Tonight the World Dies

We settle in a clearing in the forest just as darkness begins to descend. I drop my pack beside Maggie and Glenn. The former has stopped crying, but an almost hopeless look has crossed her features. I recognize the look, as it is a look that others in the group wear, and it is one I wore a long time ago. Glenn steps away to converse with Rick and Daryl over the next plan of action, and I scoot up to Maggie’s side.

“I know…” I choose my words carefully before continuing, “you’re in a very rough place. I understand your pain, your anger, your loss of hope. I can see it on your face. I lost my sister, too, before all of this.” Maggie has turned to look at me now, waiting patiently.

“She was dating a bad guy. Abusive, manipulative. She cut everyone out of her life, including me. We were always close, so when she stopped talking to me all of a sudden, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but before I could find out more, we received a call from local police. Her boyfriend had beaten her to death when he found her trying to get help. The last time I saw my sister was on a medical table with a sheet over her face. I was in a bad place after that; she was only nineteen, still so young before she could live. But she was strong and so I had to become strong for her. I didn’t know Beth, but I know she affected this entire group. I don’t believe in the afterlife or anything, but I do know my sister is still with me, just like I know Beth is still with you. She’ll keep you strong.”

Maggie is overcome by a fresh wave of tears, but then she hugs me tightly. I slowly wrap my arms around her and let her cry, her tears dampening my shirt. Glenn glances over with a concerned frown, but I silently convey with my eyes that I’ve got it. And I do. I hold onto Maggie until she’s pulled herself together and she sits back.

“Thank you,” she says thickly, wiping her eyes. “And I’m so sorry about your sister.”

“I’m so sorry about yours,” I reply, giving her a soft, sad smile. I rest my hand on her shoulder and scoot back to my pack as Rick gives us watch rotations. Mine is second, right after Rick, and part of me is relieved that Rick is including me in his group dynamic.

We dine on the wild turkey Daryl caught; it is gamey, but it is hot and settles nicely in our stomachs. A fire is burning lowly and we circle around it, desperate for its heat as darkness cloaks us all. Promptly after dinner I lay back for a quick nap before my watch starts.

When I am woken, it is by Rick, who is merely a silhouette against the fire. I sit up, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

“If you need sleep, I can have Daryl take over,” Rick says quietly. Automatically my eyes shoot across the fire to the hunter, who is sitting up, wide awake. I shake my head.

“No, I got it. He should sleep though.” I nod in Daryl’s direction. Rick follows my gaze and sighs but says nothing. I take up my post outside the circle, my hand on the butt of my handgun. Cicadas sing their nightly tune around us, and my watch, for the most part, seems to be uneventful.

Until I am joined by Carol, who also seems unable to sleep. I stiffen as she walks up beside me, closer than I would normally like her. I don’t like the looks she’s been shooting me, and having her so close sends my instincts into overdrive. Unconsciously my hand tightens around my gun; I doubt I will need it, but it is a precaution and it calms me somewhat.

Carol is silent for a while, and it only serves to unnerve me even more. Then, she tilts her shoulder closer to mine, leaning her face beside my ear.

“Rick might trust you, but I sure as hell don’t, and neither does he,” she tells me lowly. I turn as she pulls away, her eyes glinting in the firelight. I can’t read the expression in them.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. But if that’s a threat I hear, then it would serve you well to know I don’t take kindly to threats,” I mutter in reply, low but serious. In all actuality, I know she’s saying this because I’ve somehow encroached on her territory—whether it’s her entire group or one hunter in particular—and the implication that she would stop at nothing to keep her group safe has my palms itching.

In response, Carol simply smiles a saccharine smile and steps back, turning to plop down close to Daryl, who unbeknownst to me up until this point has been watching our exchange. She lays back in the leaves and rolls so her back is facing me. My jaw is clenched, her unsaid threat looming between us. My eyes lift to the hunter, wondering if he heard her threat, but I let it go and turn back to the darkness of the woods.

Carol’s threat bothers me more than it should. Not only have I never given this woman reason not to trust me, I have never even attempted anything other than a companionship with Daryl. If I’m to be traveling with this group, I at the very least want to know who has my back. I want nothing to do with romance—much less a romance with Daryl. He’s too broody, too closed-off. I know he has a deep kinship with Carol, and part of me believes she’s just gone ‘momma bear’ on him because of the shit they’ve no doubt been through together. But somehow I know that isn’t as far as it goes, and it irks me that the woman assumes to know anything about me.

The rest of my watch passes uneventfully, and Glenn replaces me. I settle down beside Maggie, using my pack as a pillow. Daryl, I notice, still hasn’t slept, but he is lying down. Carol is still on her side facing him, asleep, but he’s shuffled away a few paces, as if he really did hear her threaten me. He is staring at the canopy above, and, feeling my eyes on him, meets my stare. I give a small nod, I’m not sure why, and then I lay back and roll over, falling into a deep sleep.

The next time I wake, it’s to Maggie, who is gently shaking my shoulder. I sit up, wincing as my back protests. My arm is still sore from its bruise as well as sleeping on it the night before. I rub it subconsciously, the tender skin protesting. I straighten my shirt and stand up. Abraham, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn are huddled around the map, which Rick holds open as they devise a plan. They ultimately decide that Washington is still a good idea; even though Eugene was lying, he’s a smart man and recognized that if there was any hope for a restart, it could be found in Washington. So we all pile back into the two vehicles. I take my place in the firetruck on the floor again, beside Maggie, who I’ve noticed has grown closer to me. Perhaps it’s our similarities in that we’ve lost our sisters by horrible means or perhaps she just needs a female friend to confide in. Either way, I am there when she loops her arm through mine.

The ride is silent, and thankfully, Carol has opted to ride in the other vehicle. I glance curiously at Daryl, and the look on his face makes me wonder if he had any part in that decision. I leave it be, though, and turn to stare out the front windshield, allowing my thoughts to consume me. Absently I rub my arm where it’s bruised and Maggie notices.

“You all right?” she asks quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daryl turn curiously.

“Yeah.” I glance at her and then back to my arm. “Back at the church, a walker got hold of my arm. No broken skin but the bastard bruised it pretty good. Shook me like a chew toy.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’m sure we had something for it,” Maggie tries.

“Like what? It’s a bruise, Maggie, it’ll be fine. Just sore.”

“And your positive it didn’t break the skin?” she asks, her tone dropping near to a whisper. Sighing, I tug my sleeve up despite the resistance from the duct tape and show her. It’s a big purple bruise in the shape of teeth marks, but as I said, there are no breaks and no blood.

“See? Just bruised.”

“Duct tape saved your life.” Daryl’s voice brings my attention to him and I smile slightly.

“One of its many uses. Gonna have to find a roll and fix this sleeve. Fucker put a hole in it,” I say dejectedly, sticking my finger through the slit in the tape. Our dwindling conversation is cut short by the sound of the firetruck running out of gas. It sputters, and Abraham curses as it rolls to a stop.

“Bitch nuts,” he grouses, shoving open the door with more force than is necessary. He hits the ground with a heavy thud, and the rest of us follow his cue. The sun bears down on us, and behind us, Rick steps up to the side of the truck.

“You out?” he asks, and he curses when Abraham tells him yes. “The Ford won’t fit all of us. Guess we’re walking from here.”

And walk we do.