eleven. in the house of god

eleven˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ in the house of god ↲

WIND DANCED THROUGH THE TREES. The sparrows had gone silent, long since the sky was painted over with light-grey. The birds must have sensed the thickness in the air. The promise of rain, after many days of dry heat. They'd spread their feathers, and tucked themselves in their nests at the first sign of the foreboding storm.

How unfortunate we didn't have wings. Things would be easier if we could simply flutter away from things that did not serve us. Humans, however, were forced to walk through them. There was either something terrible, or deeply poetic about that. I hadn't figured out which one.

Truthfully, the foliage we traveled beneath wasn't so awful. It was thick with the birth of spring, our surroundings saturated in viridescent vegetation. The forest itself was a constant reminder that even as death triumphed, there was always possibility of renewal. The breath rattling the trees whispered as much.

I looked ahead to the deer trail Daryl led us on. We'd been on the move for most of the day, as he'd claimed to have felt like something—or someone—was nearby. Watching us. Nobody questioned Daryl's senses. We'd gone as soon as he'd suggested we take our leave.  There was not room for taking chances after what had happened at Terminus.

"Ok," Carl said, "spell psychic."

I stepped over the skeletal remains of a fallen trunk. Thick moss wrapped around the thing, letting me know it had been down for quite some time. My gun was readied in my hands, but my head didn't swivel to stay alert on our surroundings. The adults were taking the majority of the stress-load, allowing Carl and I to be a little more carefree.

"P- H,"

He tilted his head, eyes searing into my own. He was terrible at making a poker face. "You sure about that?"

I glared back, nerved by his eagerness to see me fail. "At least let me finish."

He cradled Judith in his arms, running a gentle hand over her soft, short hair. "It was wrong. Add a point to my score."

"Fine then," I exhaled with an attitude. I was actively recounting his turns when he'd begged me to let him spell everything out, before I told him if he'd got it right or not. "Your word is hypocrite."

His eyes fluttered to the skies, before grounding again. "H-Y-P-O-C-R-I-T." He spelled confidently. "I get another point."

I clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth, making a sound of disapproval. "You forgot the 'E' at the end. Everyone always forgets it."

Whatever we'd been playing had turned into a full-blown competition, very quickly. Almost everything was that way with us. There was no tieing between us. Only one person could say, "I win", and that phrase was mine for the taking, right now. I assumed he'd do everything in his power to reclaim it as soon as possible.

"Then it doesn't count, redo my word."

The hat sitting against his head turned upwards the perfect amount, small wisps of darkened hair peaking through, gluing to his forehead with beads of sweat. His blood ridden flannel was rolled to the bends of his elbows, and he desperately needed a new one.

I wondered how I looked, from his eyes. If I appeared just as roughed as he did—or if there was a softer aspect to my appearance. I could lie somewhere in between.

"Nope, one more point for me." I said assertively. "That puts me at five, and you at three."

His mouth twitched, "Rematch."

I watched his baby sister wiggle in his arms. She was at least seven or eight months, not appearing to be lacking nutrients. She was a fairly healthy weight, which had to be causing an ache in Carl's arms. He'd been holding her for hours upon hours.

It made me curious—what had happened to their mother. He'd never specified when or how it happened, only that it had, and Carl was the one to end it. Before we'd entered Terminus, he told me he put her down; but the wound from her death seemed as if it had scabbed over by now. It was almost as if she'd been gone for many months. Maybe about the same as Judith's age.

Had she exchanged her life for the child? Died in birth, or soon after? Maybe she'd lost her life before she went into labor, and Judith was forcibly delivered prematurely.

"Just because you lost," I looked from Judith to him, shaking away the thought, "Doesn't mean it wasn't fair."

Before the boy could think of a response, a plead of help reverberated through the air. My spine instantly straightened, the gun in my hands raising eye level. Carl handed off his sister to Tyrese—another group mate I had yet to speak with—and brought up his own weapon.

Rick brought a hand up to queue us to pause. I stopped myself. Carl did the exact opposite of this instruction, twisting around to look his father in the face with petition.

