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"Dad, look." I lift my head from Daryl's chest when I hear Carl's voice. I feel tired, so have to fight the growing urge to lay my spinning head back down, but am also curious as to what is going on.
Once I turn to look at the road ahead, I see what Carl's trying to get Rick's attention about. Ahead of us, just over a small hill, is a cluster of waiting cars. The look dusty and rusted beneath their coats of chipping paint, but none of that would matter if a couple of them worked. If that were so, we might be able to pile in and keep moving, at least as much as we can for a little while. If nothing else, we would all get some rest, but won't have to stop in the middle of nothingness to do so.
"I'm gonna head into the woods, circle back," Daryl declares. I know that that's my cue to stand up, but my legs feel stiff. Daryl lets me down carefully, making sure I can balance on my own before he allows me to put all my weight on my own two feet. I don't have much faith in myself as far as my messy balancing act goes, but I do a decent job at convincing everyone else. "Are you good by yourself?"
"Yes, but could I come with you?" Daryl doesn't seem like he wants me to, whatsoever, in fact, from the look on his face. "I need to stretch and move my legs a little because they're stiff. If you don't think-"
"You can come. If you're hurting, tell me and I'll carry you back? Got it?" I nod. The rules seem pretty simple and with Daryl, I've learned that it's better to pretend to acknowledge them early on and then apologize when he contests that you've bent them. Daryl grabs his crossbow before I clutch onto his muscular arm and trudge into the woods. I glance over my shoulder to see the rest of the group proceeding forward.
The layer of prospering, green ferns growing at the edge of the forest tickle my legs through my jeans. Their soft, feathery leaves have a way of doing that, and then dance in place like feathers themselves.
As I've noticed with my newest injury, my feet don't fail to step down a bit too harshly, snapping sticks underneath my boots. Before, I was able to keep a pretty quiet pace in the woods, learning only the best methods from Daryl, but it will take some of my recovery time before things like that can fully turn back to normal.
"You scared everyone back there," Daryl breaths, his raspy voice hanging low as not to spook anything nearby.
"I scared myself," I state as I duck under a low-hanging branch. The last thing I need is to get struck in the face on a day like today.
"Why didn't you tell no one you were feelin' like that?"
"I didn't think it was that bad. I've felt worse when I've been hungry. I felt worse when that bullet grazed me. I thought the headache and everything else would just go away when I quit thinking about it."
I don't mention that I've learned well enough that things like that don't just "go away" in this world.
"If only that's how things like that worked," Daryl scoffs, clearly annoyed, and moves forward.
I don't know where we're going for a long time, but Daryl is always good enough at leading the way. All I knew when I agreed to go with Daryl was that I wanted to be in the woods. I wasn't in the mood for searching cars and pretending like we struck gold when we found a half-used water bottle in a cup holder. The air in the woods is still just as thick as anywhere else, but it's sweeter.
Once I see Daryl walking a certain way, his footsteps accurate and precise with a sort of skill that's been born over years of practice and corrections, I know that we're hunting. I match his light, steady steps.
"I wanted things to get better for so long. Now, I know they won't," I mumble. Daryl doesn't reply. He keeps his eyes scanning the ground, probably for tracks or any source of life. I think about how we're probably the few warm-blooded things in a twenty-mile radius, but then correct myself.
There's probably more distance than that.
I don't know if I was hoping for a response from Daryl with the claim of my soft comment. If I was, I don't know what I was expecting he'd say to me.
Daryl stops for a minute, looking around. I stop, too, not dropping my hand from his arm. Ahead of us, on the ground, is a dead deer. From where I'm standing, it's easy to see it's bony spine, arched high in the air since every piece of skin and muscle has been picked away. I can tell it's far from fresh by the way the blood has mostly disappeared besides the gummy stuff stuck in the coarse fur.
Daryl drops to his knees in front of the creature. When looking closer, I can see that the ribcages have been eaten around, too. "It could've been ours," I whisper. I wish nothing more than seeing this deer in front of us this very second, waiting for Daryl to stick it with his bow and offer us dinner.
I glance over to a tree where a decaying walker is leaning. His back is set against the trunk, his red blood splattering the bark. "We'll find something else," Daryl blinks before standing back up and heading the long way back to the others.
When we meet back up with the asphalt road, we see the entire group splayed on the cement. Rick startles when he first hears us, but calms down when he sees our faces. I walk over to Carl and sit down beside him, feeling bad that I had snapped at him earlier. I think about apologizing, but there's no point.
It's an unspoken thing between us.
