❝ You're caught in my crosshairs again. ❞
In which a Navy SEAL,
a doomsday prepper,
and an extroverted
12-year-old find life in the
apocalypse alongside a
group of...
"She went back to Uncle Dean's house," Zeppelin answered easily, matching his stride, "She needs her medicine, or else she starts gettin' bad again."
Daryl raised an eyebrow.
"She gets sad, and angry," The girl continued, "Not at me. Uncle Dean says it's just memories from when she was deployed, but sometimes she doesn't know they're memories. Like a really bad nightmare, but she's awake."
Daryl slowed, looking at the girl.
"So, what kind of animals do you hunt?"
Zeppelin grinned up at him, squinting in the Georgia sun.
"Squirrels," He responded, pulling his crossbow higher on his shoulder.
"Can I come with you?" She said eagerly, "I promise I know how to-- my mom taught me, and I've been hunting with my Uncle Dean loads before."
Daryl narrowed his eyes for a moment.
In all honesty, he didn't feel like he could or wanted to be responsible for someone else's child-- God forbid she meet the same fate Sophia did.
But in the revelation of what Vex battled with, Daryl found a part of himself uncharacteristically softening.
"Ever shot a crossbow before?"
🗡
"I made it to the house."
Vex watched the metal shutters close behind her, setting the walkie on the kitchen counter after updating Dean.
It was the same as when they left, dirty plates still on the dining table, the pans from breakfast soaking in the sink.
The woman slipped off her boots, before collecting the dishes.
It felt futile. Cleaning like this. It felt futile because part of Vex knew they'd never come back- at least not forever.
Dean wanted to stay with the group, and Zeppelin would not leave Carl Grimes or the Greene family without a fight.
And, yet, she cleaned.
Vex washed the plates, the pots, and the silverware. She dried them one by one, before putting them back into their rightful homes.
She wiped down the counters and the table, adding the towels to a growing pile of laundry that may never be cleaned.
Only then did she venture into the basement, flipping on the light as she descended.
The rations went on forever, the only thing dwindling was medical supplies.
Zeppelin had come down with a severe cold only a month after the world went to shit, which meant Vex had gotten it as well.
Not to mention the severe dent that came from the bags they'd brought for Carl's gun wound.
Vex approached the shelves, digging through pill bottles she didn't want to know how Dean collected.
She let out a breath of relief as she read the familiar name of her prescription, gathering three bottles and shoving them into her bag.
Vex turned to leave, letting out a breath as she set sight on an untouched box of Twinkies.
She grabbed them, as well, knowing Zeppelin would greatly appreciate it.
And then, Vex made the very poor decision and gave in to one of the bottles of whiskey that Dean had saved.
She carried it upstairs, setting it on the kitchen counter. The woman braced herself, staring the bottle down for a long moment.
"Fuck this."
Vex opened the cabinet, retrieved a glass cup, unscrewed the cap, and poured herself a hefty serving.
The woman took a long sip, shivering at the burn.
She couldn't believe she used to drink that shit daily.
Vex wandered to the living room, approaching the record player Dean had set up for Zeppelin, and flipping through the vinyl beneath it.
She let out a laugh as she spotted a Frank Sinatra record, shaking her head at the irony, but put it on anyway.
'Fly Me to The Moon' filled the living room as Vex flopped onto the sofa with the whiskey in her hand.
It had been her first dance song at her only wedding that seemed so long ago. A wedding that, at the time, seemed perfect. The perfect dress, the perfect flowers, the perfect cake-- perfect husband.
It was all a bunch of bullshit.
Vex took another large swig of the whiskey, leaning back on the sofa to stare up at the ceiling.
Was this really the coping she needed? Getting drunk and reminiscing-- leaving her daughter and brother with a bunch of strangers?
Hell, she wasn't cracked up for it. For being with a group, for having a family-- Vex only ever wanted the best thing for Zeppelin; her happiness, her safety.
Vex was starting to think the best thing for Zeppelin was to not have a mother like her.
The woman drained the rest of the glass just as the warmth began to set it, her body sinking further into the sofa.
She stood, filling the glass again before reclaiming her spot on the sofa.
Vex wanted to cry or scream-- anything to get her emotions out.
But she had only ever kept them inside, and she didn't know how to coax them to the surface, so she finished off her second glass.
Vex rested a hand on her forehead, rubbing her brow as the alcohol set in fully.
She checked the bottle, letting out a short laugh as she read the label, realizing she was in way over her head.
"Vex?"
The woman groaned, standing to retrieve the walkie.
"Reporting for duty," She sighed out.
"She's okay, but I thought you should know. . ." Dean said thickly, "Beth tried. . . well, she tried to commit suicide. Broke a mirror, cut her wrist with the shards."
Vex quickly grabbed her bag, tugging on her boots.
"I'm comin'."
"She's okay, V, it wasn't very deep. Hershel's stitching her up right now."
Vex threw her rifle over her shoulder, punching buttons on the control panel to open the home.
"I leave for 12 hours and shit breaks bad," Vex responded, "I'm coming back."
WORD COUNT ; 1337
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