"Come on," He begged the older man, motioning his head in the direction of the screams.

Of course he wanted to go. He always did. He'd done the same days ago, forcing us to walk into the death sentence of a younger man, by the tracks. We'd had to flee soon after, as the dead noticed us. Carl seemed to have a knack for running straight towards death.

It was like he was a sailor at sea, enticed by the ghastly melody of a siren. He would jump ship into the dark waters if it meant he could hear the sound of danger, one last time.

"Don't be an idiot." I told him, checking my pistols clip before closing it back up. It was almost full. I hadn't had to fire a bullet under the protection of all the others.

"Come on!" Carl insisted again. He now had his eyes on me, expression pleading as the shouts continued in the distance.

There were enough of us to take on whatever threat lie beyond. It would be done in seconds, and the person could be saved. I wouldn't deny this much. . . I just wasn't sure if it was the right move for our group, or not.

Our survival was first. But that excuse sounded too much like the words painted on the walls of Terminus. Being that type of survivor was off the table for us.

I spared a glance back at Rick, looking to him for answers. He only gave us a curt nod, the action bringing me to eagerly follow after Carl. The others trailed close behind, unwilling to let us approach alone.

After death, A.D, as I sometimes called it, I never carried much desire to seek beyond my own safety. My preservation was always of utmost importance. However, after seeing the way of life people like Gareth had accepted—quite literally sacrificing lives for their own—I'd began taking a new stance. Saving others, although a waste of resources, proved a point.

I was not like them. I would never become something like that. Doing things like this would solidify that in my mind.

The boy and I were the first to near a large mass of rock. There were dead swarming the artifact, their hands extended to the stranger on top of it. He was kicking at the dead hands that attempted to claw his ankles, shouts coming from the depths of his throat as I began unloading on the small mass. Carl took a closer approach, going in with his knife. The rest of the group joined within seconds, bullets and blades mixing together to create a sudden silence in the forest.

When all the bodies were against the ground, I squinted up, hand shielding the sun from my vision. The man on the rock attempted to catch his breath, his pristine black suit crinkling at his heavy exhales. Around his neck, white plastic connected his collar together. There was not a speck of dust on his shined shoes.

I instantly understood this man to be a holy figure of some sort. I'd been forced into one too many churches look past his fitting. Heard enough sermons from men like him, to recognize the quiet godliness about him. My own father had been in similar dressings every Sunday.

I wasn't aware any preachers still practiced. Not after everything. My dad had lost his belief soon after the fall. I'd expected this to be the case for everyone. Faith didn't seem to be palpable in the face of survival. Faith was commonly a devotion of apathy—not true fidelity.

Apparently, it was more to this man. It proceeded death and followed him to the graveyard.

"Come on down." Rick instructed the man, stepping in front of Carl and I.

The holy man was sweating. And this water was not turning to wine. It was dripping from his temple, etching its way down his dark-skinned face. From his vantage point, he appeared as if he were a frightened kitten stuck in a tree. His legs were profusely shaking as he slid down the organic structure to meet our leader. He couldn't look Rick in the eye. He seemed to be gagging at the smell of death surrounding us.

"You ok?" Rick asked him, his head tilting to further inspect the odd stranger.

Carls shoulder brushed against mine, alerting me that he too was attempting to get a good look at the man.

None of us were trusting. . . not after what had happened days ago. Even with the virtuous preacher outfit, I remained a skeptic. My father hadn't had any trouble separating his actions from the church. He'd been happy to hurt his family within the walls of our home. He'd even claimed it was the only right way to provide heavenly guidance.

Fists.

Affliction.

Bruises.

In his eyes, it was all reformation to prepare us for judgement day. To beat the supposed devil out of us. Physical torture was his way of exorcising the 'unholiness' from our bodies, as he'd stated.

That's what he'd told us. That it was to make us all better. But most of the time, it didn't have to do with us being 'evil', or behaving sinfully. It was simply an outlet for his own anger, disguised in the name of the Lord.

