After a few mishaps during preparation, the group was finally on its way. They were going over the plan. One good thing about it all was that Maggie was staying back, along with Rosita, Eugene, Tara, Carol, and a few others. And, of course, Carl, Ian, and Judith, considering they were all kids. A lot was going on, both inside the walls and out. Rosie was pretty sure that Carl and Ron were mad at each other, because they used to hang out all the time, and now they never did. Rosie thought that maybe it had to do with the fact that Carl's dad killed Ron's dad. Ron must've been confused about his dad, too.
Rosie now understood why Ron and Sam could be annoying sometimes; they had an asshole dad, just like Rosie did. But what she couldn't understand was why Liam was so damn annoying. Rosie had been sitting on the porch steps, peacefully drawing in a notebook that Tara had given her, when Liam decided he wanted to come over. Rosie thought that maybe he'd just go inside and hang out with Ian- because everyone liked Ian- but he didn't. Instead, Liam sat down next to Rosie and kept accidentally bumping her arm to mess up her drawing. Rosie would've just punched him for it, but she had a strict set of rules to follow in order to avoid trouble while Daryl was gone.
Don't punch Liam (unless he hurts you first). Don't throw any rocks. Don't leave Alexandria. Listen to Maggie and Carol. Don't forget to eat.
The last rule was added on last moment, because Rosie had suddenly realized that she hadn't eaten all day when she threw up stomach acid on the sidewalk. Things had been chaotic, and in all that chaos, Rosie had forgotten to do the bare necessities, like eating and drinking. So now eating and drinking was a rule. That rule wasn't so hard to follow, though. The hardest rule was not punching Liam. Especially when he kept messing up her drawing of a triceratops.
"You're still obsessed with dinosaurs?" Liam asked, putting on a stupid face that made Rosie want to punch him even more.
"Dinosaurs are cool," Rosie replied, giving him a glare. Liam just scoffed, and Rosie went back to drawing. After about ten more seconds, Liam elbowed her again, and the right side of her triceratops' third horn extended all the way down to the bottom of the page. Rosie threw the pencil and notebook down onto the porch behind her, and stood up. He was snickering to himself. Don't punch Liam. "Why are you doin' that?" Rosie asked, trying to keep herself calm.
"What?" Liam asked, scrunching his face up as if everything was funny.
"Why do you act like that?" Rosie asked him, scrunching her face up right back at him. Liam didn't say anything. He just scoffed and laughed to himself, so Rosie continued. "Why do you wanna mess up my drawin'? I didn't do nothin'."
"It's funny," Liam said, shrugging his shoulders. He said it as if it were obvious, and it made Rosie's blood boil. God, she hated him.
"It's not funny. It just makes everyone hate you," Rosie told him. Liam stood up now, too, with a pissed off look on his face. Rosie was ready- almost excited. He really looked like he was about to hit her, but his eyes wandered from her face to somewhere behind her. Then his eyes got super wide, so Rosie turned to see what he was looking at.
A man with a machete and bloody clothes was standing over one of the women from Alexandria. She had been smoking in her front yard, and now the man was sending his machete down into her head. Instinctively, Rosie grabbed onto Liam's arm, and the two of them ran inside the house.
Inside the house, there were guns. They didn't keep all of them in the armory anymore, upon Deanna's new understanding. Rosie still wasn't allowed to carry one around just yet, because she was a kid, but they were allowed to keep them in the houses. So, Rosie ran inside and went into the living room. Leaned up against the wall was an AK-47, so Rosie grabbed that.
"My- my mom's at home. We don't have any guns. She didn't want one," Liam stuttered out, his voice all wobbly, like he was on the verge of crying. He probably was on the verge of crying. Without another word, Rosie grabbed onto Liam's arm again and started pulling him out the door. When they got outside, she let go of him and used both of her hands to hold the big gun.
"I don't remember how to get to your house," Rosie said, her head switching around in a ton of different directions, checking to see that no one was sneaking up on them. Those people were everywhere, but none of them seemed to be focused on Rosie or Liam, so the two of them ran. Liam was weaponless, so he kept behind Rosie as she shot at any of the people in her sight. They all had W's carved into their foreheads, for whatever reason.
