CHAPTER THIRTEEN keep us safe

"Don't come any closer."

I BARELY FELT my boots hitting the pavement anymore. Every step I took was muted, like my feet weren't really touching the ground. They only moved because they had to. If I stopped, I would collapse. I was moving on autopilot. The rhythm of our feet shuffling in sync was the new white noise. Tara stopped making jokes days ago.

I scanned everything without meaning to. Every dip in the shoulder of the road. Every shadow casted by the tree branches. Every flicker of movement that's either a walker or my eyes playing tricks on me. A rusty can glinting in the sun. A sun-bleached doll missing an eye. My eyes kept finding things to occupy my brain, even though none of them registered. Not really. If I let myself think, I'd break in half. So I don't.

I just walk.

One foot. Then the other. Again. Again. Again.

The road was endless. Like time didn't move. A walker could've stumbled out of the woods and I wouldn't even blink.

My stomach rolled violently. It clenched in hunger, but it was more than just that. It lived in my spine and spread into my ribs until the thought of food alone made me nauseous. I'm so hungry that it hurts. I'm so tired that the ache in my bones feels normal. I barely noticed the sun that beat down on my back. My shirt clings to my skin, sweat soaking the collar, but my skin felt cold. The air was hot and thick, pressing down on my throat like a choking force. My mouth tasted like ash and my lips were cracked so badly that they bled if I opened my mouth.

Sixty miles. Sasha had said there was sixty miles to D.C. Maggie's shoulders dropped a little lower, even though I didn't think that was possible. "I wasn't talkin' about that," she had mumbled.

How much longer until someone dropped. Fell over and couldn't get back up. How much longer we could keep pretending we were all gonna survive this.

When the dogs came, snarling and wild-eyed, I didn't flinch. Not when Sasha shot each one, fast and clean. Not when Rick started cooking them. Not when I sat by the fire. I didn't feel the heat of the flames. Only the sharp, coppery stench of blood and burnt fur.

When someone handed me a piece of meat, I took it without looking. My hands shook- my entire body shook, actually. It shook like I was freezing, even though sweat coated my entire body. I stared at the chunk of meat on my palm, fingers curling around it tighter until my nails dug into my flesh. It was just food.

It had to be.

I have to eat.

The smell of it alone was wrong. It made me gag before I even Brough it to my lips. I press the meat to my mouth and bite down. It was tough and chewy. It didn't taste the way I expected- it was smoky, gamey. Wrong. My throat clenched, trying to force it back up. I have to force myself to swallow. My jaw aches as I chew and swallow and breathe through my nose. It's not a pet. It's not a pet. You never had a pet. You don't care. You have to eat. Just eat.

We all chew in silence. Like maybe if we don't speak, it wouldn't feel as wrong as it was. Like maybe if we don't look at each other, we could pretend we were still human.

The sky cracked open sometime later.

Right after we came across bottles of water 'from a friend'. No one dared to touch it except for Eugene. It started out as a few drops. Soft, cold pinpricks on the back on my neck. Then more.

Then everything.

I didn't move as the heavy drops crashed down. My clothes were soaked in seconds- the dirt turned into sludge mud under us and the fire hissed out and died.

I blink up against the sky. Water ran down my face, across the open wounds on my lips, into the collar of my shirt. It was freezing. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Someone was laughing. Maybe Michonne, or Rosita. Laughing like they forgot how, like it scared them. Tara was spinning in a slow circle with her arms out, welcoming the rain like a little kid. I wanted to feel something like that. But I just couldn't make myself do anything.

I let the rain soak me until my bones are wet under my skin. It rinses the blood from under my nails and washed away the tease of dog meat and the burn of the fire. I want it to take away everything. To strip me bare and leave nothing behind.

I was still wet and shaking when we found the barn.

It didn't feel real- like if I blinked, it would vanish. Like a hallucination conjured up my by exhaustion. It never vanished, though.

We opened the door and stepped inside. It smelt like wet hay and rotted wood. Musty. Mildewed. But it was dry.

There was one walker inside. A girl around my age, maybe a little older. Long hair stuck to her face, skin paled and waxy. The mud of her body hitting the floor echoed louder than it should have when Maggie took her out without blinking.She dropped fast and hard; a full thud. Just a girl who used to be.

We spread out across the barn. Claimed spots on the ground, leaned against walls. I sank down in the back corner, letting the hard wood support the weight of my body. The muscles in my leg twitch as I relax into the hay-covered floor- my head hit the wall behind me and I barely notice. My eyes closed without permission.

I don't know how long I slept before something pulled my eyes open. It was the wind- screaming through the tiny cracks on the boards, unrelenting.

I sat up too fast- my heart racing in my chest at the sound of the barn doors slamming. Shapes move in the dark. Everyone was already there- Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Carl. Everyone.

I lurch to my feet, still half-asleep. Cold floods back into my bones like it never left as my boots slip against the damp straw. I slam into the wood between Glenn and Rosita, shoulder first, arms outstretched. The impact rattles me like a car crash. The wood buckles inward with the weight of the walkers outside- their growls mix with the howling wind like the soundtrack of a horror movie.

