All That's Left (The Walking Dead FanFiction)

Chapter 14

We both start running and when a few minutes pass I decide I should be somewhat pleasant and ask for her name.

“What’s your name?”

“Sasha,” she answers, struggling to keep up with me.

Sasha.

I already hate her.

“Macy,” I say when she looks at me expectantly. “There’s a car just past the clearing. I’ve been staying with this guy and his son, they’re waiting for us.”

“Okay, that’s cool.”

That’s cool?

What is she a teenager?

As much as I’m starting to hate her after five minutes of knowing her, I don’t regret saving her. Unless she ends up killing me in my sleep or something uncalled for like that. I’m dreading introducing her to Daryl. Hopefully he doesn’t find brunettes attractive. Hopefully he finds her completely repulsive.

I find her completely repulsive.

“Thank you again for saving me, Macy,” she huffs.

Yeah, she better be grateful.

 

Daryl stands next to the driver-side door, biting his nails. As soon as I see him, I feel safer. Just knowing he’s there, only a few feet away from me, makes everything about this world feel safer. His eyes find mine and relief floods through them. Then he looks at the woman standing next to me.

“Daryl this is Sasha,” I try not to mutter.

She extends her hand and he ignores it. “We need to get going.” He hands me the keys and then gets into the backseat to sit by Sam, leaving Sasha and me in the front.

As soon as I start driving, I begin firing questions at Sasha. I need to know that I can trust her. Maybe it was a mistake to save her. I still can’t believe I did that. I’m supposed to have trust issues with people. I’m not supposed to trust anyone. But I’ve been given a second chance. And I can’t help but think that there has to be to other people out here, in this toxic world, that need a second chance too.

“What’s your story?” I ask her.

She pulls her brown hair away from her face. “My story?”

“Your story,” I say, confused. “Like what happened to you after the world ended.”

“The world isn’t over sweetie.” She leans further back into the seat. “I was just at the refugee camp the military had so kindly set up for us. It got overrun yesterday. Crazy. Absolute madness. Everyone either ran off or died. My daughter being one of them.”

“She died or she managed to escape? How old is she?” That’s a good sign she has a kid. People with kids are more trustworthy right?

“Died. She was thirteen.” She abruptly starts sobbing.

I can feel both Daryl and I tense at the amount of emotion confined in the small space of the car.

“I’m sorry,” I try.

She doesn’t respond. She holds her face in her hands as she makes this dreadful sound while she cries. I scramble for something to say. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like losing your daughter. Then again my mother left me like it was easy. I hate it when people cry. She rotates around in her seat to face Daryl, wiping tears off her cheeks. “Thank you for letting me stay with your family.”

He wears an odd expression. “Yeah, all right.”

Sasha coos over baby Sam and after that she doesn’t say much. She tells me she divorced her husband three years ago, leaving her alone to care for her daughter, Abby. I feel awful about her losing her daughter and want to think of a way to make her feel better. Of course, I come up with nothing. It surprises me when she eventually manages to stop crying.