Rosie killed that man in the guard tower. That was one. Now she was killing, killing, killing every one of those people that she laid her eyes on. Gunshot, gunshot, gunshot. Leg, back, head. Dead, dead, dead. She had to, she had to, she had to. Gunshot, gunshot, gunshot. Leg, back, head. Dead, dead, dead.
"Go! Left, left, left!" Liam shouted, pulling Rosie both towards his house, and out of whatever trance she was in. Screaming, crying, dying. "Come on!" Liam shouted. Rosie ran with him, her breath heavy, and her heart beating so fast and so hard that she could feel it hammering against her ribcage. She was so overwhelmed, but she didn't have the time to be. People were dying, and they didn't understand. She understood. She had to help them, or they'd all just become more names on the list. Liam would be an orphan, if she didn't get to that house in time.
Another person, this one a woman. Shoulder, head, dead.
A horn was blaring. What the hell is that? It was going to attract walkers. That couldn't be good.
The two kids ran up the front porch steps, Liam crying and Rosie trying hard to focus. Liam swung open the front door, and a loud screaming came from inside.
"No, Liam! Go!" his mother started screaming. Rosie shoved herself in front of Liam, entering the house first, with her gun raised. The screaming persisted- she was still alive. Rosie rounded a corner. In the living room, one of the bad people were over top of Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. Johnson was holding their hands away from herself, struggling. She was fighting against a man, and he had a knife between his two hands. The knife was just inches away from slicing its way into Mrs. Johnson's chest. It'd go through her skin, through her sternum, through her heart, and then she'd be dead.
Rosie lined up the shot. Her finger was on the trigger. "Rosie, another one!" Liam suddenly shouted, grabbing onto Rosie's arm just as she pulled the trigger. This time he didn't mess up her triceratops horn, he messed up her aim. The bullet went into the man on top of Mrs. Johnson's shoulder, and he fell off of her, dropping the knife in the process. Rosie quickly turned around, and another one of the bad people were there.
This one was particularly tall. He had messy, gray hair that fell just a little bit past the tips of his ears. He was wearing a black shirt with a plaid shirt over top, the sleeves cut off to make it look like a vest. He was smiling. Rosie's mind went foggy for a moment, and she wanted to cry. The tall stature, the gray hair, the vest, the sadistic smile. He looked like Joe. Rosie's gun was raised, just high enough for the bullet to reach his heart, but she raised it higher. The man stalked towards her, his steps getting quicker and heavier the closer he got. But before he could reach her, Rosie pulled the trigger and a bullet pierced through his skull. He dropped dead on the ground, and Rosie stepped closer. She pointed it at his head, and shot again. One time, two times, three times.
"Rosie! My mom!" Liam was pulling on Rosie's arm again, and now they were both crying. Rosie turned from the man she had just killed four times over and ran back towards the living room. Mrs. Johnson and the smaller man were wrestling each other for the knife. Rosie tried, but she couldn't line up a shot- not without risking shooting Mrs. Johnson instead.
So, with seemingly no other option, she ran forwards and grabbed onto the man's shoulders, trying to pull him back. He jerked back, throwing Rosie off of him and tackling her to the ground. During her fall, Rosie slammed her head against the leg of the coffee table, and her head started to throb. But that wasn't important, because the man was finally able to reach the knife, and he gripped it tight. He was kneeling over Rosie, and she felt like she was on that road, outside of that truck again. She knew that he was only going to kill her, though, and that wasn't so bad. Mrs. Johnson was Liam's mom. She couldn't die. Rosie could. Rosie knew she was important to some people, but she wasn't really anyone's anything anymore. She wasn't anybody's daughter anymore, and she hadn't been anyone's sister for a very long time. She was never anyone's niece. She supposed she used to be her grandpa's granddaughter, but she didn't even know him. So dying wasn't so bad, because maybe if she was dead, she'd be Fraser's little sister again. Either way, death was a better conclusion than what Dan had been trying to do when he kneeled over her like this new man was.
