Finley -> Rick's Dog

t w e n t y - f o u r

A few weeks had passed, and in some way we were all still mourning the loss of Beth, not only this, but Tyreese got bit and died. The pups were now at a whopping six weeks, being able to eat puppy food, as long as it was soft, and they could all walk. Not very quickly though, but still quite fast.

We were currently making our way to Washington, and we had been for a couple days give or take. We'd ran out of food almost two days ago, and everyone was equally tired, only some could manage more. I had overheard a conversation about how they could probably manage about five days so long as they had a somewhat decent amount of water and sleep whether as me, I was at the most lethargic and lowest point in my life, in finding out that if I don't get food within maximum two days, I die.

At least my pups could still drink milk if needs be. And if it really, really came to it so could Judith. They had all eaten the most recently. My pups and Judith all ate this morning, but me, nada. The last time I had food was practically two days, and let me tell you, on multiple occasions I have fell ontop of people not being able to keep myself upright. It didn't help that the vehicle that I was in kept swerving all over the place.

We were out of food and some of our people left in search of water and food, so we remained sat close together. I rested me weight against Rick, leaning on him, while waiting for Daryl, Maggie, and Sasha to get back.

I panted heavily in the sun's relentless heat, draining the energy from me. My fur being black, absorbed a hell of a lot of light, and after a while Rick had to stop stroking me because my fur was that warm.

At some point, we managed to get into the van again, and much to my relief I could settle on the cool floor. It was still warm, but way cooler than everything else.

I soon heard the familiar sputtering sound of the engine breaking down on us. Fuck this piece of shit.

"We're out, just like the other one." Abraham says, well no fucking shit sherlock, would you like a fucking medal, well done.

"So we walk." Rick says. Ha, you've got a better chance at hiring me to be a professionalist at making a nuclear warhead, succeeding, and me managing to be by myself and turn the two keys, which might I add is a two man job, not a one dog job, and blowing up half the universe.

I practically fell out the van, as I attempted to get out. It couldn't get any worse.

The moment I started walking the asphalt burned my paws, and I felt so much pain, I spoke too soon.

I limped up front next to Rick, who was holding Judith, and Daryl. I could feel blood starting to surface on the pads of my paws, and I knew this journey and the chance of me surviving were slim to none.

"We're not at our strongest." Rick says lowly to Rick after a while.

"We'll get 'em when it's best. High ground not going anywhere... It's been three weeks since Atlanta. I know you lost something back there." Rick says.

I dropped back, so I was walking next to Carl's side. I let out a yelp, as I felt a more immense feeling of pain in my front left paw.

I lifted it up, and began fully limping. When I looked back up at Carl I saw him and a few selective others looking at me, with a concerning look written all over their faces in black sharpie ink.

"I'm gonna head out. See what I can find." Daryl grunts, handing over his gun to Rick.

"Hey, don't be too long." Rick says. Daryl turns and starts walking but Carol soon says, "I'll go with you."

"I got it." Daryl grumbles.

"You gonna stop me?" Carol sassed. Yes, you get it Mrs P.

I looked up at Carl as we slowed down, walking next to Maggie.