Darkness is a relentless competitor when digging into the depths of your mindset for the slightest bit of optimism. A single positive outlook shines at the limit of a never-ending tunnel of dead fucks and scraps of regurgitated flesh, a twinkling light beckoning the survivor within me closer and closer with a curled finger. But the hands of the undead reach me faster than my destination in a frigid and unwelcomed touch, contact only lasts a second when it occurs and I take them out with my trusty knife, which was packed away in the depths of the duffel bag.
Thirteen days. The last two were without food and had a minimal water supply. My stockpile spreads as thin as my patience with each step I take on the beaten path before me. An apprehensive long dozen spent on constant defense, eyes peeled in every direction with a sense of hyperawareness to ensure I reach my destination, wherever that may be. After leaving Soul I backtracked toward The Sanctuary, or what I thought was the right direction. Staying on any main road is a risky move as it is the main route for travelers and potential enemies. I've been forced into the woods time and time again throughout my trek. First by a group on horses, each individual atop the steeds decorated in body armor that protected vital organs from adversaries. Then a lone man with a long trench coat and hair to his mid-back topped perfectly with a worn beanie.
Now again, a fleet of cars followed by a large rusted truck, racing by a mere hundred feet away from where I stand hidden behind a rotting tree trunk. Rumbling engines occupy the air around me, surely drawing the attention of walkers within the vicinity, so I smack my back against the peeling bark and scan the area around me with my knife securely in my palm. As the rolling motors pass me by I push myself away from the tree and hike back into the street, watching as the cars fly down the street toward a clear destination.
The truck looks familiar the smaller it becomes in the distance. An open back door with dangling plastic strips dancing in the wind as the vehicle picks up speed on the vacant road. When it hits the curve of the road, I notice a small but prominent letter A spray painted on the side paneling of the truck.
I sprint as fast as I can toward the convoy, given my nutrition has not been what it should be over the past thirteen days. My energy quickly dissipates after running for what feels like forever. Still, I'm able to determine after following for a mere few minutes that the group is headed toward The Sanctuary.
Familiarity creeps around me before encapsulating my memory. The distinct treeline fades into low bushes then eventually vanishes into the gritty pathway that I've heard kick up against the underbelly of Negan's truck time and time again. A plume of smoke is visible before any semblance of the structure of The Sanctuary peeks into view.
Panic flows through my bloodstream as naturally as the blood in my veins itself.
Trepidation seeps into my thoughts, entangling any hopes I had of seeing Negan alive, constricting and choking the remaining optimism before bringing my buoyancy to a screeching halt.
As the peak of the rundown factory emerges from the horizon, the same thundering roar of vehicles greets the ominous backdrop against the road sans box truck. They blow by where I stand on the side of the road and I catch a glimpse of those within the doors of the vehicles.
Michonne. Rosita. Daryl.
When they are behind me, I turn again and jog toward their location of departure to face the now-revealed Sanctuary, swallowed whole by a starved crowd of dead weight. The smoke winds through the air to a single point, the side of the building, where the box truck is smashed against the dark brick wall. The herd is assembling at the crash site in search of open opportunities and fresh blood.
"Negan," the words escape my lips in a hush. My lip trembles as reality comes crashing down with its relentless force, squashing my final wisps of hope underneath its leather boot and smearing aspiration across the gravel road.
"Negan," I call out louder as if he can hear me over the mindless groans of the swarm.
"Negan!"
Warm trails of tears run down my cheeks, and my chest feels heavy. My lungs are trapped inside of a small lockbox that I misplaced the key to months ago, the protective cover I'd placed myself under before I met Negan. Before he shrunk himself down and crawled through the crack undiscoverable to the naked eye. A crack he noticed because he searched when I wasn't looking to be found.
The little energy remaining in my malnourished body vanishes in the blink of a tear-stained, blurry eye. My knees give out, but before I can hit the ground two strong arms wrap around my torso and drag me backward. If I had the energy to scream and kick, I would. But I don't.
So I won't.
"Shh, Jade. It's alright, c'mon let's get ya home."
I peer over my shoulder at the southern grumble to see the two remaining cars stopped on the open road, Michonne and Rosita standing guard for any nearby trouble. Trouble that more than likely won't show up. Trouble that's most likely dead.
"Get off of me," the warning comes out low at first with a lack of energy. The second time the words leave my mouth, my voice echoes across the open road and runs through the scattered trees of the forest. I shake my shoulders and thrash around before I'm released and spin to look Daryl in the eye. Tears continue to pour down my face.
"What the fuck did you do?" My question resembles more of a plea.