Across from us, Abraham pulls a bottle of alcohol from his bag.
"So all we found was booze?" Tara inquires as Abraham removes the cap and smells the brown liquid.
"Yeah," Rosita sighs.
"It's not gonna help."
"He knows that."
"It's gonna make it worse."
"Yes, it is."
"He's a grown man," Eugene argues. "And I truly do not know if things can get worse."
I don't know either because how I'm feeling right now is not good at all.
"They can," Rosita mumbles. With my head feeling heavy again, I rest it on Carl's shoulder. I feel like I could fall asleep right here.
A rustling from across the road causes everyone to turn. My heart races as I'm convinced it's a group of walkers ready to finish our weakened bodies off. Instead, a pack of four dogs emerge from the brush. Their matted coats are sticky with blood and grime from, most likely, a variety of sources over weeks and weeks. Their aggressive barking and growling starts up, echoing through the hollows of the trees around us. Everyone reaches for their knives, planning on taking them down. It's our only choice. They're feral now.
Silenced shots ring out beside us. I turn to see Sasha lowering her gun while the dogs whimper they're last quiet cries.
I look back at the bloodied bodies of the dogs as they writhe on the road.
At least it's food.
A fire is built. It's not a big one, but there's enough space to butcher and cook the dog meat over the flames, and that's all we really need. At first, I'm not sure about eating it, the idea forcing me to feel as though something about it is wrong. I couldn't have imagine eating something like this a year ago - a pet - but the rumbling in my stomach is merciful to nothing.
I get my share of the meal, slicing the gristly pieces that have been burnt by the flames away with my knife. I don't know what to think of it. Food is food and it fills the hole in my depleted stomach. Everyone eats their rations in silence. It's fine by me because I don't want to speak.
I have nothing to talk about, anyways.
I finish my food, still feeling ravenous. Even though I just ate, I continue to feel empty inside. I have been trying to look forward to D.C., but it's different now because there is no clear goal. We don't know what awaits us there. When Eugene knew the cure, we had something to grasp onto - something to motivate us all the more. Now, we don't. We're just hoping at this point, and it's becoming jarringly obvious how little hope really helps. I feel like we do a lot of that these days, or at least try to, but what good has it done?
"It's getting late," Rick sighs. "We'll start back at sun up tomorrow." I lay my head back on Carl's shoulder. He leans his on top of mine, staying close. I feel safe here. There's not a lot of places I can feel like that anymore, but beside this boy is one of them.
"I'm sorry for getting angry at you earlier," I whisper so lightly that only he can hear it. "I didn't mean to."
"Don't be. I understand why." I close my eyes squeezing them as tightly as I can. When my mom died, I used to think that I would be able to get rid of everything and wake up from the horrible dream I was living through if I could just force them shut tightly enough. Now, I'm old enough to know that it's not true.
But that doesn't mean that I don't still wish it could be.
"I want this to be over," I mutter.
"Me too."
☾
The next morning, everyone starts moving early. I had thought I was exhausted, but when it came down to it, I couldn't sleep on the rough ground. I might've gotten an hour, but even that seems like a bit much.
I gather my backpack and drink a sip of Glenn's water. He had offered it all to me, but I only was willing to take a little, even though I willingly would've consumed the whole thing. Daryl offered to carry me again, but I told him he didn't have to. It took some convincing, but I am finally allowed to walk on my own.
Carol checks my bandage, cleans it with a little bit of alcohol, and calls it good. As long as it is healing fine, I can tolerate the stinging the alcohol gives me. Even then, it takes a lot of pain tolerance to rationalize as much.
When everyone is ready to begin our trip again, we start back down the highway. Every single day feels exactly the same as the last. In some ways, they actually feel longer. Maybe if they were shorter, or less strenuous on my tired body, things would be different. Maybe, it would even be more enjoyable.
I think I could tolerate all of it much easier if we had a steady food and water source along, with a guaranteed safe haven awaiting us. It'd be something to strive for - something to give me a reason to wake up in the morning and take my resting seriously at night. It'd help shake the soreness from my bones and keep each of us moving one way or another.
None of those things exist, sadly. We have to keep going, regardless.
We inch by now, going no quicker than a wandering walker. I consider this for a moment: us as equals with the dead. We move at about the same pace, our staggering steps not carrying us very far. We're covered in layers of dirt and grime, that maybe from afar, could make us seem no different that the things we're trying trying so hard to run from.
Each step is more painful than the last.