The doors crack like they're going to split open. I claw at the edges of the planks, searching for something to grip. Something in my wrist snaps- not a pop, not a pull. A deep, tearing, crack that makes the edges of my vision go white.

My breath leaves my body and I don't think anyone even hears the sound of my scream over the howling wind. It feels like someone stabbed through my join with a hot knife.

Still, I didn't move. I held. I had to.

Snarls poured through the cracks. Icy wind howled into the seams, biting at my face. My boots slip once, but Rosita pressed harder and kept me up. Glenn was next to me, back arched, muscles shaking. I could see his breath coming fast.

My fingers were numb. I could feel the swelling start fast and angry, trapping heat inside my wrist like it was on fire. My hand slipped once- I almost lost it. I bit down onto the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. I press my forehead against the wood until I feel it dig into the skin. My arms screamed. My entire body did.

And finally- finally, the pounding slowed.

One final slam, then silence. Another slam. Then... nothing.

No more growls. No more pounding. Just ragged breathing, sharp winds and the sharp creak of the wood finally settling.

Rick backed off first. Hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if he'd have to rush back to his spot to push. When nothing happened, Daryl dropped the plank he was bracing the handles with. Carol dropped into a crouch with heaving shoulders. Eugene sank to the ground, chest rising and falling like he couldn't hold any air.

I finally step back from the door and stumble.

The pain in my wrist flared so hot, I thought I was going to throw up. Through the dark, I can see how large it looks, and slightly deformed- bent at a sick angle that makes my stomach flip.

I manage to make my way across the barn and back to the corner before I drop sideways into the hay. The coldness of the floor seeps through and into my burning cheeks.

I don't try to get back up.

---

When I open my eyes again, the world's stilled. The barn's silent again. The storm is gone. Everyone is scattered across the floor, curled into themselves for warmth, sleeping peacefully.

Carl's next to me.

And his hand is over mine- softly, just brushing my knuckles.

I stare at it for a second, thinking maybe I dreamt it. Maybe I died in the storm, and this is some weird peaceful thing I got stuck in. But he stirs a little, fingers twitching softly before settling again, and I know it's not.

I don't move. I just lay and watch him. His hair's stuck to his forehead, finally free of that damn hat. It's tucked under his arm, like he was scared someone would steal it. There's a faint scar across his cheek- from that cut he had the night I stumbled across them.

He looks... gentle. Like someone I would've sat next to in school. Someone who would've pulled his fair share in a group project, or sat next to me at lunch when I was alone.

My chest aches in a weird, warm way.

My wrist throbs when I shift, swollen and stiff from the way I used it last night to hold the doors closed. And God, I need to pee.

I sigh through my nose, not wanting to move or even leave the moment. But I slip my hand out from under his and push myself up, slow and quiet to not wake anyone. My joints crack and my shirt sticks to my body, still damp. Every muscles in my body screams in protest- I ache like I've been hit by a bus.

I carefully step over limbs and sleeping bodies. I hesitate next to Rick- his revolver gleams in the rising morning. I hesitate for help a breath before I grab it and shove it into my waistband. Just in case. I freeze when the barn door groans louder than I'd like it to. No one stirs, so I slip out into the early, gray light.

Outside, the world is... different. Torn apart. Threes split in halls, roots ripped straight from the soil. Loose shingles, fence posts, and trash were scattered.

And walkers are everywhere.

Broken, crushed under trees. Implied by branches. Sliced clean in half by metal roofing that curled like ribbons. Dozens. All dead.

My mouth opens in shock. And then- I laugh.

It bursts out of me unexpectedly. A raw, breathless sound that cracks at the end. It's not funny- not really. But it comes out anyway. I have to press a hand over my mouth as I sweep my gaze across the area. And out of everything, the barn- it's still standing.

It shouldn't be. Not with the way it looks out here.

But it is.

I can't help think that somewhere out there, there was something protecting it.

I push past and into the soaked grass. I stop near a downed tree, too stunned to care as my boots sinks into the mud.

My knees hit the earth before I realize it.

My hands fold. My head bows.

Thank you for keeping us safe. Please keep us safe. Please don't let anything happen to them. Please don't let me lose anyone else.

Please let someone be watching over us.

A shiver runs down my spine. I suddenly don't feel brave anymore.

I wish Rick was out here with me. Or Daryl. Someone with a knife and a strong voice, who'd say something like "Ain't nothing out here that can't be handled."

I grip Rick's gun a little tighter. And then- snap.

A sound in the trees.

Something rustling, something too close.

I whip it forward, the weapon trembling in my left hand. My heart slams against my ribs as my fingers fumble with the revolver. I lift it, pointing it towards the noise. "Don't come any closer."

It comes out as a whisper. Nothing answers. The words are still- too still.

I bolt.

I spin around on and run. My feet slide in the mud and something catches my foot- a branch, a walker leg, I don't know. I trip hard. Hit the ground with a splat. My hands sink into the cold, slimy muck. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the mud streaked across my body and face.

Rick's gun still clutches in my hand, I stagger back toward the barn, avoiding dead bodies and trash. I don't stop until I'm inside again and the barn door creaks shut behind me.