first place. I held my mouth closed and breathed through my nose, trying to keep myself quiet so my nightmare didn't plague anyone asleep. Michonne ran her hands up and down my arms to keep me calm when I realised the group around me was still awake, now looking at me. That was when I realised my dream wasn't the problem.

Banging came from across the room, the doors blew open and closed, rattling the chains that were meant to prevent it from happening. Through the darkness, I could see the three figures trying to hold them together. I was grateful for the adrenaline that already kicked my brain into high gear as I pushed myself up. My foot slipped out from under me, but I kept my balance as I sprinted over to help them.

I heard the others follow me as I slammed my body against the door to hold it shut. Even with the four of us, neither me, Maggie, Daryl or Sasha could gain any leverage against the dead. I tried counting the different growls outside, but the thunder and wind made it impossible to distinguish any kind of number.

The others quickly helped. Isaac slammed his arms against the doors beside me, the sleeves of his jacket pulled up over his fingers as his face contorted, not realising how difficult it would be to push against all the walkers outside.

Abraham slammed his hands against the door I was holding, his arms easily reaching over my head. My foot slipped against the dirt when I finally saw Carl join in to help us, the other side of Isaac. Judith was crying behind us, I now realised, keeping the attention of the walkers. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth.

We're not dying here.

When I woke, there was a quiet ruffling sound that made me open my eyes. Isaac was on his knees, shoving his jacket inside his bag. I saw him grab his knife and gun off the ground, placing the holstered items under the hem of his jeans.

As I pushed myself into a sitting position, he looked over at me but turned back to his bag. He grabbed his notebook and pulled it to the top, before swinging his bag over his back. "I'm just heading out for a little while."

"Give me a second," I whispered to him. "I'll come with."

Isaac nodded and walked over to the door. I put my coat over my bag and grabbed my holster, clipping it around my waist. As I stood up I brushed the dirt and twigs off my dress with my hands and my arms stretched up.

It was then that I noticed Daryl awake at the other end of the barn, sitting at the back wall opposite the doors. I looked at him, and then back to the doors where Isaac was waiting, either letting him know or asking for some kind of permission. I wasn't sure. Daryl gave a single nod, waving his hand to let me know it was okay to step outside.

The first thing we saw was the tree that came down so close to the barn that I was surprised it didn't crush us. Multiple branches had impaled the walkers, which were reaching out to grab at us the second we were in view.

"Oh my God," I whispered, pulling out my knife.

"This should have torn us apart," Isaac agreed quietly.

As Isaac walked forward, I took the chance to take out the walkers. No part of me thought they'd be able to get out from the branches, but I didn't want to risk it when we had to come back this way. There were four that were a massive problem, so I took those out before following Isaac through the tall grass.

He stopped as he came across a log that was flat on the ground, and he sat down, removing his bag and dropping it by his feet. My eyes scanned across the field for walkers as I heard the unzipping of the rucksack beside him.

"Ace," His fingers tapped the joint behind my knee, getting my attention.

The heat rose to my cheeks as I turned to face him, and he was now holding his sketchbook in his lap. "Yeah?"

"You said you wanted to see?" He vertically raised the book with a twist of his wrist.

I raised a brow. "I can see?"

"It's done," he said.

That was the deal I'd forced him into, one that required my being very still which I know didn't happen. I grinned, very smugly, might I add, knowing I'd gotten what I wanted by doing nothing in return. But Isaac knew that much, clear by the way he waved the book again and nodded for me to sit beside him on the log.

He flipped the book towards the back, and the book immediately fell open where he wanted it to. On the page, was my face, the same fact that had been looking at me in the car window the day before, although slightly grumpier. I suppose I didn't give him much to work with when I was very bored and ill sitting on the side of the road. None of this was to say the drawing was bad, in fact, it was quite the opposite. I knew his skills, but even this shocked me.

"That's me, huh?" I glanced up.

"That's you."

"I only saw myself yesterday for the first time in . . . I don't even know," I explained. As surreal as it was, seeing how I looked the day before, the real bizarre thing was seeing an uncanny representation of myself in paper form. I reached out, running my finger over the page. He'd gotten everything right, down to the scar the claimers left on my right cheek. My other hand came up to my face as I pressed my fingers against the wound. "It's easy to forget."

"If it helps, the scar, I think you look badass," Isaac told me.

"I guess," I whispered.

It did help a little, but some of my anxieties remained. There was a chance this would remain visible on my face forever, a clear sign that the things I did, stuff that happened, were becoming common occurrences. Too common. That scar was my life, fighting, killing. I wanted it gone, the reminder of worse times. It was something me and Isaac had in common: his book was a reminder, and I had my scar.

As I withdrew my hand, Isaac moved back a few pages, saving me from my thoughts. His eyes remained fixed on the pages as he flipped through, and I could see some familiar faces: Tyreese, Bob, Beth. I understood what he meant when he said it was like carrying around a graveyard, like he had his personal graveyard in his backpack, a book gradually becoming more about the dead than the living. Now I realised why he wanted to burn the pages so badly the night before.

The closer he got to the beginning, the more I noticed a picture of the same woman. His mother, I realised. I had only seen her once before, but the resemblance was extraordinary. He lingered on one of the pages for a second, a sketch of her sitting at a table as she pondered something.

"Feeling healed yet?" I asked, trying to be gentle despite my blunt question. No part of me expected to see him staring at the book so soon after he'd wanted to burn it, and I thought that maybe Rick's words had gotten through to him.

