Daylight broke out in a soft wave lifting up from the distance. Ivy felt the softness of it, the way the light managed to blind her vision as she hurled herself towards it. Her blood felt like fire. Her breathing was ragged, burning herself up from the inside out as she fought to keep going, feet stumbling but still upright. The hunters were still coming after her and so she moved like a ghost, bleeding from the shot she took through her shoulder.
She was out of bullets. The pain was so much that it was like driving herself straight into a wall, demanding to be felt as she moved her arm, enduring a little longer. It was frightening that there was no true guarantee of dying. When she took that hit in amongst the trees, Ivy had fallen down but managed to pry herself back up, barely avoiding capture.
And now she was barely keeping ahead of those coming after her. It didn't matter how far she pushed herself, they were coming for her. Faceless individuals tasked with finding her, tasked with taking her alive. And they didn't matter. Simon was somewhere and Ivy needed him; she needed to kill him just to die in the end.
It wouldn't be right to die first before she managed that trick.
A small suburb rose up and she moved for it like a lighthouse in the dark, splintering her way through one yard just to duck down behind a small wooden garden shed, trying to regulate her breathing. Ivy's fingers pulled at the material of her shirt that was glued down to her skin by blood. A storm was brewing in the air. The humidity curled up, shocking from the previous chill, weighed down by heavier clouds that begged to break.
"Whatever happened to dying like a champ?" Merle's voice whispered in her ear. "Thought that was the big 'ol plan. Go out like a hero and take one for the team?"
She was insane. Of course she was. Ivy couldn't survive constant near death and the awful losses without finally shattering to some degree. Her fingers prodded to the wound and she hissed at the pain, hoping it would prove clarity. The gunshot was utterly survivable, unfortunately, straight in and out. And Simon had been serious when he ordered clean bullets only. She would outlive the pain. Her body could heal. She would recover in a way she didn't want.
Her heart pounded inside her chest. It was difficult feeling it intact when it felt like it should've been broken into pieces. "I'll die when I'm dead," Ivy whispered back. She blinked and saw Abraham frowning at her from across an overgrown garden. Ivy was playing dangerously close to her old passages she made for herself in the days of playing Negan's wraith. Hiding spots dotted the landscape and her mind ached, trying to reorient herself to finding them. She needed somewhere to go, to find something that would be enough to cut Simon down first so she could go down second.
She squinted and suddenly it wasn't Abraham anymore. A walker was coming through the tangled vines in her direction, clearly drawn by the fresh blood scenting the air, stumbling towards her. Its mouth snapped, hungry.
She was disoriented. It was across the yard and suddenly straight beside her, dropping down onto it's knees to grab her by the shoulders. One gnarled finger pressed her wound as it clutched tight and she screeched in pain, trying to drive her knife up and missing. Teeth clicked at the empty air inched from her throat. "No, no, no, absolutely not," Ivy snapped, twisting them both around to send them tumbling sideways. Movement across the yard saw more walkers coming in, a small pack that would draw attention. "Fuck."
The body was desperate to take her. Her arm trembled, a flimsy bar between it and her. But at last she managed, pushing as hard as she could and slamming the blade home through the skull, a graceless kill that had her struggled to roll free from where it lay before the others could get close. "Gotta run on those legs in they're still working," Merle coaxed her, grating on her nerves as she picked herself up and threw herself poorly over a fence, fighting for more space between her and the undead. Another gunshot fired off and she didn't turn to see which of the walkers hit the ground first. She ducked on reflex, darting behind a dog house and jerking straight for the narrow passage of a house and another fence, racing for the street.
But Merle's voice was stilling lashing at her, needling her on. "Better run for ya' daddy, girl."
Ivy always fought. She should've tried less, maybe, but it was instinct to lash back. She had been hurt so much. Her entire childhood was a mosaic of bruises and cuts. And this world was fire trying to take her down. Killing was a way of staying alive and she didn't want to be alive anymore. Ivy just wanted to leave it all behind. She wanted to go down with a clear mind and feel nothing.
Not the sting of grief. Not the loss. Not the knowledge that she would never get her family back.
She nearly died that night in the woods trying to avoid capture by the Saviours. Stars had pricked the sky overhead and that cruelty nearly blinded her, seeing Beth's star. Daryl's star.
Cosmic light wasn't enough to pull her through. She couldn't bury that grief yet. Ivy needed to fight first, needed to go down properly.
And then she could let it happen. Not until she made it right.
.
