CHAPTER TWELVE          three weeks

"Something's wrong."

MY CHEEKS ARE WET when I finish talking- soaked before I even realized I was crying. The last words come out hoarse: "I don't know, maybe if I'd left when he did, or if I hadn't taken so long to get to him..." My pause, forcing myself to swallow because my throat's tight. "Maybe he'd still be alive."

Carl watches me- softly, like he doesn't know what to do with the way I'm falling apart. Lips pressed into a tight line, blue eyes damp and heavy with guilt that don't belong to him. I have to pull my eyes away because heat starts creeping up my neck.

"You can't think like that," he says finally. He reaches over to ball up his sleeve and wipe at the wetness on my cheeks. I flinch out of surprise. He's gentle as he wipes at my tears. It feels more than comfort, and it makes something in my chest flutter.

I pull away quickly, too aware of everyone's gazes. He drops his hand, face reddening as he leans back. He doesn't apologize, and I don't look at him again.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to act normal. Glenn clears his throat like he can sense that I need rescue. "Was it just the four of you at the end?" he asks, voice calm. The tone of his voice makes may shoulders sag- like he's been through enough to know when to push and when to not.

I shake my head, rubbing my arm where the scabs itch under my sleeve. "I was with Eddie's family when it started. We were going back to North Carolina from vacation. The army stopped us, wouldn't let anyone through. Said the camps were full."

Glenn leans on his knees, listening.

"Her parents died on the road. The car broke down. I went into the woods to pee and when I came back, they were already dead."

"I lean my head back against the wall, meeting Glenn's eyes. "We ran into my family on the road. They were looking for us. Made it to the camps, then my mom died when it got overrun." Michonne finally pulls her gaze away. She doesn't say anything- just stares out the window, expression tight. Just protecting whatever pieces of herself that's left.

"My dad got sick," I continue with a sigh, reciting it like it was just a story, not the tragic story of how I became orphaned. "Just a cough at first. Kept saying he was fine, he was fine. A few days later, we woke up to him trapped in his tent... already turned. Blood was coming out of his eyes."

A chill runs down my spine at the memory- his bulging, dead eyes, blood coming out of every hole in his head. Like some sick Halloween prop brought to life.

"We had something like that at the prison," Maggie finally cuts through the silence. Her voice is quiet. "It spread like wildfire... Glenn caught it. Almost died, too, but my daddy saved him."

I glance over- Glenn's got this certain look every time Maggie talks about him. Grateful, a little guilty, and completely in love.

Maggie doesn't cry, but her voice wavers with exhaustion. But not the physical kind. She leans into Glenn, who wraps an arm around her, giving her arm a little squeeze.

"I miss modern day medicine," I mutter. "Doctors. Cold medicine. Anything."

Tara lets out a short chuckle. "Preach."

She shifts in her seat. "Alright. We're not sitting in awkward silence the entire ride there. Let's play a game, questions or something." She says it lightly. Tara's good at that- using a thin humor to keep the darkness at bay.

It works- the truck doesn't feel so quiet. Alongside most the answers were a story. Favorite colors, songs, what we want to be before the world ended. I tell them I wanted to be a veterinarian. Tara says she wanted to be a cop. Michonne wanted to go to Greece. And even though she doesn't smile, there's a softness in her eyes when she says it. Glenn used to draw comics and Maggie liked horseback riding. Carl gives some lame answer about video games and doesn't say much after that.

Eventually, after dreaming about the lives we'll never have, we all quiet down again. The hum of the firetruck is steady and soothing. I'm not sure what hurts worse- my body or everything else. I rest my head back against the cold metal of the wall, cradling my arm to my chest, and close my eyes.

I don't remember falling asleep. When I open my eyes, everything's... still. No voices. No hum of the engine. Only warmth against my cheek.

I lift my head up when I realize I'd fallen asleep on Carl's shoulder. And the worst part?

He let me.

I jolt up straight, blinding hard in an attempt to shake off the sleep. My neck aches, my shoulders stiff, and my arm is aching. The worst part of it all if the way he watches me fumble, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

"You twitch when you sleep," he points out.

I swipe at my face, brushing loose strands back. "Do not."

"Do too," he retorts. "Like, full-on flinching. Thought you were having a nightmare."

My cheeks blush and I shoot him a look. "Well- well maybe I was, Grimes. Ever think of that?"

He just shrugs and moves around me to climb out of the truck. I brush imaginary dust off my lap like it'll restore my dignity, even if we- and Eugene- were the only ones in here.

I clamber out of the firetruck as well, the sun bright in my eyes. Michonne paces anxiously, hand on her katana. I look around- we were parked near a gate, countless dead bodies laid out across the lot. I twist up my nose. "Where are we?" I ask Carl, tugging my jeans up higher. "Atlanta."

"Was I out for long?"

He leans against the truck, crossing his arms as his eyes dart across the lot. "A little while."

I walk around the truck, peeking through the open gate. I can only see Maggie and Glenn from where I stand- he holds his wife close.

