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We enter the department store in silence, weapons ready. Rick warns the others with a wave of his hand.

I pull back my bowstring and release, burying an arrow deep in her skull.

"Damn." Daryl approaches her with a scowl, ripping my arrow from her eye. "You are one ugly skank." He thrusts the arrow at me gruffly, making for the stairs.

The roof is a disappointment, and that's putting it lightly. We discover a disembodied hand and a spilled box of Dale's tools.

Daryl breathes heavily for a moment, before turning and pointing his crossbow at T-Dog. In response, Rick clicks the safety off his pistol, pressing it against Daryl's temple.

"I won't hesitate." Rick says lowly. "I don't care if every walker in the city hears it."

I roll my eyes. These men and their egos.

I crouch low to the concrete, eyes following a trail of blood droplets.

I turn back to the others. "Look." I wave my hand to get the others' attention.

Daryl stops Glenn and puts the hand in his backpack before following me. Glenn looks back at me with a defeated look, sulking.

We follow the trail to an office building, where we find two bodies crudely massacred. "Looks like he was well enough to take two digos." I mutter, gesturing to a bloody wrench. "One handed."

Daryl nods, reloading his crossbow. "Toughest asshole I ever met, my brother. Feed him a hammer he'd crap out nails."

"Any man can pass out from bloodloss, no matter how tough he is." Rick warns.

Glenn walks next to me, holding his backpack straps "Digos?" He questions. We make our way toward the next room through a quiet hallway.

"Wendigo. It's a Cree word, but it has the same meaning to a lot of Indians. 'Evil that consumes'." I explain, notching an arrow. The others listen intently as we walk through the seemingly endless building. "When I lived on the reservation, the old people always told us kids stories about evil spirits that was always hungry for human flesh, never satisfied."

Almost on cue, a dead woman turns around the corner groaning lowly. Bloody saliva drips from her mouth.

"Sounds bout' like one of these assholes." Daryl agrees, sinking an arrow in between here eyes.

I shrug. "It seemed appropriate."

"Walker?" I ask, stepping over the body.

"I mean, all they do is walk around." Glenn explains.

"But what about the ones that run?" I challenge. Glenn mills over the question before Daryl cuts in.

"They're all goddamn walkers." Daryl snaps. "Merle!" He calls out as we enter a kitchen.

We approach a lit stove, and Rick picks an iron.

Glenn gestures to the burnt material on the iron. "What's that burned stuff?"

I sniff, my mouth twitching in disgust. "Skin."

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