"What the fuck did we do? What did we do?" He steps closer with his crossbow gripped tightly between the fingers of his right hand. "That prick killed our family, he held us captive! He fed me shit sandwiches and you're asking what we did? The fuck's the matter with you, huh? He brainwash you?"
"He was changing, Daryl! I had it under control! We were supposed to bring Sasha back safely together, but we got separated by a herd and he had to bring her back without me and-"
"He killed Sasha."
I freeze physically and mentally.
Did he kill Sasha? He promised me he wouldn't. Was he really changing, or was he telling me what I wanted to hear for the sake of getting laid?
"What?" I croak.
"Killed her. Brought her back in a goddamn coffin," Daryl spits. "He's fucking sick in the head, Jade."
"Save it for Alexandria," Michonne steps in between us with her hand on the hilt of her katana. "We've got to get back," she nods toward The Sanctuary where a small portion of the herd decided to follow the remaining cars away from the scene they're fleeing.
"I'm not going," I shake my head profusely and wipe the tears from my eyes. Tears are for the weak. They look at me dumbfounded. "I have to find him."
"Ain't nothin' to find, nobody's gettin' outta there," Daryl points at the disastrous event over my shoulder.
"We have to go now!" Michonne warns. I look back at the scene and the growing crowd of walkers headed our way. When I turn to face the pair once more, they're already headed for their cars. Rosita climbs into the driver's seat of the leading car while Daryl and Michonne head for the latter.
Limited options for survival push me toward the cars and I climb into the back seat of Michonne's vehicle, Daryl is angrily perched in the front seat with his crossbow laid atop his lap. I glance out of the back window and watch the smoke disappear with each passing second.
Drained.
A pit of nothingness void of emotion and cognitive skill. An empty mind and empty heart, numbing tingles in my fingertips and toes, reminding me just how little I actually feel at this very moment.
-
The gate closes behind us as Michonne parks the car in the usual unloading spot. Daryl slams the door behind him in frustration. I stare at the torn headrest in front of me while my mind is lost in space, I'm physically present but mentally absent. Losing Negan wasn't something I'd think would hit me this hard. When I was lost and on my own, I told myself I would find my way back, and when I made it back he would be there waiting for me.
'There's my girl!' Repeats in my head over and over. 'I knew you were a fighter, the hottest warrior on this goddamn planet!'
Three knocks on the window pull me from my thoughts. Carl stands with his face pressed against the glass grinning ear to ear. I wish the shred of happiness I feel to see him would be evident on my face, but I stare back emotionless. He swings the door open wide before greeting me with an enthusiastic 'Jade!' Carl's arms are quick to wrap around my torso in a warm embrace. An embrace I've missed since the night of the lineup, a genuine act of endearment that I would find difficult to reciprocate to anybody else in Alexandria right now. But not Carl.
He winces when I squeeze him tightly, quickly pressing his palm onto his lower belly. My eyes follow his hand as he pretends to wipe his palm on his shirt and then tugs the fabric at the hem. When I catch his eye again he chuckles nervously and reaches for my hand. "Come with me," he mutters just before dragging me in the direction of my house.
When we step through the front door, Carl saunters to the living room and makes himself comfortable on the couch. "Come sit," he pats the seat next to him and I follow his instruction with little to no urgency. Negan runs through my mind on a never-ending hamster wheel that squeaks in a mocking manner as Carl sits before me. "I've missed you," he offers a soft grin.
"I've missed you too," I croak. A tear threatens to spill from my eye as memories course through my mind. Memories of Carl at the prison, memories of Alexandria before The Saviors, memories of Negan inside The Sanctuary as fresh as morning dew in the spring. "How is Alexandria? Were you taking care of everybody while I was away?"
He sighs and hangs his head, "I'm trying, but I'm glad you're back. We've missed you. We're barely scraping by because everything going on with The Saviors and Oceanside and The Scavengers," he stops abruptly. "I have some stuff I need to catch you up on."
"You can start with what happened out there, did you get hurt on a run? Where's your dad, does he know?" Carl reaches for my hand as I ramble.
"Hey," he gives me a firm squeeze. "Dad isn't here, he'll be back soon though." He adjusts himself in his seat before continuing, "I found a couple of people on the outside, really nice guys. They looked like they hadn't eaten for a while, kind of like how you look now. Are you hungry? Let's get you something-"
"Carl, I'm fine. I can eat after we talk, keep going."
He nods and explains further, "I'm keeping them in the sewer until dad gets back. Do you want to meet them?"