"What the hell?" Glenn hissed even as he threw himself at Daryl, the pair barely clearly the gate before being hauled to the general concept of safety arranged inside the big house. "What the fucking hell? You asshole. I hate you."
But his arms were locked around Daryl's shoulders. He hugged him so tight that it felt like Glenn's own bones were cracking at the force of it. He didn't bother looking at Beth because Maggie was wrapped around her sister so tight he could barely see where one Greene started and the other began; the pair crying at each other.
"Sorry," Daryl said softly, a confession of guilt so quiet Glenn barely heard it but felt it instead. "Took and got her, right before the whole place went under. Didn't let her go."
Maggie eased backwards, holding Beth by the hands, examining her like she was mapping her with her eyes. Coal dust made Beth's hair look grey and it matched the grim painting of walker blood smeared across her skin and dried on. But her arm had a darkening bruise that showed the force of Daryl's grip, something that made the man wince to see. "They were everywhere," Beth said, squeezing Maggie's hands tight. "Daryl kept me going straight, followed them out to the other side."
"We tried to separate but got bunched in the middle. Easier to just head along with 'em. Figured we'd get home one way or another."
"You don't die," Maggie told Beth flatly, heat burning in her stare. "You don't ever get to do this to me again."
"I'm okay, honest."
"She needs water," Daryl interjected. "And I need a gun."
"We're holding that line," Rick said, squeezing Daryl's shoulder. "Haven't lost the place yet."
"Good. Don't."
More bullets fired off. The morning light had come and gone already; burning the sky clean. Glenn had felt sick watching from the look out as the two tried to get close to the hill but kept getting blocked off by accidental friendly fire or the current of the undead. Hours had gone through before they managed to get their feet on the soft swell of the land that came up in a hill, each step an inch that cost time. Saviours drove trucks around threw the herd with snipers up on the roofs, sending the walkers into a fury as they swung around, driving their bloody bullets their way whenever they tried to get a step beyond the walls.
They were being choked off.
Maggie grabbed Beth again, gentler, and held on. Her hand cradled the back of her sister's head like it was a precious thing, eyes squeezing tight as fragments of her heart clicked back into place. A new guilt rose up inside Glenn's own chest as he looked at the pair. "Daryl... Ivy got away from me."
A flinty stare snapped around to him. "What?"
"She was— the noise of the mine coming down drew her over. Ivy knew you were down there... both of you. We all thought you died," Glenn said carefully. "And I made her come back with us. No more playing along with Simon."
Daryl uttered a sharp curse. "She go after that prick?"
"Must've. I turned my back and she was gone. I tried going after her but couldn't. Her tracks..." Ivy was Daryl's child. She knew how to play games with the land. "I think she tried to go at them from behind their lines."
That fire must've meant something. Ivy would have sat somewhere patient just to try and get a good shot at taking Simon down. And, knowing Ivy, would have happily died upon completion.
"His people are still moving in formation. No big changes, no shuffling around. They're on the move," Rick said, peering out a boarded up window to check the inner yard the Hilltop. Trailers were boarded off with wire traps keeping the walkers from coming into the small spaces. One of the barns was gone; a cow bellowing as it was ripped apart, but they were still maintaining their standoff. "I'd imagine if Simon was dead, their moves wouldn't be so uniform. Ivy said they didn't have a strong power structure."
Daryl's hand clenched. "So he's alive."
"Which means Ivy's probably alive somewhere. There's time to get her."
"Fine. How the hell am I getting through that hell?"
Rick dug out keys. "You up for driving in shit conditions?"
"Please," Glenn scorned, yanking the keys from Rick's hand before Daryl could. "Dixon can't drive anything with an actual engine. Give 'em to me."
"Oh, like you're the master of keeping the wheels straight on the road?" Daryl sniped back on reflex.
Glenn rolled his eyes, jangling them. "For the last time, you jerk, it was winter and I was driving with summer tires in the middle of an ice storm."
"Hey—" Maggie cut in, grabbing him by the elbow. "You get back safe. All of you."
Always, Glenn wanted to say. But he had come back in pieces before. He couldn't make guarantees for anything. "We're not coming back without Ivy," he said, because that was a promise that had meaning. They wouldn't be able to.
Rick darted out on their heels as they swung for the massive truck parked off to the side. A walker jumped between them and it and Daryl drove his shoulder into it, ramming it back so Glenn could get up into the driver's seat. Rick spun around and laid out cover fire so Glenn could rev up the engine, spurring the truck to life. He had been used to whipping around Atlanta in stolen sports cars, not driving the shipping trucks. But this wasn't unfamiliar to him. He manhandled the gears into place and jerked the truck forwards, Daryl propelled forward into the dash by the force of it. "Seatbelt!" Glenn called out, twisting on the wheel to avoid taking out one of their people.
