Carrying the Fire

It was quite a bright afternoon under a cloud forsaken sky, a pleasant change from winter's fading chill that could still lingered in the early hours of mornings and late at night from the forests. I blinked slowly and squinted my eyes against the sun baking down, peeking over the top of the building I was standing before to cast a rather dark, omniscient shadow over the concrete sidewalk around me. The glass building was perfectly intact, in such a better condition than I think I ever saw it, I hardly recognized the Torrey Pines Apartments; the front doors weren't broken and a million little shards weren't shattered and glittering across Seventh St. My feet took their own steps towards the building, my hands nervously reached out and experimentally pressed against the glass doors. My fingertips flinched under the cool touch of glass, remembering all too well these doors had been shattered once before, but despite my foreboding I pushed them open to take in the inside lobby. Blood didn't stain the walls like I'd last remembered, papers from the lobby weren't scattered, and furniture wasn't tossed in an upheaval. I walked in what felt like a out-of-body daze, my fingers trailing over the lobby's front desk, freshly painted white, unscratched and unscathed; something that should have been propped up against the should-be smashed glass doors. The elevator that I'd known to always be shut and useless dinged open and I looked up in awe to see the floor's elevator shaft's light up above the doors. Glancing around, I felt perturbed about how deserted it all was, unquestionably creeped out about who could be using the lift from the floors above. Stepping inside on beige floor tiles, I turned around to apprehensively scan the numbered buttons, but my hand froze when the doors made their own decision and the light of the eighth floor illuminated overhead. Bracing a hand against the side-railings as it pitched up, I wobbled as I felt the elevator begin its assent to the top floor. As I watched the floors above the door rise, my hand hastily grab at my side, but found myself patting an empty belt.

When the eighth floor dinged open, I breathed a deep, steadying breath to brave peeking my head out and look down the hall. Inspecting the stairway, I bit my lip at the lit lamps actually working and the bare hallway; the stack of bookshelves, desks, and tables were no longer piled on top of each other blocking off the stairway. After all this time, those seven other floors still intimidated me. Glancing down the rows of apartments, there was one door propped open. My heart leaped in my throat at the familiar apartment number. H7 beckoned me. I hadn't been down this hall in what felt like a whole other lifetime ago, a distinct time ago, when we were all different people before the world changed the nine of us that had once survived here.

But my steps followed me through the door just the same.

Michael Coleman's apartment looked like it had the very first day we'd climbed in through the fire escape. Before all the furniture was pushed back against the walls to create more space for eight more people. The coffee table was still centered, framed portraits all aligned decoratively on its unscratched mohagany table top. Various side tables were still neatly beside the couch and Michael's reclining chair, ceramic figurines and vases back in the places Betty Coleman had last placed them. I treaded towards the closest window with wobbling steps. I reached out to brush my fingers over the plants on the windowsill, still alive and in the sun, not having died long after I remember them withering into nothing but crackling dust when it stopped being watered. I blinked my lashes against the intruding breeze, looking up to see the window was left open about an inch or so, causing the pushed back curtains to flutter against me. The sunshine beamed in just like I remembered it did, at the beginning of all ends in this little apartment.

Still unnerved I'd been unable to find a single occupant, especially any dead, I followed down the hall until I came to the bedroom furthest down. Twisting the knob numbly beneath my hand, I pushed open the door weakly and exhaled a shallow breath at finding the room unoccupied as well. Michael's room looked the same as I always remembered it, full of photographs and memories. Walking meekly to sit down on the bed, I reached over to brush my fingers fondly over the frame of Michael and Betty's wedding photo resting on his bedside table, beside the working bedside lamp and alarm clock that I noted was still ticking. The corners of my mouth curved up at how lovely I had always thought this picture was since Michael showed me; it was very simple, black and white, the two hadn't posed as an eighteen-year-old Michael had his arms thrown around a young girl in a simple white dress. The two weren't looking at the camera taking their picture, but at each other as the newly Mrs. Coleman smiled under her husbands lips against her cheek.

"Find what you're looking for?"

My body whirled around and started at the figure lingering in the doorway. Standing like the man I remember before his health began to deteriorate, I hadn't even heard him come in as he smiled over at me from the hallway. My jaw slacked and my eyes involuntarily watered, once I found my footing I practically lunged to my feet. But still felt too shell-shocked to approach yet.

"Michael." I tearfully choked. My hand crawled up to message numbly over my chest in an attempt to steady the erratic thumping against my breast plate.

"What are you doing here Olive?"

I forgot how much I missed this man who had been through it all but was who I had still tried to shield from the truth of what had become of us towards the decline of his condition. Unable to articulate a response, I realized I couldn't explain why I was here. However, he was patient with me as he stepped further into the room and made to sit down beside me on his bed, still smiling encouraging back at me.

"Oh, Michael." I whispered. "I'm so sorry. The way I left you..."

But there was no offense to be found behind the twinkle of his blue cataracts that hadn't quite fogged yet. His wrinkled, translucent-like hands reached to rest over mine that had been ringing in my lap, stilling me with a smile I recalled so fondly, before it dimmed.

"It's okay."

"I didn't even tell you goodbye." I stuttered anyways. "I wanted to be there for you, when you..."

I was unable to bring myself the finish that sentence, but Michael didn't seem to need me to. He only nodded his understanding. It slowly began to register with me, that if Michael had died yet, was I dead too? Was I meant to return to the start of all this and meet Michael at the end?

"You shouldn't be here Olive," he said, his hand still over mine and his eyes sad. I felt lost and with my next blink, moisture splashed down my cheek uncontrollably.

My lips trembled as a hallow, misplaced laugh escaped me. "I don't know where I should be anymore Michael."