"I wish I never did any of it," Isaac muttered. "It's like carrying around a graveyard."

My gaze softened, "I'm sorry."

"Either that or it's like a list, a countdown until nobody in here is around anymore," Isaac shook his head and snapped the pages closed, the gesture blowing his curls upwards. "I just hope what Rick said is right. We are the walking dead, and all."

"We are the walking dead," I repeated, watching as he placed the leather-bound book into his bag. "What are you going to do when you run out of pages?"

"Start another, I guess," Isaac closed the book with a snap of the pages that blew his curls upward. There was a wordless continuation in his gaze. Start another graveyard.

I nodded. "I'll keep an eye out."

The sky was a bluish-pink watercolour canvas. A chill still sat in the air, the world not heated by the sun that was just peaking over the distant treeline just yet. Still, it was ironic for me to feel cold, even if the burn on my skin would never allow me to truly know the feeling.

After a long time sitting in the pleasant silence, I realised that Isaac wasn't looking at the view anymore, but instead, he was staring at me. First at my face, then out the corner of my eye, I saw his gaze shift downward.

"Is there something wrong?"

Isaac shook his head with a smile, but he was still staring down, looking at the red dress that fanned out across the log beside my legs. "You look nice," he said, his eyes coming back up to meet my own. "I wanted to tell you yesterday, after Rosita . . . but there was never really a good time. It's kinda hard with everyone around all the time."

I couldn't help but smile at the compliment, and his statement, albeit true. "Thank you."

"I like your hair," he said, fingering the uneven ends. "It looks good on you."

"It's all . . . big," I winced at my horrible reply, reaching through the thick curls.

Isaac smiled, his eyes locked on my face, his eyes trailing back and forth as though he was mapping the surface of his mind. His fingers grazed against my skin as he brushed the hair back behind my ear, and smiled.

"Can I kiss you?"

My heart skipped a beat, and the breath was knocked out of my lungs. His asking, the request, was far better than I had ever imagined. "I've never really . . . I haven't—" I stopped myself before the rambling took over, knowing I'd never forgive myself if I ruined this moment. Instead, I breathed out a long breath and nodded. "Okay."

"It's okay." His voice was quiet. "I'll show you."

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing gently against my own before gently pressing them down, and he held it there. His lips were soft, unlike mine, chapped by the sun. The butterflies erupted in my stomach; I balanced myself with a hand on the log. My heart was beating so fast I was afraid I'd faint again.

Then he began to move, awkwardly at first, but it didn't take away from the moment. Inadequacies came from my inexperience, I think. The nervousness crept up in my chest. I tried to suppress the anxiety, and catch my breath as one of Isaac's hands found my waist, a touch that sent a shiver up my spine. As we settled into the kiss, and I worked out what I was supposed to be doing, it sent tingles down my spine. Our lips moved faster against each other, and all the nervousness washed away.

I straightened up at a rather unfortunate moment when Isaac moved his head down against mine and we collided. I pulled back, rubbing my forehead. Despite the embarrassing attempt at a first kiss, I found it quite funny and laughed. It was unique, at the very least and a day that I was going to remember for the rest of my life, I vowed.

Isaac snorted out a laugh as he sat up straight and rubbed his forehead near his brow. "Sorry, that wasn't very smooth."

Doesn't matter, something like that could never matter to me. "I liked it."

"We could try again?" He recommended with a smile.

God, yes. I needed this. I needed it to happen again.

I nodded.

Isaac leaned in again, holding my hands, one slightly above the log, gently gripping my fingers, and the other resting on top of my leg. I smiled into the kiss, unable to contain how happy I was feeling in that moment.

It was a feeling that was far too quickly cut short.

There was a soft rustling in the tall grass behind me, far too repetitive to be the wind and too even to be the dead. I loosened my grip on his hand and moved across, reaching for Isaac's holster; his gun was the closest one, hidden by me to draw less suspicion for what I was doing. When I found the handle, my left hand came up to his shoulder and I pushed myself up, swinging the gun around to the person behind me.

There was a young-looking man, with curly brown hair. His blue jacket rustled as he raised his arms, but he didn't seem concerned by the weapons being held towards him. Isaac, now catching on to what was happening, stood up from the log and grabbed the gun from my holster, holding it up to the person in front of us.

"Hey. Hi," he smiled. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

I felt my cheeks heat up, but followed his path with the gun. The man was not deterred by this, his eyes moved down as he crossed the muddy ground, careful not to slip. Isaac didn't raise the gun completely, I could see out of the corner of my eye, but he was ready. I was more on edge, apparently; I didn't like that he kept coming closer, that he was smiling at us.

"Good morning," he said. "My name is Aaron."

"Stop right there," I told him.

But Aaron took another step. "I know, stranger-danger, but—"

"I SAID STOP!" I yelled, my finger coming down to rest over the trigger. That was enough to stop him in his tracks and wipe the smile from his face, as he finally realised that I was serious. Isaac had his own gun up now, understanding how uncomfortable I was.

"I'm a friend," he assured. "I-I'd like to talk to the person in charge. Rick, right?"

"How do you know—?" Isaac trailed off.

It was a very good question, one that I couldn't work out. It just clicked in my head that him saying that he was a friend was linked to the bottles of water we found yesterday, from a friend. But none of that explained how he knew Rick's name—this man had been spying on us. I didn't feel safe taking him back to the group just yet, where there were kids.

"You talk to me," I told him finally.

Aaron nodded. "I have good news."

I wanted to get this one out before the holiday just to see the reactions, so I hope you enjoyed :)