I walk behind Glenn and Maggie. From the looks of Maggie, it doesn't seem like she's going to get much further. Between our journey and the constant grieving over her sister, I don't blame her for feeling so miserable. She doesn't deserve any of it.
"Maggie, take a drink," Glenn says, holding out his plastic bottle with the remnants of water swishing around inside.
"No," she breathes without even thinking it over for even a second.
"Okay. How about you just talk to me?" he asks her in a lower voice. I'm close enough that I can hear him, but don't want to act as much.
"I never thought she was alive. I just didn't. After Daddy, I don't know how I couldn't. And after what Daryl said, I hoped she was out there, alive. And then finding out that she was and then she wasn't in the same day . . . Seeing her like that made . . . it feel like none of it was ever really there. Before . . . this was just the dark part and I don't know if I want to fight it anymore."
I feel my heart pang with her despair. I know how she feels all too well. After losing my entire family, I didn't feel like anything mattered.
It just felt . . . over.
And I can't help but still feel the same way.
"You do," Glenn assured her. "You do. That's who you are. And maybe it's a curse nowadays, but I don't think so. We fought to be here. And we have to keep fighting. Drink." He offers her the bottle again. This time, Maggie takes it, gulping down a small sip before handing it back.
Daryl walks beside me, mostly distracted by the woods and what's crawling inside of them. I almost ask him a question, but stop when I see a dead body on the ground. Before, that was a sight that would've destroyed me for months, tearing apart my brain and spending every spare moment focused on such a horrible sight. Now, I look away as if it were nothing more than a dead songbird or putrescent roadkill.
"Emmie," Glenn says, offering the plastic bottle to me.
"Keep it," I reply.
He shakes his head. "You were dehydrated yesterday. I don't want you passing out again." I hesitate, but accept the bottle in the end, so that nobody can be mad at me. I take a quick drink before handing it back.
"Daryl," Glenn offers.
"No."
"Daryl."
"Don't," he responds sharply. Surprised, Glenn pulls back his extended arm.
"Hey, we can make it together, but we can only make it together." Daryl speeds up, walking a little faster after Glenn's done talking.
"Tell them I went looking for water," he says to me and Abraham before wading through the thick, green growth. I want to stop him or go with, I'm not sure which one, but he's gone too quickly for me to figure it out.
We keep going, not daring to stop. I keep trying to rationalize it by telling myself that the farther we go, the quicker we'll get to wherever we're going. That's a hard thing to do, however, because like I've said before, there's nothing to look forward to - nothing to aim for.
"Hold up!" Rick calls suddenly from up ahead. I lift my head to see him raising his hand. What's going on? Everyone else has stopped in their tracks, but I push my way through until I'm at the front. I don't know why we're all stopping, but that's only until I look at the ground, where a collection of plastic water bottles and a piece of paper are laid out in front of us.
"From a friend," I whisper. It's what the paper says, at least, but the chances of us trusting that already feel slim.
Everyone mindlessly forms a circle around the water getting their own look at it.
"We don't drink it. Who knows who left it," Rick says before anyone can even ask.
I look behind us to see Daryl exiting the woods. Rick picks up the paper and brings it over for him to read. From the expression on his face, he doesn't like the looks of this. He swipes his crossbow into his hands and starts scanning the area, instantaneous with the letter reading.
"What else are we gonna do?" Tara asks. She's right - we have nothing. Although drinking that water could very well kill us, so could going anymore time without it. There hasn't been a hint of rain in days, and from the scorching heat, everything is completely dried up.
"Not this," sighs Rick, shooting down her opinion. "We don't know who left it."
"If that's a trap, we already happen to be in it. But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend," Eugene says. I look down at the four gallon jugs and ten bottles. I really hope it is a friend.
We could use one right about now.
"What if it isn't? They put something in it?" Carol mutters.
"I was so dehydrated yesterday that I passed out," I begin. "Right now, I want nothing more than to take even a sip of that water, but I know Rick is right; we can't risk it. We can't know if it's dangerous for sure, but that also means we can't know if it's safe." As appetizing as the water looks, I also know it's not the right call. I think that my words will help sway the others to steer clear of the water and keep moving, but it does quite the opposite.
That's because Eugene lunges forward and snatches a bottle from the ground instead of backing away like I hoped.
"Eugene," Rosita groans.
"What are you doing, dude?" Tara shouts.
"Quality assurance," says Eugene. He opens the bottle and about takes a sip before Abraham stomps forward and bats it from his hand. The water splashes everywhere, soaking the ground and even dampening my clothes a bit.
