Round in Circles

Willa was really hoping it was all a bad dream. She woke up on the floor of the shack, throat burning and stomach grumbling, and she knew it wasn't. There was nothing there. No food, no water, nothing at all. She knew she had to keep moving if she wanted to live, but Willa wasn't sure living was what she wanted anymore. Rory was gone. What was the point? She fingered the knife, still bloody, by her side. She could end it if she wanted.

Willa closed her eyes and she could hear both of them; calling her an idiot in that way they always did, mischief glinting in their matching stormy blue eyes. She picked the knife up, but only so she could take it with her. She slid the sofa away from the door and peeked outside. Nothing. There were some tracks on the ground, a rabbit or a squirrel maybe, but without her bow Willa probably wouldn't have much luck. She remembered that time they got lost in the woods on a hunting trip and they'd followed some tracks to a stream. Animals always know where the water is, he'd said. She decided to follow the tracks and see where they led her. She couldn't stay where she was any longer anyway.

It seemed like forever that she was walking through the woods. She ran into a couple walkers and gave them what for. Willa lost the tracks after a while and started to wander around aimlessly. When it got dark, she climbed a tree but she didn't sleep. She couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes she'd see Rory's shirt turning red in slow motion. That, or she'd hear a walker somewhere off in the distance. By morning there was two of them at the bottom of the tree. Willa had started to feel a bit lightheaded, probably from lack of water, but she wasn't about to let that stop her.

They went down easy and she was on the move again. It seemed like there was nothing but wilderness for miles and the sharp pain in Willa's stomach kept reminding her just how hungry she was. She found a bush with some berries on it that she really hoped wouldn't make her sick and scarfed them down. They didn't make her any less hungry, but they also didn't make her puke, so she couldn't complain. Finally, just as the sun was starting to get low in the sky, Willa came across a small river. She ran in up to her knees before the cold hit her. She drank until she couldn't drink anymore, and then she just sat there for a while. She was trying to figure out what to do next, where to go, but she really had no idea.

Quietly, Willa made her way up a tree and found a heavy branch to sit on for the night. She didn't sleep, just sat up there with her thoughts. Her stomach growled every few minutes just to let her know it was still empty. She heard biters walking by every now and then and she'd hold her breath until she couldn't hear them anymore. The next morning Willa slipped down from the tree and had her fill of water before moving on. She spent three more days wandering through the woods, avoiding geeks and looking for something, anything. Then she found it. Shoeprints, and not the dragging kind that belonged to the dead. These shoeprints were crisp and clean and belonged to the living. Wherever they led to, Willa was not about to just stroll in the front door. If the person who left them was even still alive, she'd have to watch and make sure he wasn't like the men who'd raided the camp and took Rory from her before she made a move.

It was almost sundown again by the time she got to the edge of the woods, but there was still enough light to be able to see it. A prison with high fences all around stood in the middle of a clearing. There were a few walkers on the outside of the fence, but there didn't appear to be any inside. There was a watchtower, and something glinted inside of it, so Willa knew there was someone there. She scrambled up a tree to spend the night, and picked one with a good vantage point so she could watch the prison.

Just before sunrise a girl in a red t-shirt left the watchtower and a man with dark hair took her place. Though the female presence was slightly reassuring, Willa still wasn't sure if it was safe. After the sun had been up a while, a door creaked open. A boy about Rory's age walked out, a baby in his arms. He put a blanket down and sat on it, smiling as the baby cooed. A old man on crutches hobbled out and said something Willa couldn't hear, and the boy nodded. She decided to go for it. Cripples, babies, teenage boys, how bad could this place be? Willa walked across the field slowly, hoping the walkers wouldn't notice her. She tugged on the gate, but it was locked. The boy turned and saw her, grabbed the baby and ran back inside.

"Hey!" Willa shouted, "Come back!"

The walkers turned in her direction and she knew there was no way she could make it back to the woods so she rattled the gate and yelled some more. The man she'd seen earlier ran down from the watchtower and Willa realized he was younger than she'd originally thought and Asian. The door creaked open and a man with sheriff's uniform ran out. He and the Asian reached the gate at the same time and they both told Willa to shut up as they rushed to open it. A biter slipped in behind her before the gate shut and the Asian boy buried his knife in it's eye socket. As he withdrew it, the girl with the red t-shirt and the old man with the crutches came over and began to take out the walkers Willa had drawn to the gate through the chain link fence.

"Are you trying to attract every walker around?" the Asian boy hissed.

"I'm trying not to die," she replied.

"Is it just you?" the man in the sheriff's uniform asked her.

Willa nodded.

"Where's your camp?" the girl in the red t-shirt questioned.

"Don't have one anymore. Been in the woods for days," Willa shrugged, "You got food?"

Nobody answered her. They all looked around at each other, having a wordless conversation that Willa was clearly not meant to be a part of. The old man nodded slowly at the sheriff and he nodded back.

"How many walkers you killed?" the sheriff threw another question at her.

"Lost count," Willa told him honestly.

"How many people you killed?"

"Three, I think," her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Why?"

"They killed my son," her voice was still soft, "Would've killed me too."

"My name is Rick," the sheriff held out his hand and Willa shook it, "This is Glenn, Maggie, and Hershel. Hershel's a doctor, you should let him take a look at that gash on your arm. Then we'll get you something to eat. You look like you're gonna fall over."

"Feel like it too," she muttered.

Willa followed the four of them inside the prison. They had made the cell block seem almost homey, at least as homey as it can be nowadays. Hershel sat at a table with the little boy, the baby, and a blonde girl. A little further away two men were talking quietly amongst themselves. Rick had disappeared rather quickly and Maggie told Willa he was having a hard time with something and he'd be back around in a while. Maggie put a can of peaches in front of Willa, who devoured them without hesitation. Hershel cleaned the cut on Willa's arm and decided it was shallow enough not to warrant stitches. As she thanked him, her stomach growled and Maggie laughed. She handed her own half-full can of peaches to Willa, who she figured was much hungrier than she was. The cell blocked opened but Willa was too busy stuffing her face to care about more introductions.

"I'm goin' huntin'" said a voice that sounded all too familiar to Willa, "Wanna have dinner that don't come from a can. I'll be back 'fore dark."

She turned around and her breath caught in her throat. Though she could only see the back of him, it was enough. She'd know that angel wing vest anywhere. She whispered his name, and he turned to face her. He stared a long while and she stared right back. Everyone else just watched, hopelessly confused.

"Willa Mae?" he said finally, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

She said the first thing that popped into her head which happened to be, "Hey Daryl."

His eyes darted around expeditiously, "Where's-"

Willa cut him off by shaking her head and he didn't say anything else, just grabbed his crossbow and stormed out. Willa sighed. Apparently not even the end of the world could change Daryl Dixon's ways.