His hand squeezed mine softly, his rough hands comfortingly assuring me. "Just not here," he said. "You can't stay like this anymore."

There were so many things to say but I felt at a loss as my head raced far too fast to grasp at anything to say for too long. Instead, I turned my head down to brush away the straying tears, but when I glanced back at the frame on the bedside table, I was startled to see it was no longer Michael's wedding photo, but the prom picture of Max and Rhian Somerset their senior year- back before they married and my mom still had her maiden name. I was deeply disturbed, not having seen this picture for years and was back in California, I looked back up to tell Michael so, but found the walls were no longer painted coral but light-green. Looking around, I recognized how the room had become my dad's room, the way I remembered it; a desk similarly next to the bed but was much less cluttered by memorabilia as he didn't share his bedroom with another. My eyes stopped on my fathers work boots, tossed in the usual spot beside the door where he kicked them off after he came home.

"Olive?"

I turned back to Michael who was staring with a concerned expression indenting his brow and I hadn't heard if he'd asked me a question. "Did you hear me?"

"No," I replied slowly, my eyes not able to help but drift to the familiar maps of the Persian Gulf hanging on the wall across the room. "No, sorry Michael..."

"I was saying about your reason," he tried again. I felt even more thrown. "For leaving. You remember it don't you?"

My brows furrowed; of course I remembered why I left.

"Before that," Michael interrupted, like he knew I was stewing on all the crimes the Governor and Merle had done against me. "The reason Todd wanted you to leave."

We gotta just keep carrying the fire.

Todd had ignited a reason for me to live, insisting I take the reigns of my own survival and purpose in this new world I had become so lost in. And when the evils and corruption began to leak into Woodbury, he had tried to keep the goodness alight inside his friends. Little did he know, it would extinguish him. He had never told me outright, but I had been convinced Todd would rather me escape with my humanity before being pulled down with the rest of them. Or at least that's what I told myself to justify abandoning Woodbury.

"Yes," I sighed and turned my palm up to return the man's grasp. "I remember."

Releasing me instead, Michael sat up and smiled warmly down to me. "Then you know you can't stay here anymore."

Extending his hand this time to pull me up instead, I sighed and nodded, my mind still wracking itself to try comprehending this all. For only having known this man for about half a year or so, I trusted him unconditionally and felt no fear, only comfort as I grasped for his hand to let him pull me up.

But the second I was on my feet, at first, it was a gradual weight that pulled uncomfortably at my nerves that began to turn into an overwhelming yank back down into my core. As if experiencing the hot scalding all over again, my shoulder throbbed down the rest of my arm and side, causing me to groan and toss. I blinked around the room, the green walls were now beige, children paintings tacked up and a shelf with crayons and markers strewn around. When I looked around the room, I glimpsed blood splashed across the floor and bullet shells scattered before my head whirled, I had to steady myself and take a moment to focus my consciousness. Now this was a sight more believable.

I was alone still; if I didn't see the bootprints smudged into my blood and my half-empty bag beside me, I could have dreamed the strangers who had held me at gunpoint earlier. Remaining silent, I listened to my surroundings, but couldn't hear anything other than my labored breathing. I rested my head back against the mirror I was still slumped against and sighed in quiet relief.

Yet it was short-lived as I dreaded how I'd carry on from this point. Judging by the dim light protruding through the curtains of the room's window, it was either the end of the day or very early morning. Too hurt to really dwell on what time of the day it was, I groggily reached down to brush a hand across my abdomen. It felt like a reflex now, to reach down and touch my protruding belly, assuring myself it was still a present weight inside me even if I had yet to feel it move. This poor thing, I sighed to myself. I was a poor home for such a fragile existence. But I had to hand it to this little fire; if I hadn't lost it from this, it sure was a strong entity. Just like its daddy.

Now its mother had to man up for a change. So I grit my teeth and forced myself to sit up, hearing myself grunt and groan rather unattractively but couldn't give two shits as I tried to steady myself on my good arm that shook like a newborn bird's wings. Struggling to scoot back and lean up on the cracked mirror, I panted from just that effort alone. I was incredibly lost at how I'd even get to my feet. Glancing around, there was a small bookshelf not far against the wall from me weighed down with plenty enough books. I groaned as I made to crawl closer, curling my throbbing arm close to me as I used the other to crawl and heave my body across the wood floor. I didn't care that I was getting more blood on my shirt and smudging it across the floor as I drug my way up. With a shaking hand, I reached up and gripped a hold of the wooden shelf, grasping it tight under my fingers before I braced myself to pull the rest of my body up. Whining under my heavy, dead-weight, I tried awakening my legs to help push the rest of myself up yet they seemed just as unstabe as I attempted to steady myself before toppling back down. Draping myself over the bookshelf, I braced my weight across the top shelf that reached up to my waist so I could rest a moment and breathe through my utter exhaustion.

With my face turned and my cheek lying against the wood shelf, I stared out to the door and despaired at how I'd walk out of this. Where would I even go?

But very similarly to the dead that mindlessly walked the earth, I heaved myself back up and stumbled in a zombified state towards the doorway, but not before taking my bag and M16 by its handles to drag with me to the door frame while my feet fumbled beneath me. I braced against the wood frame to take it slow and try to gather a few more morsels of energy before I could to continue. Keeping my arm outstretched to help steady me against the wall like a blind man feeling his way, I slowly willed my footsteps through the hall the way I remembered coming in. My hands brushed passed the hall, uncaring that I was leaving behind red trail marks across the walls while using them to support myself. When I was able to drag myself towards the back where I'd originally broke in, I took a moment to rest my forehead against the end of the hallway and huffed a few breaths to prepare myself to make it to the backdoor.