"We can go after you show me what happened," I nod to his abdomen. Carl glances down and begins to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, running it between each of his fingers. His silence awakens an annoying voice in my mind that taunts, 'He's been bit, he's been bit and he's dying,' and I try my best to ignore it. But Carl's lack of response only feeds my anxious thoughts, causing my heart to thump loudly in my chest and match the volume of that pesky voice. "Carl, what happened?"
The shakiness of my hands contradicts the steadiness of my voice, yet I reach for his shirt anyway. When I press down gently on his abdomen he sucks in a sharp breath between his gritted teeth, his body recoiling from my touch.
"Carl," my voice falls down the spiral of realization. His eye meets mine and he tries his best to produce a genuine smile, much like the one he greeted me with, but it seems almost impossible for him now.
He pulls at the hem of his shirt with caution and guides it up his torso, exposing his pailing skin.
Then I see it.
An oval ring of teeth marks printed into the surface of his skin. No torn skin or scratch marks, just one single bite. Dried blood litters the deep red lesion. Sorrow litters my pounding heart. Tears litter my dirt-stained cheeks.
"It happened when I was helping those guys," Carl explains. His voice draws my attention back to his face. "No, no, Jade. Don't cry." I wipe the tears with the back of my hand but they are quickly replaced with new ones that stream down my skin in a heated race. Memories fly across my brain of my younger brother. Growing up in the perfect home, pancakes on a Saturday morning, and watching cartoons that turn our brains into mush. Being separated right before I found Sasha, right before we got to the prison.
When we met Carl.
The images of my childhood are replaced with those of Carl's. Growing up on the run, caring for his younger sister inside of a penitentiary. Fight or flight has dominated his childhood and now he can't fight or run from death. His childhood slipped through the cracks but he adjusted. He's always adjusted.
"I'm losing my baby brother all over again," the words crumble from my lips with an accompanying sob. I cover my mouth with the palm of my hand to muffle the sound of my cries. I hate crying. I always thought crying was for the weak, those who could not control their emotions and eventually let those feelings get the better of them. It can cause you to lose your life in a world like this.
But nowadays, anything can cost you your life.
"I should've paid more attention, I could've been more careful," he shakes his head and hangs it low to avoid eye contact.
"No," I grab his chin and force him to look me in the eye. "What's done is done, you do not sulk about it. We know where this is going and we can't stop it, but we can make the best out of this shitty, shitty situation."
My attempt to smile is lackluster, but I try for Carl.
"I have more to tell you," Carl smiles before continuing. "When I was at The Sanctuary, Negan told me he wanted to resolve things with my dad because of you. I tried to tell my dad but he doesn't believe Negan. My dad has been planning on attacking The Sanctuary and killing Negan this whole time, even after you told him you had it under control."
I see red.
"That's what that shit was at The Sanctuary? Bringing a swarm of biters and driving a fucking truck into the building?" I rise to my feet and begin pacing in front of the couch, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingertips.
"What? No-" Carl stands and winces before grabbing his side. "Dad never said anything about driving a truck into The Sanctuary. What are you talking about?" We look at each other in confusion.
"That's where they were. Daryl, Michonne and Rosita. I don't know why they did it but they did, and now everybody at The Sanctuary is going to die if they aren't dead already. I'll never see Negan again, Carl," panic fills my voice. Carl pulls me back down to sit on the couch.
"Jade, listen to me," he takes my trembling hand in his clammy palms. "I may not understand why you care about Negan in the way you do, but I understand that our world is filled with uncertainties. Safety, food and water, any chance at a normal life, none of it is promised. Only one thing is certain, we will die. We don't know how or when death will come for us," he chuckles, "or if there is a reason behind it all." His fingers are cold in my hands and it is evident that life is slowly seeping through his pores with no plan of returning. "I have to die for a purpose, Jade. This war has to end between us and The Saviors. How can we expect any chance at a normal life if we kill each other trying to get there?"
"I knew he could change, Carl. Nobody believed me and now he's gone," I hang my head between my shoulders. "You're right. It has to stop, but I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know if Negan is even alive."
"If there's one thing Negan is going to do, it's live. I'm sure he's fine, that man could probably choke the Grim Reaper out if he wanted to," he squeezes my hand reassuringly. "You need to talk to my dad again, try and change his mind one last time. He trusts you and you need to remind him of that."
Silence fills the air and we embrace one another. I'm mindful not to squeeze him too tightly, I don't want to hurt him worse than he already is, but I don't want to let him go either.
Blood or not, losing family is never easy.
"We will resolve this, I swear. If it's the last thing I do on this earth, Carl, I will resolve this for you."