Don't Get Dead | TWD | Volume 1

[8] Rick Grimes

The morning of the run, everyone was busy. I helped Glenn get ready, packing whatever he told me they needed into the boot of the cars.

When Glenn left to get some of his things together, I remembered the other day when Merle said he had offered to help the group by going on the run for the group. For some reason, I decided to see if he was still going. I'm not sure why. If there was a therapist around I would take it up with them, but all I can do is show how stupid I really am.

Merle was at his camp, kneeling over the back end of his bike, digging through the little black satchel that hung over the back wheel.

"You going on the run today?" I asked.

I was still a little weary of talking to him, but he was nice enough the other day. The only difference was that now I knew that if he started shouting and yelling he was probably high, at least that's what Daryl told me.

Merle turned around. He was holding what I guessed to be a rifle in his hands, one that I had never seen before and was now terrified that he owned.

Again, I spoke cautiously. "It's not like you to help out."

"I was feelin' charitable," he didn't sound angry, so I assumed it would be okay to talk to him.

"I know," I said. "That's the weird part."

Mere scoffed. When he was unable to find what he was looking for in the satchel he turned, shoving the rifle into my arms. "Hol' that."

I held the gun, not that I had a choice in the matter. Frowning, I looked down at the weapon in my arms, still unsure of why they had to kill the sick people. I knew that sometimes they had to kill them in self-defence, the sick were relentless and dangerous, but it was never really something I had to do.

Merle turned back to the bike, rummaging through the black satchel again. He pulled out some small shiny objects, that I assumed to be the bullets for the rifle I was awkwardly holding in my arms. He looked at me, grabbing the gun with one hand.

His eyes lingered on my face for a second, before he said, "Ya should prob'ly get outta the sun, girly."

I reached up to touch my face, feeling how hot my skin was. The moment Shane said we would be camping, I knew I'd be sunburnt. It always happened, and even though it was probably extremely unhealthy, I brushed it off.

"I'm fine."

Merle only shrugged, the gun bouncing around in his hand as his wrist shook.

I glanced around. "Where's Daryl?"

Merle also glanced around, and it had taken him a moment to remember where his own brother was gone. "Said he spotted some deer tracks, headed out to see if he could follow the trail."

I couldn't argue with that. Knowing nothing about hunting or how hard it was to follow trails, I just nodded along to Merle's explanation.

"Okay . . ."

It wasn't long before I realised the error of my ways. Merle's chatty phase from the other day seemed to be over, and it was once again very awkward to talk to him. Daryl said he knew about my garage—my dad's garage—and I wondered if Merle had also been there, but I had no way of bringing it up to him.

I saw Glenn across the camp walking over to the cars with his bag.

"I should go help Glenn," I said, walking backwards away from his camp for a second. "See you!"

When the cars were ready, I stood amongst the crowing people, watching as they hugged their families and wished luck to the group of people who volunteered for the run to Atlanta. Glenn gave me a smile from the passenger seats of one of the cars that was being used to guide the group to the city.