Three gangly looking walkers got caught in his path and he gunned it, hitting them at full force. Dark blood splattered across the windshield. Their people were fighting for their home and they were barreling through the thick of it, leaning down low to avoid getting clipped by bullets. "Saw fire right before we saw you guys," Glenn said from around clenched teeth, taking the road down through the horde, trying to angle for thinner patches. If he rammed into the full volume at once, they'd get stuck and frozen. No way out but death. "Betting that was Ivy."
"I just wanted to end it," Daryl said right before he was slammed into the door as Glenn took a tight turn to avoid getting caught out in the soft soil of the field. "Saw that chance sitting there. Couldn't walk from it."
"You should've," Glenn said pointedly, giving the wheel a savage wrench before straightening out. He lost the side mirror to one particular hefty walker that managed to stumble from impact. "That was the dumbest thing you've ever done and I've seen you barbecue wild dog without seasoning."
Daryl sneered lightly, rolling down the window manually to prop the rifle through and trying to take a good shot at one of the shooters they were curving around. "What the fuck was 'seasoning' gonna do?"
"Um, hello? Flavour? Ever hear of it? Wild concept, I know."
The Saviour, who was in the process of turning to meet their movement, sprawled back when Daryl took him clean between the eyes. "She better still be alive," Daryl ground out with frustration. "Told her she was done with this shit."
"Yell at her when we get her."
"Simon'll flay her alive."
Glenn stomped down on the gas harder. Bodies thumped against the truck and he barely felt it, practically wrapping himself around the steering wheel as they flew for familiar asphalt roads. The trees stretched to their shoulder and he craned to look at an abandon pile of cars parked along the overgrown grass and hay. "Would've been up here for her to have started."
Daryl squinted up at it. "Could've gone through the trees and tried. Don't see anybody now."
"What are the chances it didn't go well and Ivy took off on foot back through the trees?"
They exchanged matching grimaces. "There's a spot up ahead. I know the woods go for a stretch but it'll turn neighbour. Always does. Betting Ivy'd went for the cover."
He obeyed the directions and wheeled through, parking hastily when Daryl threw the door open before he managed to hit the brake and jumped down. "Jesus, do you have to do that?" Glenn hissed, scrambling to catch up.
A play structure was rotting from neglect. Years had passed since a child last played in the yard of the house. A plastic tricycle was tipped over on it's side and bleached from the elements, a soft pink when it would have been bright red. He hoped whatever child it belonged to got to grow up somewhere. He hoped the family was somewhere safe and better; a farm or a prison— anywhere that could've been a home.
Daryl had blood smeared across his jeans and boots. Glenn watched and tried to mimic his soft tread, coming around the yard to gauge the backyard space. Patio furniture was knocked across the bricked slabs. Daryl tapped the ragged umbrella that was stuck on it's side and showed the bullet hole that matched the two shot through the wooden slats of the fence. He was silent as he examined the space before moving again, vaulting up over the fence into the next yard.
Withered vines sprawled across where a garden had been. Glenn was never good at recognizing the plants the way Maggie could but imagined beans were planted along the trellis coming around the side of it. A tiny shed was across the way with a sun bleached door locked tight. He saw legs sticking out from the side and Daryl bolted for it, dropping down to check the walker. "Mouth looks clean," Daryl said, grabbing the face and prying the mouth open with the blade of his knife to examine the yellowed teeth. "Nothing showing it biting somebody recent."
Glenn saw a few bodies tangled up by the fence. "These ones got shot down."
"This one didn't. Knife, looks like."
"Okay. So... Ivy came on through here, took this one out? Saviours got the others?"
Daryl gave a sharp exhale. "Just means she's running faster than they are for now."
They migrated around the scant trail. Blood was drying on the side of the house like Ivy had leaned against it at one point, marking it. He tried not to think about what that meant. He tried not thinking about what would happen when Ivy stopped running fast enough to stay in the lead. A few more walkers peppered the space along the neighbourhood, winging through yards and little streets, a literal trail of breadcrumbs.
And blood, he saw. More blood. Red catching the bark of a tree, red on the leaves.
He was tired of his family bleeding because of others.
.