Gathering up the strength, I pushed off the wall to hurry and stumble for the door only a few feet aways. My legs shook with the effort of supporting my whole body by themselves and keeping a hold of my gear until I reached the backdoor to collapse against and took more shuddering heaves to collect myself. I trembled with the tremendous exertion, dropping the bag to swipe a hand across my sweat-streaked brow, gulping through my pain as I reached for the knob. Checking and seeing the door was locked despite me having picked it earlier. Hm. Folks must've locked it on their way out. I couldn't help but feel a little appreciative until I brushed the thought away to refocus, unlocking it yet again before I turned it completely. Gripping my sickle tighter in my grasp, I counted backwards before I pushed my weight up against the door to open in a low creak.

Looking around, terrified to be caught by any Biters in such a feeble state, but I didn't see any wandering nearby or hear any of their familiar shambles. Taking a hold on my bag again, I pulled it with me like a wounded snake drags its slow length along and almost tripping over my feet on the steps with what felt like newborn giraffe legs. I reflexively stretched my arm out to help balance myself upright, even without anything around to support myself against while hurrying to kick through the scattered childrens toys. I tangled my fingers through the monkey bar-dome as I passed until I was able to collapse against the chainlink backyard fence. My hands gripped into the overgrown plants, clutching the shrubbery to keep myself upright while I scaled the fence to open the gate outside. Opening the latch, I pulled open the fence gate and proceeded to slowly hobble my way out towards the Dodge still parked outside.

Thankfully, I hadn't parked the car too far away from the gate entrance and was able to hunch over the hood of the car before my legs buckled on themselves from how light-headed I was soon becoming. I felt like I was practically sliding my body across the car as I extended to find the drivers side door. Pulling it open with my good arm, I hardly waited for it to swing completely open before I flopped down on the seat. Leaning my head back, I groaned and squeezed my eyes closed to try and steady my whirling head and ease the rollercoaster ride it was on. When my brain felt it wasn't being yanked too hard from my skull, I slowly was brought back to the present and found myself heaving and hanging half out of the car with the door still open. With the little strength I possessed, I reached open and pulled the handle closed with my fingertips, hardly closing it but that didn't stop me from instinctively pushing the car door lock down. My boots stretched and splayed out under the gas and break pedals as I sunk in my seat, too exhausted to actually recline the seat back.

My arm reached up for the wheel, but my head slumped back as I huffed a heavy sigh at remembering the way I had even driven here. Fuck. There was no way I could even fathom piecing my head together enough to hotwire the car back on, let alone crouch down under the steering wheel to reach the wiring. Without the adrenaline goading me on, my body felt impossibly heavy in the drivers seat.

After everything I'd put myself through; leaving the walls of Woodbury, abandoning my friends, surviving in solitude- it was all for naught. Unlike the waterfall, I felt my chest shudder and a sob escape me at the thought of this all ending here. If anyone found me, I'd be a bled-out corpse locked in this bloodied vehicle. I'd be turned, since there was no one to administer a final deliverance- but what broke my heart the most was the life inside of me that I would fail. I felt the wet drips of tears rolling down my face and gulped back another sob as my bloodied, trembling hand came to rest over the four, almost five month protrusion against my naval. I was alone, like the storm-tossed ship are the hurricane.

"I'm sorry Todd," I whispered between the quiet sobs I was no longer strong enough to contain. "I-I wasn't strong- I wasn't meant-"

My ribs wracked with my sobs as I finally let myself unravel. This facade I had tried so desperately to keep up cracked like the mirror I'd kept my body pressed against; the weight of it all finally caved me in and broke my resolve into fragile miniscule shards. I let Todd slip between my grasp when I let him leave with Merle on that last supply run...and I had let failed Penny, unable to save her, and now this life that hadn't even had a fair shot, even before it left my womb.

I never wished more I could have died the day Merle showed back up through the walls alone.



If days passed, I was hardly conscious long enough to count just how many. I drifted back and forth between Michael's apartment and the drivers seat of the battered up Dodge. When my eyes were too heavy to keep open anymore, I wandered in and out of rooms searching for Michael, who never reappeared again no matter how many times I called out for him. I woke up again in darkness, everything
still the way it was and my bag still resting on the passengers seat, unzipped but all its content still peeking out and looked accounted for inside. Making to sit up, the second my shoulder jostled, I remembered the familiar sharp pain shoot through my arm and paused to get used to the raw stretch of my shoulder.

Gritting my teeth, I shakily sat up to rest my back flat up against the seat. Glancing down to look at my wound, I grimaced at seeing my bandaged up, blistered laceration. It was hard to believe I had to mutilate myself for a chance to heal. And now healing would be the trickiest part. I still felt much too tired to poke and prod around to see the full extent of damage, but with what I could remember it looked like under the girl's wrap job, a growth of fear developed deep within the pit of my stomach. Underneath the layer of burnt flesh, I still had to worry about the extent of the blunt force trauma; I definitely had extensive soft tissue damage and could possibly have nerve or even bone damage. Looking to Todd's sickle I'd thrown beside my bag and rifle in the darkness, a terrible realization rippled through me. There would be no way I could swing the curved blade around with my wounded arm in such a condition. And especially not through skull and brain matter, or the vertebrae of a Biter's neck. Unfortunately enough, I wasn't left-handed either. It seemed, instead of being the hand I favored for writing, it had become my drawing arm with my bow and now the hand that sliced with Todd's sickle. If I hadn't received severe enough nerve damage, I still would be looking at quite some time I would need to hold off on using my right arm.

How was I going to go about adapting to this? I thought mournfully. Like a stone, I felt my spirit begin to sink.

