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GLENN WAS ACTING weird — weirder than usual, that is. At first, Freya passed his shiftiness off as his inability to keep a secret, assuming that his brain was capsizing under the weight of her mother's secret pregnancy but it seemed more than just that, and she couldn't quite put her finger on the cause.
Dale was afflicted by the same thing — at least, he seemed to be. He was undeniably on edge, tapping his boots against the ground over and over, constantly removing his hat and adjusting it. It was uncharacteristic for him; a man who practically radiated calmness.
The indecipherable tension made breakfast an awkward affair. The group were sitting around a burnt-out campfire on the piece of land that Hershel had temporarily allocated them, avoiding eye contact with each other whilst shovelling forkfuls of eggs down their throats.
"Carol's eggs are better than yours, T," Freya called over to T-Dog in the hope of lightening the mood. "Way better."
"These eggs are from a farm — fresh," T-Dog stated defensively. "Ain't really a fair comparison now, is it?"
"I've had plenty of practice cooking eggs over the years," Carol told them, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "Ed liked three of them most mornings."
Freya's face scrunched up at the mention of the foul man. "I don't know how you refrained from spitting in them."
Carol pursed her lips. "Who said I did?"
The Grimes girl stifled a laugh with the back of her hand, silently wondering if it would be wrong to ask Carol if she'd be willing to spit in Shane's eggs. Seeing that look of pure betrayal in her father's eyes last night. . . Freya was repulsed at the thought of having to be in Shane's vicinity anytime soon.
Simply having him visible in the corner of her eye was getting too much. She could see him stabbing at his egg, making incoherent conversation with Andrea — the blonde was the only one who willingly chose to engage in conversation with him now. Freya had a rough idea of why, but she wasn't going to delve into that thesis; she wanted to keep her eggs down.
Glenn pushed himself from the ground and stepped into the middle of the grassy plain, appointing himself the cynosure of all eyes.
Freya let her plate balance on her knees and crossed her arms. She was intrigued to finally learn what had got Glenn into such a state.
"Uh, guys? So. . . The barn is full of Walkers."
A horrified gasp slipped out of Freya's parted lips. The Walkers were monsters. They left a wave of destruction in every piece of land their gnarled feet made contact with, leaving severed limbs, torn flesh and shattered hearts in their wake. Why would anyone willingly keep somethinglike that on their land, barely a minute away from the beds they slept in unprotected?