I glance back at Carl, who hasn't moved. He's leaning on the truck, finger tapping against his arm. I nod, beckoning him over. He rolls his eyes before pushing off, pretending there isn't a smile fighting its way onto his face.

We watch as the hospital door opens. Tyreese holds Carol up as she walks out, looking paler and frailer than I'd ever seen her. But she's alive. Then Rick, who's shaking his head just enough for me to see. Something's wrong.

"Something's wrong."

Then Daryl walks out. His head hands, arms curled around something like he's carrying the weight of the world. No, not something.

Someone.

My stomach lurches. A blonde girl in a stained polo, blood staining her bright hair. Carl freezes beside me. I can hear the way his breath catches in his throat.

I've seen Daryl angry. But never like this- set, pale, and distant, like he left his soul somewhere inside that hospital and forgot how to come back for it.

Maggie's cry rips through the air like a gunshot. It's the kind of sound that makes the world stoop spinning- raw and desperate and gutting. I watch as she collapses into the pavement, Glenn kneeling down beside her.

I feel like I'm intruding just standing here.

My heart hammers in my hears. I never met Beth. I don't know her, not in the way Daryl or Maggie or Carl does. But something about seeing her like that... limp and lifeless... makes my eyes water.

I look at Carl. I think he might say something, or turn around, or cry. He just stands there, staring, jaw clenched. The silence that falls over all of us- with the exception of Maggie's sobs- is louder than anything else I've ever heard.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ignore how wobbly my legs feel. How my fingers itch to hold something steady. How everything feels like it's spinning out from under me.

Another face we'll never see again.

---

Three weeks.

Three weeks since Beth. Three weeks since Tyreese.

Three weeks since the world got a little smaller.

Everything's exhausting. Eating whatever we can scrounge, drinking whatever isn't poison. Sleeping in dirt. Fighting off dead. Trying to comfort Judith when she cries. Trying not t cry ourselves.

I don't talk much. No one does, really.

I stick close to Tara. She's the only one I can be around without feeling like I'm taking up space I don't deserve. Carl's in mourning. Maggie won't look anyone in the eye. Daryl's disappearing more and more, Glenn's holding everyone together like it's his job. And Eugene won't shut the hell up about some book he read before the world ended, even though no one cares.

Tara talks enough for the both of us. She cracks jakes that aren't funny and mutters sarcastic comments to herself under her breath. It's kinda comforting, though, like white noise for my brain.

We passed through North Carolina.

I felt it the second we crossed the border. It's weird the way geography can hurt. How a highway sign could split me open like hot knife. The last time I was on this road, I was in the backseat of a minivan, listening to Eddie's mom yell at a GPS. Completely unaware of the fact I'd never come back.

Until now. Heading north, back to everything we ran from. And all I can think is what was the point?

What was the point of mom dying to get us out? What was the point of dad coughing himself to death? What was the point of Lincoln begging me to run?

We're just going in circles.

I sit in the dirt beside a dead tree; its branches were bare and brittle, reminding me of bones. Tara plops down beside me with a huff, dragging her feet like she's been walking for years. "You know what sucks?" I don't answer, but she doesn't care. "Chapped lips. I feel like a lizard."

My mouth twitches in an almost laugh, but ti doesn't really get there. She elbows me gently, rolling her head into her shoulder. "That was a joke, by the way. Feel free to react."

I huff through my nose in an attempt to laugh. "I'll think about it."

The wind kicks up, cool against my damp skin. I watch a dead leaf tumble across the road like it had a place to be. I wish I could say the same.

"We're probably gonna have to move soon," Tara says after a while. "Michonne's got that 'get your asses up' look in her eye again."

I hum, but I don't get up. Not yet.

I close my eyes for a second. Breathe in the dusty wind. Breathe out nothing.

Footsteps crunch beside me, soft, slow, and measured. I know them like I know the ache in my ribs.

I don't pick my head up. I just keep my eyes closed, head resting back against the tree. I feel Carl lower himself to the ground beside me, close enough that our arms touch. He doesn't say anything. I don't either. We all just sit there, breathing.

It's quiet. Not the good, relaxing kind, but the kind that presses in from all sides, waiting for someone to break it, and all you can hear is the ringing in your ears.

I risk a glance. Carl's expression is flat- hat pulled low, hiding his eyes. But I can still see the way his jaw clenches.

I want to say something. Anything. I don't, though, because what would I say? That I'm sorry for his loss? Losses? Like it would make any of the difference. I look back down at my knees.

Slowly- so slowly, I almost don't realize it- he leans his head on my shoulder. He doesn't say anything, does't look at me. He just rests his head on me, like he's tired. Like the weight of the world got too heavy for him, and for once, he wants to put it down.

My breath catches.

I sit perfectly still, scared that even a slight movement would make him flinch away. Not even when his body relaxes heavier into mine, or when I feel the heat of his skin through my shirt.

Because I remember what it felt like three weeks ago, when my head was on his shoulder.

And now it's his on mine.