That was why I had an instant dislike for the man in front of us. I watched him with hawklike eyes as he turned to the side, and vomited. My lips pursed in disgust as I witnessed him empty his stomach, then dab his mouth with the tip of his ironed sleeve. I spared a glance at Carl, nearly breaking out into laughter at the judgmental look strewn across his face. My lips only tilted in actuality.

He composed himself. "Yes, thank you. I'm Gabriel."

Rick furrowed his brows at the sudden calm demeanor. "Do you have any weapons on you?"

He chuckled quietly, motioning his arms up. "Do I look like I would have any weapons?"

I scoffed under my breath. The man acted as if we were TSA pre-check. He genuinely seemed to be expecting us to bring out sensors and metal detectors. Or, better yet, to simply take his word.

It was laughable. This entire situation was.

"We don't give two short and curlies what it looks like." Abraham adjusted the grip on his automatic rifle, his face deathly serious.

Gabriel gulped. "I have no weapons on me of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need."

If only that were the case, Gabriel. Perhaps he would have saved us from this damnation; rid the world of brutality and corruption. But we were under no such protection. I never was.

"Sure didn't look like it." Daryl piped up.

I exchanged a look with him, the seriousness faltering on his face as he noticed the curve of my lips. He forced himself to turn back to the God fearing man before he let out a snicker.

"I called for Help. Help came." A look of knowing came across Gabriel. He continued wearily midst our blatant staring. "Do you have—have any food? Whatever I had left. . .it just hit the ground."

Carl reached into his denim pockets, pulling out two shells. He extended his hand. "We've got some pecans."

We'd torn into the figs. They were gone by now, our hands long stained with the juices. There was nothing left but the few pecans we'd been saving to help tide any of us over, if we weren't lucky finding any other game.

Carl was handing them over to the stranger, like we had more to spare. My stomach felt significantly emptier watching the few pieces roll against his palm, and present themselves to Gabriel. The man nodded a soft thanks as he took them for himself.

I suddenly wondered if prioritizing ourselves wasn't wrong. Maybe it was how we had to live. We wouldn't survive much longer by handing out our supplies, like this.

Judith babbled in Tyrese's arms. The large man rocked her carefully, attempting to hush her as she spoke happily in inaudible baby language. She'd been testing words for a while now. Making sense of the noises she heard from our mouths, doing her best to replicate them. She was too tiny to do it accurately, but she tried anyway.

Gabriel smiled again. "That's a beautiful child."

We remained silent. A small proud smile displayed itself on Carl's face as he listened to Judith's quiet mumbling. I guessed in a month or two, she'd say her first real word. Until then, it was nonsense.

That would be Carl and I'd next game. Debating the first thing she'd say.

"Do you have a camp?" He finally asked, breaking the long silence.

Rick took a small step forward. A subtle act of intimidation, no doubt. "No. Do you?"

"I have a church."

Unease spread through me. It may have only been hunger, but it was more likely apprehension. Worry caused by the man, and dread for his so-called church. I never wanted to step foot in another house of the Lord. I'd rather make it on my own, out here. There was no superior safety within the supposed blessed interior.

Rick seemed to reach his limit with Gabriel. "Hold your hands above your head."

Gabriel turned, allowing him to pat him down. Rick began asking him his three questions. The same ones he'd asked me, once. How many walkers have you killed? How many people? Why?

As this was going on, I ran through these in my own head.

Walkers? Too many to count. Hundreds.

People? Four.

Why? Half had been defense. The woman at the prison, and the man in the bathroom. My father's demise was done out of cold blood. I'd reached a limit with him, and carried it out, with my own desire. The last, the claimer, who I'd ended with a smile. That had been no accident.

The cowardly priest gave vague answers, explaining he had killed nothing. Once Rick asked him why, his response was, "Because the lord abhors violence."

Tell that to my father, Gabriel. He would argue the contrary.

"What have you done?" Rick was trying desperately to figure the stranger out. "We've all done something."

There was no chance that this man had done nothing. I'd learned even those closest to God had their faults. Sometimes even more than the average practicing atheist.