Merle had managed to survive with his whole right hand amputated- but he had us, a group, watching his back in the few weak months of recovery he endured through. Safety in numbers had been efficient enough back then and allowed him the time to adapt to becoming completely dependent on his left hand. Merle was a survivor; a man born to adapt in the darkest and dankest of shitholes, so it hadn't taken the man long at all to adjust and in no time I watched him thrive with the new addition of his bayonet we helped him replace his absent hand. But living in solitude, in this new world, there was no allowed time between me and the next hungry corpse coming my way. I felt like no more than a straw on the torrent of this world's will, with only myself to rely holding on against its thrashing malice.

Just have to handle what I can at a time, I heaved to myself, closing my eyes to gather a moment to collect my despair to try clearing my head. When I fluttered my lashed back open, I turned to my bag, groaning at trying to lift my arm; I couldn't even begin to imagine trying to raise it above my shoulders. I twisted so my other arm could reach over to help fish through the miscellaneous baby supplies and provisions to find an already half-drunk water bottle I had stashed inside. Looking back down at the wrapping over my arm, I decided the bandages had been on long enough and would have to change them to keep them from crusting onto the burn. Rather than go through the trouble of unraveling them, I grabbed my small spare knife I'd slipped inside my pants pocket, fumbling with my left hand a bit, but sliced the bandages open. Even though the girl Maggie, had wrapped my shoulder up loose enough, the gauze still deflated and stuck against the raw flesh underneath. I had to slowly peel back the layers, causing some parts of the wound to reopen and dribble out fresh blood. Hissing as I was able to unstick the last of the wrap, I let them fall somewhere between the middle console of the car but was already forgotten about and hurried to take a small sip from the plastic 6oz, savoring the liquid in my dry mouth. What I wouldn't give for it to be alcohol. I braced myself, then tipped the lid over the charred, inflamed contusion. My body writhed and I gasped through a few whimpers as I poured the lukewarm water over my burn in a trembling dribble. I could have crushed the thin plastic in my hand from the pain but I tried to remain mindful to spare the little remaining water so I weakly screwed the cap back on and let it fall with the rest of my gear.

Slacking my head back against the head rest of the seat before I realized I was fading back out, but it was too late by the time I tried scrambling to grasp onto consciousness. Before I could re-bandage my shoulder, I found myself slipping back into a fog to wander the rooms of Michael's apartment again. By the time I reawakened, the sun was beaming in early through the east, bright arrow-like rays shining in through the rolled up car window, but despite the sunlight my consciousness was only fleeting before I slipped back under the black waves of sleep. When I awoke next, it appeared to be dusk outside, the glow already gone on the clouds at the close of day and the sky dappled with a soft amethyst mist over dusk's orange hue. With the same aching pain I was becoming familiar with, I felt utterly weak and could barely lift my arm to reach to grasp the handle of Todd's sickle for reassurance. When I turned my head, if my body didn't feel so heavy, I would have jumped at the sight of a Biter pawing against the car window I'd been slumped against. I was revolted to look down to see the rotting corpse on his knees, licking fervently at my blood sticking to the car door on the outside as the dead man's hands slapped against the glass for its donor.

"I ever get a fucken break around here," I groaned as I shifted to try and sit back up. But at my movement, this seemed to antagonize the starved Biter, growling more manically as it began trying to claw its way against the car door and to its feet. As it rose, I disgustingly took in this reanimated corpse staring straight at me with its dead, white eyes and only the glass of the window between us. Unfortunately for this man, it seemed he'd had large portions of his arm bitten off by the looks of the jagged teeth marks all up his forearm. His flesh on his arm was almost completely rotten, practically black and purple all the way up past his elbow.

I had little strength to pick up Todd's sickle I had clutched to the right of me, but I sucked my lip between my teeth and instead goaded up the will in my left hand. Thankfully, this car's windows weren't automatic, so I reached down and slowly rolled down the window until about an inch was cracked open. This drove the Biter wild as it snapped and growled into the open sliver to try any ways possible to get to my living flesh on the other side. Grabbing for my knife in my lap, I fisted my hand over the handle, wrapping tight around the blade even if the angle of my aim was awkward in my odd hand while I tried to control my shakes at the same time. When I finally brought the little knife up towards the jaws of the wailing Biter, I swung my fist out to stab the blade repeatedly through the crack and into its tongue, mouth, teeth and anything else I could reach, uncaring if I was practically slamming my fist into the car door with every stab until it slopped against the window, gurgling its last growls before sliding down the door, smearing his decayed, black blood across the glass. I hadn't been aware I'd been yelling until there was nothing left to stab and I was out of breath, panting as my remaining energy slunk away from me again. My hand fell back into my lap, heavy as I tried to fight against more darkness. But I wasn't strong enough.



The next time I came too, I could barely raise my head as every movement felt labored and sluggish, my limbs an extra ten pounds to lift. For a moment, I was startled to not find myself in bed in the apartment I shared with Todd at Woodbury. But when I looked down at my shoulder still gaped wide open, I was reminded of my predicament as my brain hurried to catch up. Brian or Merle weren't a few doors down, and Penny wouldn't be waiting downstairs having breakfast with Philip before the start of the day. Much too fatigued to do much of anything, I could all but succumb to the tears dribbling down my face at the cold remembrance of my solitude, like a caged creature I had become trapped in exhaustion inside this vehicle. What I wouldn't give to at least be back in my tree at least, hidden from the world's exposure above the branches.

Yet as I stared out the window and into the daylight, I realized the roar that must have awoken me was much too loud to be a hymn inside my head. My head rolled against my shoulder to get a look outside the glass beside me. I gasped at more unpleasant company, this time there were two banging outside the window leering savagely in at me as their fingers tried slipping through the window crack.

When I begun to realize I couldn't hear the loud roar any longer, there was a loud smack against the window. At first I was horrified the Biter was trying to smash its way through when ones head bashed against the glass. But I watched its monstrously desperate expression deflate, like someone had pulled the plug on its reanimation before slumping down with the other corpse I'd stabbed, its companion Biter slipping down the door to join them a second later.