"We can't." This comes from Rick along with a pointed scowl. I take a shallow breath, once again closing a chapter of hope. I didn't even know it had existed, even if it was for just a second.
Thunder begins to rumble from above, shaking the sky and me with it. "Shit," I mumble to myself, so nobody else can hear. This is just perfect timing. We're standing out in the open with nothing to protect us and it's going to thunder and-
"Rain," I say loudly enough for everyone to hear. I look up to the sky at the same time as everyone else. The drizzling drops of liquid begin to fall. The tapping sounds they make on the leaves around us fill my ears. I extend my arms outwards, letting the cool liquid wash some of the crusted sweat and caked dirt away from my skin. It begins to soak into my hair, cooling my face and saturating my clothing. My flannel begins to stick to my skin, but I don't mind. I'm too focused on opening my mouth and allowing as many of the raindrops to enter as possible. The way it moistens my stiff tongue is relieving.
A few people start to laugh as the rain gets heavier. There hasn't been rain in forever and the result of it is nothing but heavenly. I tip my chin up even higher, opening my mouth wider. No amount of drops feel like they could be enough. I even let out a small giggle as the beads bounce off my skin. I look to Carl, a big smile on his face, brimming to the lower corners of his rosy cheeks. I try to replicate it. I get a small one, but it's the largest I've had in forever, so I don't mind. I wipe the water from Judith's face with my shirt sleeve. She grins a little, seemingly enjoying the rain just as much as everyone else. On the other side of me stands Daryl. I want to share my excitement with him, but he's just staring at the ground.
"Everybody, get the bags. Everything you can find," Rick says, breaking up the moment. I pull the empty flask from my own bag and take off the lid, letting the rain drops plink as they land against the metal container. "Come on."
A few others scramble to fill up their own empty bottles and containers. Rick lays out several on the edge of the road, waiting for them to collect any bit of rain they can. There's another thud of thunder from above, this one being noticeably louder, however. It crackles through the sky and runs a chill along my spine as it echoes through our surroundings. Judith starts crying, I'm sure from both being wet and the volume of the thunder. Carl takes off his hat and uses it to cover his sister's head. I watch as the cold rain droplets slowly consume his dark hair, pulling at the ends of his wavy strands.
I glance back up at the sky to see that dark clouds have formed above us, glooming in a menacing form. As if on cue; a strike of lightning zips across the murky sky, illuminating it in skeletal rays for just a moment. What had once been a peaceful shower is turning into a storm. I scoff to myself, thinking how this is the irony of our lives. Just as things start to look up, there's always a storm ready to roll in.
The rain starts to become heavier. My flask is about to overflow, but I can't complain about that. I put the lid back on and help Rick gather the bottles on the road.
"Let's keep moving!" he orders. There's more booming thunder to follow, almost like it's challenging his authority.
"There's a barn!" Daryl shouts over the combination of noise from both the pattering rain on the cement that has grown to create a symphony of cacophony and Judith's screaming cries.
"Where?" Rick yells back. Daryl waves us along, motioning for us to follow. Everyone grabs their stuff and and does as told, letting him lead us through the woods.
With the leaves and sticks soaked underneath my feet, I have to be cautious not to slip and fall. I see the dead ones from the fall, collecting little puddles of water in the dried bodies. I dig my boots into the ground, my muscles screaming with every quick movement I make. I still can't move to suddenly, but right now, I have no choice. I press my hands onto my face to wipe away the hair that is glued there. We're almost jogging now, swiping the rain from our eyes so we can see just a little bit better as we go along.
Eventually, we find what Daryl was referring to: a large, red barn. "Here!" Daryl says. We make it to the doors, ready for shelter more than anything. Luckily, there's no lock to break or anything deterring us from getting inside. It's as easy as opening the large doors and stepping into what seems like a dry space to house us for the time being. The people who own one get out their flashlights. They're the first to go in. They take their weapons off, touring the large, dark room inside. Michonne waits by the door near the rest of us. The rain has somehow gotten even heavier by now. I can barely see an inch in front of me without something to block the water from my eyes. She lands a hand on my shoulder, holding it there a she squints through the rain. A bleak smile curls onto her lips.
After what feels like an eternity, we're finally allowed inside. I'm lucky it was no longer because I don't think I could've made it.
I shuffle myself into the far corner of the barn. The whole place smells of manure and dried out straw. It's repulsive, but at least I'll get a chance to dry out. Anything is better than being out there right now.