The man was about to stick his knife right into Rosie's chest, but just before he could, a gunshot rang out and he dropped to the floor. Rosie pushed his dead body off of her in a hurry, and scrambled to her feet. She turned to her left, and there Mrs. Johnson was, holding the gun and hiding Liam behind her. Mrs. Johnson rushed forward, her hands going to the sides of Rosie's face.
"Oh, my God. Are you ok, sweetheart?" Mrs. Johnson asked, her eyebrows all pinched together and her voice all wobbly. Rosie still didn't like being called sweetheart very much, but she let it slide anyway, because Mrs. Johnson had just saved her life.
"'M fine," Rosie muttered out, using her sleeve to try and wipe away the tears that had escaped her eyes. She was brave, and she was tough, but she was still crying.
"Are you sure? Honey, you're bleeding," Mrs. Johnson said, pushing Rosie's hair away and revealing a gash right above her left eyebrow. Rosie scrunched her face up, suddenly remembering the throbbing pain, and pushed Mrs. Johnson's hands away from her face.
"Stop touchin' me," Rosie breathed out, standing back up. She wiped the blood off of her forehead, ignoring the stinging sensation her hand left behind, and grabbed the gun again. She needed to make sure all of the bad people were either gone or dead. Preferably dead.
"No, you need to go to the infirmary. That's gonna need stitches, and you might have a concussion," Mrs. Johnson said, gently grabbing onto Rosie's shoulder to stop her from leaving. Rosie fought the urge to roll her eyes at the woman who had just saved her life. She'd had concussions before- she was practically a professional at having concussions- so it wasn't a big deal. She'd also had stitches before, and that experience was very unpleasant. She couldn't imagine it being any more pleasant on her forehead than it was on her leg. Plus, the infirmary was probably overwhelmed with people who actually needed help. Rosie didn't need it. So she shrugged Mrs. Johnson's hand off of her shoulder and continued heading back outside. "Rosie," Mrs. Johnson said as she followed after her.
Rosie stepped out the door, her gun in her hands, and scanned over the surrounding area. There were dead people all over the place. Some of them she had killed, some of them the bad people had killed. But there were no bad people in sight, so Rosie continued on walking, ignoring Mrs. Johnson's pleads for her to wait a second and calm down. Mrs. Johnson didn't have to plead much longer, though. Rosie slammed into someone, and they grabbed onto her shoulders.
"Rosie! God! There you are," Rosita exclaimed, stopping Rosie in her tracks. At first, Rosie panicked, but once she saw that it was Rosita, she took a breath and let her grip on the gun loosen.
"Hi," Rosie breathed out, squeezing her eyes shut to the ease the throbbing in her head.
"Her head's bleeding," Aaron pointed out. Rosie didn't even see him, standing there behind Rosita.
"Yeah, she'll need stitches," Rosita said. She touched around the area with the gash, and Rosie scrunched her face up again. "Come on," Rosita said, standing back up to her full height. Rosie stayed between Aaron and Rosita as they led her back to the infirmary, while Liam and Mrs. Johnson went back into their house, probably to clean up whatever mess was left inside.
When they finally reached the infirmary, they ran into Tara, Eric, and Eugene, who were just coming out the front door. "Is it all over?" Tara asked, a sad expression on her face.
"We think so," Aaron said, nodding his head a little. "Holly?" he asked, his eyebrows pinched together.
Solemnly, Tara looked down at her shoes and shook her head. "I don't know if Denise is up for anything else right now," Tara said, looking at Rosie and Rosita. For a moment, Rosie was relieved, because she really didn't want to get stitches.
"Well, she's not the only one who knows how to give stitches. Just wait here," Rosita said, making all of Rosie's relief morph back into dread. Either way, she did as she was told and sat down on the front porch step, her head in her hands, as she waited for Rosita to return with whatever she needed to give Rosie stitches.
"I hate gettin' stitches," Rosie muttered, tired, overwhelmed, and sad.