It all happened so fast, my heart felt like it was ripped straight from my chest by an ice-cold wind when a figure stepped in the way of the sun beaming in through the window. There was a loud scrape and to my horror, the lock on the door pooped up and abruptly swung wide open. Splashed with ice-cold panic, my body thrashed in its seat at the realization of an intruder despite the
searing of my shoulder. Animalistic fear numbed my pain enough to grasp for the sickle I'd still been holding onto in my sleep to lash out at whatever had gotten inside but before I could swing up my weapon, both my wrists were snatched and held still down by my sides, almost yanking my shoulder and causing me to yelp.

"Hey, hey-" I writhed under whoever had pinned me, a rasp that could be mistaken to quiet a frightened stallion cornered in its stall. I cried out tearfully, but it wasn't until the person restraining me blocked the daylight from outside again and silenced me. "Ey- easy!"

Taking in the face of the stranger, I realized he was in fact familiar. I recognized the manageable mop of sandy-brown hair falling over bent brows, like cliffs furrowing over cobalt eyes with a face writhen like a rain-washed crag. I saw something move behind him, and as I squinted against the blinding sunlight I glimpsed it was a person with their back turned, a gun poised to fire in their arms. The man didn't seem concerned by the other living-being as he released my hands after I'd settled down, prying both blades from my grasp without more than a pathetic struggle from my behalf, reaching over to flick up the passenger door's lock beside and behind me before retracting back out of both our personal spaces. For a moment I was completely dumbfounded by what he could be doing here after his last departure, and it wasn't until it comprehended with me the other person must be another group member of his did I remember our deal. Our deal. It felt like my fright shriveled within my chest, instead turning into an dead-weight of loathing that hallowed me out. My eyes narrowed at my utter fucking stupidity.

Before I could retort, I was startled at barely noticing the second stranger had quietly made their way around to open the other unlocked door. They didn't waste a moment pushing my equipment to the floor to make room to slide in and quickly shut the door behind them. I lunged back against the seat but was just as hastily held back at the sight of a crossbow and it's loaded bolt practically up against my cheek in my peripheral.

"Make one move," he threatened very quietly, his glare penetrating as he locked in for any abrupt stunt from my part. "She don't mean harm."

The person who had been covering his back was staring wide eyed, but stoically quiet as they watched across from me. Their short, silver-like salt and pepper hair had me mistake them for a guy for a moment, maybe even a boy at how slight their frame looking outlined by the sunlight. But when I focused a bit longer, their face was much too soft to be a man's but much to creased to be a boys. I watched contemptuously as the woman nudged my rifle that she had deposited on the floor closer behind her feet carefully. Leaving me truly weaponless. I gaped as he flicked my lock back down before closing the door in my face, quickly finding myself truly surrounded now when he slid in behind me. I only had to turn my head a few notches before I could already see he had his crossbow trained on the back of my head behind my seat after shutting his door behind him.

"The hell is this?" I breathed in bitter fury. These people were complete strangers to me, but at the remembrance of the formula and baby clothes I had exchanged, I felt utterly betrayed. And that burned me more horridly than my shoulder ever could.

"What's it look like," a gruff murmur came from behind my seat.

"This wasn't the deal," I coldly grit through my teeth between pain and resentment. So hurt, I couldn't stand to look back and could only stare straight ahead, practically seething in my seat bearing the consequences of my stupidity in cold stoic.

"Yeah well this wasn' exactly my plan neither," he huffed.

"Maggie told us what you did." The woman's voice suddenly interjected. It was so soft beside me it almost startled me. She sounded kind; the yin to her group member's yang. It was so delicate, I wanted to snarl back at such deceitfulness. I had already been foolish enough to have thought the girl Maggie had been kind.

"It was supposed to be an exchange for you people to leave me alone." I felt a bit harsh with my clipped tone against her soft, melodic one, but I was much too anxious by their intentions to dwell on courtesy. She didn't seem too phased by this however as she continued to sit rather calmly beside me.

"She also mentioned what condition you're in."

I looked back into this woman's eyes; her gaze glimmered over at me, almost star-like with an undefined sadness in her pale face. I could only fidget uncomfortably, trapped against the locked door. "You're saints now are you?" I mumbled indignantly.

Rather than offend, a wane smile slid across her face, warming like a pale wintry sunshine before she briefly glanced back at her protector in the backseat. Returning her gaze, she shook her head.

"No," she said. "Just a family."

I couldn't help but laugh. It was lusterless and cynical sounding, and I wasn't sure if I had either become bold or mad but tears were brimming my eyes. "Hmph, family," I huffed under my breath like a joke between my teeth. A heavy swell rippled from the back of my throat at such a word."Some family you lot got."

I remembered when I had a family too once. Before the apocalypse and after. Or so I thought I did. Now they were all either dead or wanted me dead. I always had a stigma for fucked up families.

"Mighty big talk comin' from you." I glanced over at the indignant mock. "Three days in the same place. Ain't got too many friends lookin' for you now do ya'?"

My mouth was already gaping to snap back before his words really sunk in. Had it really been three days? I tried not to let my surprise mar my face too obviously, but I felt if I spoke my voice would give me away. But before I could come up with what to respond back with, the woman beside me interrupted.

"We just thought," she started hesitantly for a moment. "If your group hadn't come for you yet, we could extend the courtesy you showed us."

My eyebrows furrowed. "What, to help you sleep better at night?"

I knew it was cruel, and this woman didn't deserve my attitude. But with how exasperated I was with my situation, the bad hand I seemed to continuously be dealt left no room but bitterness to hide all my terrible sorrows. The woman beside me seemed taken aback for a moment before her small lips frowned, pronouncing the small wrinkle lines in her face and I could have sworn the man practically growled behind me.