I find myself a spot on the ground to sit, letting the straw create somewhat of a cushion for me. In an odd way, it's the most comfortable I've felt in days, slumping down in this straw in this smelly barn. I throw my bag to the side and gather some of the straw to cover me. It keeps a little bit of heat in, which is better than none. Carl sits down beside me and I'm immediately grateful for his company. Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Carol, and Glenn move close to us to set up a fire ring that they had found. Some sticks and dry straw are gathered for it, and thought makes me slightly cozy inside.
"She's probably tired . . . and wet," I say, nodding to a fussy Judith. I don't have anything to dry her off with or I would. The entirety of the clothes on my back are soaked, and they are unfortunately the only things I have.
"She'll be okay." Carl wraps her tighter in her blanket and holds her small frame to his chest. I watch as she lays her head down. Within seconds, her soft eyelids are fluttering shut, each blink getting longer than the last.
Daryl gets to work on building the fire, but it doesn't work out very well. All the sticks are too damp, but it's all we can find. Carl lays down. I can tell he's exhausted but doesn't want to admit it. He rarely does, at least not without being pushed into doing so. I settle down beside him, staring into his blue eyes. I reach out a gentle hand and touch the freckled skin on his cheek; soft and smooth. I move it upwards, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes, back in place with the others. It's getting long - longer than I ever remember it being. I circle back to his chin before pulling my hand back to myself. I tuck my head close to his chest, absorbing both his and Judith's body heat. When I close my eyes to shut out the glowing of the fire that has been started within the dank barn, I feel Carl's hand stroke a piece of my hair, tucking it behind my cold ear. It's only brief and his hand is gone in a moment, as if it was never even there to begin with, but at the same time, the ghost of his hesitant touch stays with me and causes a warm feeling in my heart.
☾
A loud crackle of thunder causes me to jolt upright. I don't know how long I was asleep for, but I can tell it wasn't more than an hour. White light flashes through the cracks in the wood, casting shadows of everyone, and thing, around me. I look beside me to see Carl still asleep with Jude doing the same. The fire the others had started has been put out, reduced to nothing but blazing embers. Everyone seems to be sleeping, or at least trying to, besides the group still trying to rest by the fire and a single figure by the doors. I recognize it to be Daryl from both the walk and the way he swings his crossbow at his side. He must have taken first watch.
Another strike of lightning illuminates the room in an eerie fashion. Even though we found shelter, I've come to realize that it still doesn't feel like we're too safe in here. The storm seems as though it's gotten stronger, building from the simple sprinkle we were trying to enjoy earlier. The wind whistles through the cracked slats of the barn and keeps blowing the doors at the front apart. Even though they've been chained so nothing can get in, it still doesn't seem to be doing a very good job.
I'm about to lay back down and attempt at a little bit more sleep when Daryl lunges for the door, pressing his palms to the wood paneling as his feet dig into the ground for traction. I blink, wondering what I just say, as my heart begins to beat slightly faster. It's jarring after just calming down. What's going on? Are the doors just going to blow down from the wind or is he actually trying to keep something out?
I see Maggie jump up from the corner of my eye before dashing to the door. She leans her back up against it, grunting with effort. I leap up, jogging to the others at the same time as Sasha does. I catch a glimpse through one of the cracks. Outside, I see walkers. There's an entire sea of them. I'm estimating maybe a hundred by the looks. They must've been somehow drawn in by the storm.
The crowd huddled around the fire comes to join us. We're all there, exerting all of our strength, which isn't necessarily amounting to much. Gradually, the others awaken and realize what's happening. I hold my shoulder to the wood. The pressure is painful, but I'm able to get a good hold on it well enough. My feet dig through the dirt which is becoming sludge beneath me from the rain leaking through the cracks and everyone stepping in it repeatedly.
I see Carl jump up to help. He sets Judith in the middle of the barn on the ground. She immediately starts screaming, but it's hardly audible from the sound of the thunder and growing noise of walkers.
I'm tired, but I push through it all. I act as though nothing is wrong. I act as though I haven't been walking an exorbitant distance each day for three weeks without getting to sleep on a bed or fill my stomach the way it should be. For some reason, I know that it isn't just my strength holding me here, but the strength of everyone else. I'm not just talking about how we're holding the door closed physically, but morally. We're all standing here right now because we know we need to help each other. There's no other option. Nobody had to tell us what to do or when - we just did it. We're family. This is the kind of thing a family would do for each other.
My feet scrap through the mud again. Rain water drips through the slats and sprays my face. I don't care. I don't feel any of it. I close my eyes to shut everything out because I know I'll be standing here until I can be sure everything is safe.
________
A/N: If you don't cringe during the barn scene, then who are you?