my tears ricochet

Chapter Thirty Five

He was willing to do anything.

.

Figures were visible in the early morning light, shuffling over the unkept edges of the prison and drawing in larger groups. Every day brought more of the dead and they drew inwards with feet and hands, trailing along in endless hunger.

The sunlight made the landscape look soft in ambers and pale purples but Ivy saw the teeth all the same. Felt the was the air had turned dead and flat. It was deceptively pretty in the morning light, even if the world was burning up.

Everyone was shuffling belongings around and packing whatever had tentatively been stored around their prison refuge. They were all survivors, used to picking up the pieces to keep living, running fast enough to keep out of reach of the danger coming up at their heels.

Ivy threw her own bag into Carol's car the way she had hundreds of times before, snapping the door shut and spinning around to survey the courtyard. One of Carl's old comics had been abandoned on the pavement and rain had damaged the pages, making ink bleed into warped images.

"I was supposed to serve eighteen months in here," Oscar told her, meeting her in the middle of the cars. "But the world went to shit and I never got to leave."

"Congrats. You're free to go."

The man didn't strike her as violent but Ivy still counted the facts up to reassure herself that he was safe. Oscar liked wearing slippers at night for comfort and would collect magazines and crosswords, usually kept one ear out for any trouble. He was large but never towered. In his grief he had spent an evening baking them a poor man's version of peach cobbler just to bring everyone together into the light of the candles and lanterns, transforming a space of iron bars and concrete into an illusion of warmth.

"Your dad's gonna want you to get in that car."

Daryl would. They would probably argue about it. Their fights usually went in the same direction every time; pulling away to get louder, refusing to give up their own individual histories just to burrow deep in their points. Ivy wanted to fight and Daryl wanted to keep her from a fight.

It was his role of being a parent and Ivy didn't always like accepting it. Rick did similar to Carl and she knew Hershel played the same card with Maggie and Beth. Ivy was still figuring out how to be parented and she wasn't sure if he really knew what he was doing half of the time.

Daryl seemed to keep a running check list with her: keep the kid fed, make sure she sleeps, is she still breathing?

Everything else was a learning curve. They were both adapting to it, learning the balance of coexistence.

"I don't care," she decided. "This isn't his decision."

The corners of Oscar's mouth twitched upwards. "He might think otherwise."

"I'll be safe."

"You ever learn the art of negotiations?"

Ivy blinked, confused. "What?"

"Sometimes you gotta be ready to give something up to get what you want," Oscar advised her, adjusting the strap of a bag hanging over his shoulder. "The Governor is coming and what do you want?"

"To fight," she said, dragging out the word in case Oscar had suddenly turned stupid in the last five minutes. "I want to stay and fight."

He hummed. "You wanna fight. Do you think your dad's gonna let you be standing here waiting to greet him at the gate?"

"No."

"If you can't be there, where's the next best place?" When Ivy failed to come up with a response he gestured to the gun at her belt. "You wanted to use that. So sit somewhere up high away from the real damage and fight."