"You all got a newborn to look after," I said, rolling my head to turn away and look out the window, glancing around to see if there were anymore attracted Biters around to avoid the woman's stare. "I guess you wouldn't be getting much sleep anyways I expect."

"From what Maggie tells us, you've got your own to look after as well."

My gaze wandered down to my lap for a long moment, drifting sadly to my bump I was almost scared would disappear. I felt horrible at how neglected this baby must be without food and hardly any water for three days. It was a wonder how I hadn't lost it. There wasn't really a point to lie about it at this point; with Todd's jacket forgotten back inside the daycare, I'm sure my face was much too gaunt and my belly much too swollen against my shirt to deny.

"We have a doctor- sort of speak," she continued. "He told us a few things to help with your shoulder. He helped one of our group during her pregnancy-"

"You've done enough," I cut in curtly. "Listen," I tried a to reason behind the disgruntled mood my wound was influencing. "As kind as I might want to believe your intentions may be- you can understand why I can't afford to take chances. Just leave me the fuck alone alright?"

"Sure don't got much've a chance laid up in here."

Pricked by this asshole's remarks for the last time, I reared around angrily, uncaring that he held his crossbow alert in my face. "Yeah well what do you care?" I meant to snap back with venom, but the thick dam in my throat was working too hard to contain tears and it sounded pathetic out of my mouth.

For a man who trained his gaze almost intensely as his weapon, he was quiet and his eyes shifted to the other woman in the front seat for a long moment, almost as if this was an uncomfortable question. When his eyes fixed back on me, he met my own stare as he said, "I don't."

All I could do was stare for a long moment. Before I had the chance to stiffle my face, the corner of my lip twitched as I felt myself break out into a grin like I was either going mad or about to stroke. Those were the most believable words I'd heard all conversation. And for some reason, I thought that was really fucking hilarious.

The two companions exchanged another long, uneasy stare. "They do," he replied, jutting his chin back up to the front where the woman was watching our exchange silently.

I could only halfheartedly keep my lips from trembling too fiercely as I offered her a small, weary smile before I leaned my head back against the seat, exhausted trying to blink back the rapidly building liquid clotting my lashes. I felt too weak to do nothing but surrender and had to restrain laughing anymore at how ironic this gesture seemed. As if kindness was being force-fed to me. If it was to be these people to strip what little supplies I had left from me, so be it. I just hoped they'd pull their triggers on me before they departed.

"The highway was too crowded for us to get here by a vehicle," she tried. "We had to take Daryl's bike here so our doctor couldn't make it out. He gave us antiseptic and more bandages you should use."

I felt my face frown bemusedly over to her; I hadn't been blocked too badly to travel south on the highway here, I noted they must be coming from further north. And at the mention of a bike explained the loud high-pitched rumbling I'd been hearing.

"Why you?" I couldn't help but interrupt. "You have medical experience?"

"No," she replied after a moment. "You could say experience is the key word these days."

Isn't that the truth, I thought, especially under my own predicament. My existence felt nothing but trial and errors.

"Maggie also mentioned you telling her you were an EMT," she went on. "I'm sure the world's greatest surgeon would find himself hard pressed to operate on himself."

"It's not like this needs surgery," I sighed heavily, not so much at this group but my the impending days to come that would be my true struggle. "If infection doesn't take, it's just something I'll have to let heal on its own."

"Clean it yet?" she asked, unaffected by my pessimism. I shook my head, fidgeting as I nervously peeked back to keep an eye on Daryl, the woman called him, who was remaining curiously quiet. only observing while continuing to cover his partner from the backseat. Much like every time I had run into this guy. There was another silent moment between us that was uncomfortable in the presence of these strangers. It wasn't broken until the woman took the initiative to reach down and begin unzipping her bag from her lap. I watched her pull out a pair of hand towels and a couple bottles of water I eyed skeptically. Before she went to unscrew the cap off one of the bottles, she stopped to measure my reaction before proceeding. Yet I couldn't help but feel baffled when my paranoia tried to run away with me. If they intended to dispense of me, why would they take the trouble to clean and dress my wound? Either way, I could only relented in such a predicament and nodded slowly for her to continue, so nervous I felt myself shiver a little. She didn't waste another moment proceeding to tilt the bottle down, only slightly enough to trickle out a small, controlled stream to soak a part of a towel. When it was efficiently wet, she was careful to lean cautious over to peer at the exposed burn over my shoulder. My breath hitched when she experimented with a delicate dab first, allowing me to become accustomed to the coolness against the raw wound before proceeding. Besides our breathing, no other conversation carried out as she continued to pat at the burn, hurting some places more than others when I felt her trying to wipe away crusted blood that had already dried. I was at least grateful I didn't have to urge her to be gentle.

"Someone did this to you?" she asked.

"Yeah," I grumbled, thinking back to the dead mother and fawn. "Some psycho, would've axed me in the face for a damn deer-" I winced as she brushed over a particularly caked over spot of flesh.

When I felt her administrations take a longer pause, I looked up to see her frozen over my wound, her gaze turned to meet the man, Daryl's own stare that he returned just as strangely. Something about what I said seeped disturbed looks across their faces. I figured they must just be disgusted as I was about the heartless rogue's scavenging any means necessary, but before I could ask what was wrong, she just continued to wipe clean my wound. She was generous enough to wipe away the blood caked around my clavicle and had even attempted to wash away some of the dried trails that had leaked down my arm all the way from the wound atop my shoulder.

"Did he see that you were...?" I flinched at her next dab, not from the pressure but the sting of her inquiry. Yes, someone tried to murder me even knowing my condition. Did she want me to divulge how no one gave a shit about me? I just nodded, my mouth too dry to formulate the words.