"I'm a sinner. I sin almost every day. But those sins, I confess them to God, not strangers."

Michonne breathed a sigh, stopping his rambling. "You said you had a church?"

▬ ▬ ▬

A subtle glow emitted from the stained glass in the place of holiness. Greens, yellows, and blues reflected from the window I stared at while sitting amongst the many rows of pews. The different colors seemed to dance along my skin as droplets slid down the panes. The storm had just barely missed us. It was the only reason I'd allowed myself inside the building. I would have stayed on the steps, if it weren't for the rain.

The church was hidden amongst the grove. It was worn with years of worship, the scent of the aging wood bringing me back to the years I'd spent on the benches with our congregation. Stiff in my seat, bible in hand, the cross of Christ around my neck. Watching my dad as he spoke with passion. Listening carefully as he talked about his blessed family, and the way the Lord brought us together.

No mention of his own violence, or my mother's cries at night. Not a person who believed him to be anything but wonderful. Even I questioned if any of our home life was real, when I watched him at the altar. I still could recall the haunting echo of his evangelism in this very moment. The cross had long since been unhooked from my neck, but the ghastly sear of it still remained.

It was like the stain of tar and nicotine in a home of generational smoking. As if a cross had been on the wall for a long while, and when its occupants moved, the cross went with them, leaving nothing but a mark where it'd been displayed. Yellow and brown outlining the past devotion.

This, in other words, was the lasting scar religion had left on me. Nostalgic reminders, but no reason to return. It was a piece of me that would stay in the past.

Cynthia Hargrave, the reverends daughter, had died a long time ago. Her spirit would forevermore walk the isle of her rural town church, searching for just one occupant to realize the truth. To relive her from her pain. She would haunt the place until the wood turned in on itself, and the roof came caving in.

Even then, you might still hear the faint beat of her heart beneath the rubble and debris.

I eyed the Bible tucked into the back of the pew in front of me, but I made no effort to reach for it. Most of the content inside had been forcibly memorized. I hadn't noticed until now, but Carl was sitting alongside me, softly bouncing his sister against his knee.

The silent company drug me from me internal thoughts, and I looked ahead. The rest of the group stood near the focal point of the church. I carefully eavesdropped on the conversations ahead, picking apart the different scentences. Some spoke about rigging the bus in the parking lot, while others created a plan to collect supplies from a local food bank.

"Could you hold Judith?" Carl suddenly asked me, his eyes averting to the back of the seat in front of us. "My dad asked me to check the shelves on these. Said there might be weapons hiding in them, or the Bibles."

The last thing I wanted to do, was hold another baby in a church. I'd had my share with Allie on my lap, years and years ago. It was primarily my job to watch her when my dad spoke on Sundays. My mom was always busy passing around communion, praying over others, or listening intently to her husband. Only I had the chance to get up, and rock her when she was fussy.

She clung to me like I was her mother on those days.

"I'll check. You hold her." I told him.

He cocked his head at me, studying my face. "What? Scared of a little baby spit up?"

"No," I shot back, bringing my arms out for the child. "Never mind. Just hand her to me."

He brought the wiggling, whimpering baby to me. I uncomfortably shifted with the small infant, her feet barely standing on my thighs as I looked to her. Carl dug through the back shelves of the pew, hands rifling through the pamphlets and books to search for anything out of the ordinary.

The longer I continued to look, the less she began to resemble Allie. She was Judith, I told myself, and she would always be Judith. What happened to Allie was awful, but I couldn't take my frustration out on this child any longer. I couldn't blame my unrest on her. She couldn't even talk. I had to accept it now, or I would never come around.

I slowly let her into my arms. The action was natural, coming easy as ever. Her whimpers slowed. She snuggled closer into my violently beating chest, head resting against the inner portion of my elbow as her gentle eyes watched me. She let off a soft coo as I swallowed, my grip relaxing ever so slightly.

Carl moved to the row ahead, glancing over his shoulder at the two of us. His brows knit together at the sudden calmed state of his sister, but he didn't comment on it. He simply continued rustling through the shelves.