"No matter how unpleasant, it is indeed necessary," Eugene said in his usual monotonous voice. "You'll be grateful for it later, if you're smart."
"Eugene," Tara said in a scolding sort of voice. She then sat down on the porch step next to Rosie. "I hate getting stitches, too. One time, I was cutting an avocado, and I got distracted, and I sliced right into my hand. I had to get seven stitches. It totally sucked."
"One time, I jumped out of a tree, and I accidentally stabbed myself in the leg. I had to get... I don't know how many stitches. Just lots. It totally sucked," Rosie told them, remembering that time in the woods, when she was looking for Sophia. She still missed Sophia's shy smile, sometimes.
After another moment, Rosita came back out of the infirmary. She placed down a little kit and crouched in front of Rosie. "Stay still. This'll hurt," Rosita said, dabbing the gash with a wet cloth. It stung, but Rosie tried not to react. Because she was tough. And tough people don't cry.
"How long 'til Daryl comes back?" Rosie asked, trying not to think about the needle and thread going in and out of her skin.
"It might be awhile," Rosita answered. Rosie's eyebrows furrowed, but she quickly un-furrowed them because furrowing them only made the wound hurt worse. "They had to do it early," Rosita elaborated.
"What? They're leadin' the walkers away right now?" Rosie asked, frowning. She didn't like when things went off plan. They weren't supposed to be leading the walkers away right now. They were supposed to be going over the plan right now. "What about that horn?"
"That was a truck," a new voice said. Looking up, Rosie could see that it was Morgan. He looked sad and distressed, and he was just walking past. Maggie, Deanna, and Spencer were behind him. They were actually heading towards the infirmary, though.
"Is everything ok in there?" Deanna asked, her eyebrows pinched together as she came closer.
"Denise- she tried to help Holly. She didn't make it. Denise is taking it pretty hard," Tara explained with a frown on her face.
"What's goin' on? Why are they leadin' the walkers away right now?" Rosie asked Maggie as Maggie came closer with a worried expression on her face. She crouched down next to Rosita, examining Rosie's face as the stitches were done.
"We don't know yet," Maggie said, giving Rosie a sad, sympathetic smile. She put her hand on Rosie's knee and squeezed. Rosie was pretty sure that people did that when they wanted to comfort her, so she tried to appreciate it, even though she didn't always like being touched. "But they'll all be back soon. I know they will," Maggie added on.
"I know they will, too. I'm just tired of 'em being gone all the time. Never used to be this way. Used to always be together. All the time," Rosie huffed out. Rosita tied off the end of the stitches and cut the thread, and Rosie pretended that none of it hurt at all. She did that a lot, about a lot of things. Like the fact that everyone was gone all the time. That hurt. But she pretended it didn't. They were gone because they had to be; because they were doing important things. Rosie understood that. She just wished that she didn't care so much.
All of a sudden, before anyone could even give Rosie's complaints any sort of response, a wave of nausea came over Rosie. She shot up off of the porch and went over to the grass before puking up whatever was left inside her stomach.
"She's probably concussed," Rosita commented from the porch as Maggie rushed over to Rosie's side, gathering her hair out of her face.
"Did you eat anything today?" Maggie asked.
"I did! I swear," Rosie insisted as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She didn't forget. She had breakfast that morning. She didn't break any of the rules. Maybe it was the concussion, or maybe it was the dead bodies, or maybe it was the killing. But it was not the result of a broken rule. She remembered to eat. She at least did that one thing right. She followed the rules.
"You should probably go lie down for a bit. And... keep a bowl with you," Tara said, her face all contorted with both sympathy and disgust.
"I don't need to lie down. I can help more," Rosie insisted, pushing herself away from Maggie.
"It's over, Rosie. There's nothing left that you can help with. Just go home and rest, hon," Maggie said, giving Rosie a comforting look. Rosie huffed. That was not her home. It was just her house. But she went to it anyway, because, even if she didn't want to admit it, she was still feeling a bit nauseous, and she wouldn't be any help moving out dead bodies.