"What happened to him?" she asked. I was about to shrug but remembered that might not be the best idea.

"Dunno. Biters must've heard us, he ran off when a herd came through." There wasn't much else to say, so we remained quiet again. I at least appreciated no one voice how hopeless I was out here.

"Get'a look at 'em?" I could see I had pricked even the bowman's interest and was surprised to see his arm had lowered enough to lean his elbow on his side door, his weapon's trigger still under his finger but propped up against the window. It was still aimed, but much more relaxed. I'm sure I didn't come off as much of a threat anymore.

Thinking back to the man, I did remember how strange his penitentiary-like outfit was. "I did," I started slowly, still in a deep troubling thought, "Bald black guy, had this prison-looking getup on. Didn't ask too politely about where my group was."

My answer seemed descriptive enough and the man only exchanged another long glance between the woman in the front seat with me. He nodded and didn't press for anymore questions as his friend finished cleaning what she could from my shoulder before she went riffling through her bag some more. I arched a brow at the tube she finally brandished out from her bag, recognizing the A&D.

"I have my own," I started. I didn't want to owe anyone anything. Merle and Philip taught me as much.

"Maggie said you didn't have much left," she said, a small smile giving away that she had anticipated my misgivings. "You'll need more than a few treatments worth."

The woman in the passenger seat observed me with what felt like a sad stare, like she was quietly urging me to take the antiseptic ointment. When I shifted my arm, I hissed between my teeth at its aching pull, reminding me how bone-tired I was to try applying the gel myself. The truth of her words were what convinced me to let myself ease back into the seat to allow her to continue.

"I have q-tip swabs in my bag," I relented.

The silver-haired woman nodded, leaning down to push aside her backpack to rift through my already open one. I felt uneasy, much like I had with Maggie when she had went through my things, but allowed her to move my personal affects around until she pulled out the first-aid kit I'd salvaged from inside the house I was parked behind. Popping open the plastic case, she carefully sifted through what supplies were left and retrieved the small case of q-tips that were unused. She uncapped the antiseptic tube and squirted out a gob of gel across the cotton-tip like one would apply their toothpaste.

"Dab it first," I whispered as I noticed her pause to hovered over the open wound. "Then roll it."

She was gentle about spreading the first glob of ointment, distributing the gel without dragging over my tender flesh too harshly as she rolled the q-tip over the wound. But no matter how gingerly she treated my shoulder, I still had to gnaw at my lip to keep from groaning like too big of a bitch.

"How far along are you?" she asked not looking up from her work, surprising me at her sudden forwardness. Eying her over, she must at least be in her late-forties or early-fifties; it wasn't unlikely for a woman her age to have bared her own pregnancies and had her own children. It wasn't until she looked up at last from her work; the gleam in her bright-blues told me she knew the weight of responsibility I carried.

"Four months, give or take." I mumbled, shifting my gaze back down to watch her switch sides on the q-tip and squeeze on more antiseptic.

"Just past the first trimester," she observed softly. "You'll never stop feeling sensitive, but you've made it through the sick months."

Another small smile crept up on her, emphasizing her laugh-lines that had softly begun to indent with age. My gaze flickered back uncomfortably to see her friend in the backseat behind her, his eyes shifted downward as if he was just as uncomfortable with this conversation.

"I carried twice myself," she informed, rolling the goed-tip of the cotton swab from the top of my shoulder to spread a little further where the flame had licked. "Sick as a dog for both."

Pausing in her work, I caught her looking down at my rounding tummy I was growing increasingly self-conscious about. She offered a sad little smile when she looked back up to return my stare. "My first, I didn't carry nearly as long as you," she told me, continuing to gob up my shoulder. "I miscarried before I even really told anyone."

I watched her gaze flick back to her friend sitting behind her who's whole posture had tensed, unable to miss the way his jaw was twitching as he gnawed his top lip. This was definitely a defining subject and I felt I was intruding on such an intimate conversation.

"When I had my little girl, I was miserable," she went on, almost thoughtful in her own recollections. "My second was much later in my life. And it was real hard on me, on my body."

She worked as she talked, never pausing between applying the ointment and switching clean q-tips, but she was careful and seemed efficient enough. She reached back into her bag and brandished a roll of gauze, already beginning to unravel it around her hand as she seemed to be measuring how to position it to wrap around my sticky shoulder. I wasn't sure what the purpose was, indulging me with the details of her life, but I suspected she was trying to keep my mind elsewhere than the hideous burn. I had yet to openly talk about my pregnancy, so I couldn't help but listen to this mother's every word as she talked about her own. It wasn't like I had ever had a discussion with my own about motherhood; having experienced my little sisters own horrendous birth, I was too afraid to ask about how she had been with Nat and I. My grandmother had never talked too fondly about that subject either.

"I'm sorry," were the first words that tumbled from my lips in a sigh. I felt awfully guilty. People like my mother, abusing and giving less than two shits about what she'd been blessed with while women like the one next to me, actually desired and ached for what others obtained so carelessly. People like me, who despaired rather than rejoiced. It still terrified me everyday that my numbness towards this little fire inside me would never fade and I would forever remain impassive, only taking care of myself as a guilty obligation.

But she didn't know me. She didn't know what a monster I was, of what a hateful person I had become, so she just nodded like I was empathizing. It didn't take her too much longer to wrap up my shoulder, considerably neater than the other girl Maggie but appreciated just as skeptically. I eyed the small knife she brandished from her belt very carefully, feeling my lips tighten even as she only used to it split the gauze from the roll to tuck and tie into the underlying layers. I eased when she slipped her knife back away and watched her slip the rest of the roll into my open bag down at her feet, then reach to dig into her own until she fished out what looked to be a rattling prescription bottle.

