Chasing Amy (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead)

Chapter 35 - Routine

After Rick forced the door open, the three men went inside, followed shortly by Carl, with his strange-looking gun. It had a metal thing on it now, and because of my non-existent knowledge of guns, I had no idea what it was. However, it did make a weird sound when he shot it, like someone spitting out a watermelon seed, only a little louder.

I turned my head away from the doors, lifting a weak hand to wipe away the bead of sweat that had rolled down toward my eyebrow. It was at times like these where I wished I had hair like Carol's, short and practical for the weather.

There was a loud thump and a shatter of glass, which usually signalled the sound of another dead roamer.

Lori's breathing was loud behind me, and I knew she must have been so much more tired than me, having to walk around with added weight, all the time. I turned to look at her, watching as she fanned her face with her hand.

Hershel was beside Maggie and Glenn, who were standing close to the side door, peering in as the house was cleared. It was only moments later when they stepped into the house, leaving only me, Lori, Beth and Carol outside.

I hated when they began to drag out the bodies.

The smell was repulsive, and the sight just as bad. I especially hated when there was sometimes a thin trail of blood, or when the mess was still left splattered on the walls. The only good news this meant was that we could retreat to the house, to begin searching. Usually in houses full of roamers, there was a lot of food to go between us.

The first body to be dragged out was an almost unrecognisable older woman, with a rather wide indent in between her eyes. In fact, as I focused in on the yellowish bulb that hung from her left socket, it became clear to me just what had happened to one of those eyes. I had to look away, so I peered across the front yard to a small children's swingset. There was just no relent from these reminders, and it was something I knew I just had to get used to.

I shuffled on my feet, noticing Rick step out to the door, making that same odd whistling noise he used to alert us. Lori pushed herself from the passenger seat, wincing from the sudden weight. She led the way towards the house.

Lori was another of the group I admired, her relentless strength was something I only dreamed I could possess. However irritating it was, she was always determined.

I forced myself up the stairs, gritting my teeth from the shakiness in my calves. Carol brushed past me as I paused at the top, holding a backpack in her arms. I stepped in behind Hershel, looking down at a roamer with a striped shirt that lay close to the front door. It was one of those roamers whose brains had actually been blown from the skull, the kind that I shuddered to look at.

Everyone inside the house was rushing about, passing each other weapons, searching drawers for clothes, and dragging corpses about. I followed T-Dog, who was holding what I presumed to be some kind of rake, which had blood splattered all up the pole.

It took only a matter of seconds for people to begin pooling into the lounge, where the walls were a ghastly mint-green.

There were already a few people sitting around, some on wooden chairs, Beth knelt on the floor. I was going to sit beside Daryl when I saw that he was plucking the feathers from a dead bird, and decided to sit beside T-Dog instead. I hoped he wouldn't mind me planting my ass on the armrest of his chair, but with my wobbly legs, but I just didn't have the energy to sit down on the ground and get back up again.

I counted the people as they entered, all looking faint from hunger. Carol looked disappointed with how little she'd found, and Beth was scratching at the wooden floor in frustration.