Self destruction was intimacy. It was slipping backwards in time, taking score of pain and damage until it was everything Ivy could ever be again. The only thing she truly had was rage; rage to keep her walking, rage to keep from softening up again to feeling anything else.
Pine trees jutted up at an angle and she veered for it. Their needles came down, catching at her face and hair, and they vanished as Ivy pursed her path deeper. There was a hiding place, she remembered, a place to hide after being hurt once. She had nursed her bitterness and pain as she stitched herself up in the aftermath, hiding in the shadow of a yellow house and abandoned places—
A man lurched from nowhere. She barely saw him before he was on her, slamming them both for the hard ground. "You fucking whore," he wheezed out, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her skull back against the rocks. She screamed, saw black birds wheeling up in the sky surprised by the noise. "You're gonna make me real popular in a few minutes."
Ivy tried biting him. Her blood felt like a different shade of red, something dark and poisoned. It came from inside her so of course it was wrong, she knew. Her nails failed to shred his face and she was desperate, shadows of trees cutting them up as he fought her back down again.
She blinked stars from her vision.
"Is this about love?" Daryl whispered. "This what your heart's telling you to do?"
Ivy tasted blood. It was in her mouth, on her teeth. She screamed again and tried bucking the man off her. "Thought I said you weren't supposed to get hurt anymore. That you were done doing this shit," Daryl's disappointed stung her. Insanity was insanity but wasn't this a kindness? Hearing a soft voice when the real Daryl was dead, dead because of her—
"You were supposed to be living again, Ivy Dixon."
The man didn't even have a reason to hurt her. This was just following commands. Simon wanted her and he was merely an extension of that hand; strangling her slowly until she complied.
She was bleeding and it filled the air with a copper tang. But, she realized, she scented rot beneath it. Ivy fought against the fingers laced around her throat, trying to pry them free just as the shadow of something came overtop of the man. Different teeth came down, vicious as a bear trap snapping shut, grabbing the soft flesh between the shoulder and throat. The man howled in pain, grip slackening as the walker hauled him backwards, holding the prey mechanically as he kept devouring.
Legs kicked. An arm jerked. Skin peeled up. Bright red blood spilled everywhere, marking the soil and the grass, defiling the softness of the woods. Ivy blinked and was in the woods from the beginning; curving her way along abandoned and burnt out farms, unknowingly close to a home she could never imagine. She saw her past unraveled as she blinked, seeing everything all over again.
She got up. Ivy moved away from the man and the walker, staggering off as she gasped for air, massaging her throat.
The trees were the same. Ivy felt lost, spinning around and trying to find a path. She was looking...
Ivy didn't know where she was going anymore.
A fallen branch tripped her and she hit the ground hard, gasping from the pain flaring up at the her shoulder. Sunlight scattered from above and she looked around, trying to focus where she was. She was painting a bright line straight for her for anyone to find and it wouldn't take long for Simon and his people to find her.
Her heart felt like a rock in her pocket weighing her down.
Her ears started ringing again. Ivy peeled herself back up, clambering for balance, forcing her feet to tolerate her weight. Movement from the side distracted her and she whirled for it, facing the man coming through the trees. Daryl. Daryl's voice in her mind, and now the man in front of her.
He was dead. He was dead with gore across his face and clothes. Ivy gasped, feeling a cry she couldn't afford, stepping back. He was dead and undead and Ivy didn't have a single mercy bullet left to afford anyone.
His expression twisted and she turned, limped for the barely visible path. She couldn't kill him. She couldn't hurt him because she was selfish.
A hand clamped down on her arm and she twisted, trying to avoid a messy death like the unknown man. Simon was someone and Daryl was dead, Ivy twisted and thrashed, shoving hard when his arm slammed around her like a vice. "No," she gasped, kicking as hard as she could. "I'm not— this isn't done yet."
Daryl ignored her. He moved faster than she could, dodging her first fist and swinging her around so his arm was across her throat, driving her back into him. Her hands clawed at his forearm for purchased and she felt him rip the knife from the holster at her side, tossing it into the brush—
His hand was warm. His chest rose with a sharp inhale. Ivy's mind reeled, catching up on the facts, desperately trying to understand what couldn't be.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, barely heard as he spoke. "This shit is done."
He hit her hard from behind and the world shuttering in on itself. Darkness bloomed from beyond the stars in the sky. Everyone was dead and she was dying. Her limbs went heavy and she barely felt the arms haul her up properly, sweeping her off of the ground.
She floated above the blood and moss, drifting off into the unknown.