"Prenatal vitamins," she explained, her face somber as she stuffed them in my bag as well. They wouldn't be needing those anymore. Digging back again through her pack, my eyes widened at seeing her slide a few cans and a pack of chips in mine."You should be gaining more. I'm surprised your hair hasn't fallen out by the state of you."

"I'll get on that," I mumbled, unable to restrain my sarcasm but she paid it no mind as she tossed in the A&D tube as well.

"What about your group?" The question was back up in the air and I felt myself guard back into myself, already thinking of what I should say.

"I dunno," I sighed under my breath, shifting my gaze carefully to avoid their stares. "Guess I'll have to wait it out till they find me."

It was then I used the persistent question I'd been mulling over to redirect this conversation. "What about yours?" I asked. The two practically froze in their seats. "Everyone else from this family of yours comfortable with you just giving away supplies?"

I looked expectantly to the man behind me, already seeing his eyes narrow and his face draw in a sneer. But the woman was kind enough to deflect anymore rude comments.

"Some don't need to know," she sighed. I wondered how many others of her group were as kind as her. Obviously Daryl was firsthand proof about some others having their own misgivings- and I could understand that.

"Can't you drive back?" The woman asked. I couldn't help but silently touche her own diversion.<

"Had to hotwire this," I replied. "Was meaning to try, but I can't imagine driving at this point."

She nodded, her eyes thoughtful while I watched them roam over her work on my shoulder before she bent down to zip her bag back up. Her brows were furrowing in contemplation, like her thoughts were troubled. I could only imagine what kind of look I'd give someone if I ran across them in such a state. They'd seem like goners to me.

"Shoulda' stayed inside," another rasp came from behind. "Windows ain't nearly tinted enough, can see right in."

It wasn't like I didn't know this, but I refrained from saying so and just acknowledged him with a small nod. "Well hopefully I won't be staying here too much longer," was all I could say. Hopefully.

"Should get goin'," he mumbled, now that everything was situated and put away. He seemed a little less aggressive about their departure than last time, but just as uneasy as he continued to scan outside the car window for any approaching threats. The woman nodded her agreement, a bit tentatively but followed his lead without any disagreement. Looking back, I saw the guy in the backseat reaching for the door handle, bracing himself to spring out from the back where he seemed confined.

"Tell your friend thanks for the shout-out," I said, catching them before they got out. I glanced back at Daryl and nodded. "I'm sure it took something to convince you back." Then I added, in all seriousness. "But you shouldn't do it again."

If this woman was truly without an agenda to come all this way out to help a complete stranger, she was too genuine to trust with this world's intentions. She seemed almost disappointed at such a response, but I turned to the ever silent observer in the back, knowing he understood.

"Its too dangerous to have a conscience in this world anymore." I felt a chill go up my spine. The words just came out and it rattled me to remember they once belonged to Philip. But this woman's statue-like guardian only stared back in silence, his eyes squinting over at me. I felt hesitant he might take it as a threat and I could tell it was something he was definitely mulling over, but if he thought it was too sketchy, he didn't respond as threatening as I'd seen him before. The two seemed to distinguish what I said without words needing to exchanged to acknowledge they knew. Daryl relented to crack open the door to step out but I hurried to stop the woman before she followed.

"Hey..." I couldn't my voice from faltering at such a bold thoughts circulating about our conversation. I would never see this woman again anyways.

"Carol." I was startled out of my thoughts and probably gawked like a confused fool for a moment. She just smiled and tried again, "My name's Carol." I nodded slowly, thinking how fitting her name was and tried to stretch my lips up at her gesture.

"Can I ask you..." I began in almost the barest of a whisper. "When you lost your baby...did it feel real to you?" Carol stopped and stared long at me. I felt myself blanch and felt about to babble my apologies at such a question.

"I mean, since you lost it so soon," I tried to clarify the scrambled emotions I had only let swirl about in my mind these whole four or so months. "Does it hurt just as much, even though you never knew it?"

Carol's hands slipped from the door handle as she thought to herself for a good long while. Almost so long I felt Daryl shift behind us, looking uncertain to step in and steer the attention from her.

"Yes," she replied softly, with a chill of her cold truth. "It hurt just as much to lose a child after twelve years or a month."

My heart shriveled, like it ached just to think of an aftermath without this fire to keep kindling. I faced a long, dark road, if Todd's baby survived or not from this point on. I didn't know what I could say to something so profoundly sad to hear this woman had lost both children in her lifetime. No doubt she lost her second to this carnivorous world. It seemed a little girl's innocence could not endure this new existence.

Daryl slipped quietly out from his seat without a word, we watched him step around the car, his bow raised as he scoped around the perimeter. The woman waited, trusting him take care if there was danger and almost dutifully waited for him to give the all clear. I noted Maggie had acted very similar, comfortable with her safety in his hands. Not long after, there was a low whistle, just sharp enough to get Carol's attention and she opened the car door to follow out. But before she shut the door, leaving me alone again, she leaned down to peek her head through.

"You do know them," she added before her departure. "You know your baby the moment you know it needs you."

My lip twitched upward. "Thanks for caring, Carol," I said, tilting my head to the woman, she eventually pulled away and it felt lonely with the shut of the door behind her.

As I stared down numbly, mulling over Carol's words, I lurched as my door opened. All of a sudden, both my sickle and knife were deposited back on my lap. When I looked up, Daryl was squinting down at me. The way he gnawed down at the inside of his cheeks and the way he fidgeted in his stance over me, I felt there was something he wanted to say. Yet after a long enough moment, he only nodded before closing the door back behind him.

I was left holding my weapons alone, listening to the roar of Daryl's bike fade into the distance.