The Scars We Share

Long Hard Road

The world had stopped offering sunrise. The sky still brightened every morning, sure, but it never felt like morning anymore. Just another stretch of gray the group had to walk through. Another day where hope was something you remembered having once but felt so far away it was practically foreign.

The convoy drove along the cracked backroads of Georgia—the red truck, the silver sedan, and Daryl's motorcycle leading the way. Linda sat on the back of the bike the way she always did, arms snug around Daryl's middle, chin brushing the worn leather of his vest.

Months had passed since the farm went under. Sometimes Linda wondered if their time there had even been real—Hershel's cozy Southern voice, Beth singing to herself on the porch, warm dinners around a real table, snuggly mornings waking up in Daryl's strong arms. Safety... Nights where the only thing to fear was bad dreams.

Now the nightmares were everyday. They were there even when your eyes were wide open...

The supplies have been stripped to the bone. Half a can of peaches, a few swallows of water, a handful of bullets were left between them all. The only reason anyone still breathed was because Daryl's hunting kept them fed. Rabbits and squirrels when they got lucky. Roots when they got desperate. Even the woods felt thinner these days, like the animals were running out of places to hide from the walkers too.

The group didn't talk much anymore. Not unless they had to.

Rick's jaw was tight as he eyeballed the glowing E on the dashboard gas tank gage. He'd been driving on fumes the past few miles. Lori stayed quiet, one hand resting on her swollen stomach, her gaze always elsewhere. They barely spoke, except in tense hushed moments when Carl wasn't looking.

Glenn and Maggie rode silently in the sedan, fingers interlaced between them. Even T-Dog, usually steady, seemed worn down to the threads.

Linda listened to the wind rush past her ears and her mind flashed back when he had first taken her for a ride on that motorcycle. She tried to hold onto the memory of Daryl's laugh—the rare soft ones. The ones she felt twang in her chest. She hadn't heard it in a long time... Let alone even seen his smile. No one seemed to smile anymore...

The motorcycle slowed as Daryl lifted a hand, signaling Rick.

They came to a stop near a lonely country house that was half-swallowed by vines. It looked abandoned for years. A good thing. Less chance of walkers inside. Less chance of other desperate survivors.

Linda slipped off the bike, stretching sore legs. Daryl glanced at her only briefly, but for him, that was almost the same as a caress these days. He scanned the tree line, crossbow already lifted to his shoulder. "We'll clear it. Maybe stay a night. Maybe two if it's safe."

Two nights. That felt like luxury.

Rick approached, eyes red-rimmed from too little sleep and too many decisions.
"Same plan as always," he said to the group. "Sweep the house. Check the yard. If it's clear, we settle just long enough to rest. Everyone stay alert. No one let their guard down."

No one disagreed. No one had the strength to.

Linda joined Daryl as they moved toward the house together. Even exhausted, his presence anchored her—solid, steady, a quiet shield against a world gone merciless. She brushed her fingers lightly against his back. He didn't look at her, but he shifted just enough that he leaned into her touch.

A small flame in endless dark...

As they reached the porch steps, Linda took one last glance at the horizon. If the farm had been a dream, then maybe one day she'd wake again to something good.