"Did you go to church, you know, before?" He asked me suddenly.

My first instinct was to lie. Then, I realized I had no reason to. "Yes. I did. I used to."

The child was antsy, grasping onto my fingers until her hands wrapped around the ring placed on my middle finger. The dove. It was beginning to tarnish on my hands. It wasn't real sterling silver. But it was special enough that I'd let it turn copper on my fingers. Judith seemed to like it, too.

"My mom used to make us go every other Sunday." He said, still facing away. "Think it was more about the community than belief."

I let the baby twist and grasp the ring still around my finger, attempting to eat my hands every few seconds. I found the corners of my mouth tilting up at her constant movements. She needed a pacifier. I'd look for one, when we continued our travels. It would keep her quieter on the road.

"Do you believe in God?" Carl asked. He'd given up on checking every space, choosing to sit in the row ahead. He was turned to me, his arms resting on the back of the seat, head propped on top of them.

"No," I replied with honesty. "Not anymore."

His mouth set in a grim line. "Me either. I used to—but now. . . I'm not so sure."

I nodded in understanding as Judith tugged my ring off my finger. I was instantly pulled from the conversation with her big brother, when watching her try to shove the object into her mouth.

"Don't eat that!" I exclaimed, a soft, genuine laugh coming from me as I reclaimed my ring from the teething baby.

I put the piece of jewelry back onto my third finger, which had been indented from the constant wearing. There was a line of green along the ridge, coming from the fake silver.

Carl paused, sitting straighter. "What was that?"

I looked multiple directions, trying to understand what he was talking about. "What?"

His chin tilted up, shoulders shrugging. "You laughed. Just haven't heard you do that much."

I realized the action may have been tone-deaf. We were close to starvation. We'd run out of water. We were staying under another stranger's roof. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking—"

"No," He interrupted. "Dont be. Don't apologize for that."

"Ok." I responded, my voice fading as Rick approached us two. "I wont."

He knelt in the isle, between both pew rows. He appeared to be addressing us both, as there was an equally spaced distance between his chosen spot. He looked to each of us, before tilting his head down so that his voice would be quieter.

"Listen, I don't trust this guy. And—" Carl's father began to speak lowly.

"Why?" Carl cut him off. He was obviously frustrated. It appeared he was exhausted from being forced to move place to place, with no sense of trust or security.

Even a wolf could dress as a sheep.

Rick looked to his son. "Why do you trust him?"

Because personas were easy enough to create, and even easier to fool someone with.

Carl brought his head side to side, a movement that showed he was deep in contemplation. "Everybody can't be bad."

Rick now looked to me, as if asking me to weigh in on the matter. I shifted forward in my seat, bringing the child closer to my body. She squealed softly, an expression of happiness, from the looks of it. She was smiling a gummy grin.

"I—" I started, looking ahead at Carl before continuing. I didn't want to destroy his peace, but I wanted to be honest, "I don't think I have much faith in the priest, either."

Rick took in my words. "That's why I'm bringing him with me on a run for food. If he tries anything, I'll stop him. But he could have friends, so I need the both of you to stay alert. Protect yourselves and Judith together, okay?"

Carl gave a nod of understanding to Rick.

"Yes, sir." I replied with hushed tone. A gentle southern tang hung against my tongue. It was went unnoticed for the most part, but it wasn't entirely absent.

It was the one trait I'd inherited from my father, who bore an accent. My mom's speech fit right in with the city, which meant I learned both lingos. Sometimes I subconsciously favored one way of speech over the other. It depended on what words I spoke, and how slowly I said them.

"Now," Rick eyed the both of us. "I need you to hear to what I'm about to say."

We waited as he gathered his thoughts. His eyes were heavy with something inexplicable. Either that, or I was simply terrible at reading others.

"You are not safe," He began.

Judith wiggled in my arms. I readjusted, placing her on my leg. I kept my hands secure under her shoulders as I lightly bounced her against my knee.

"No matter how many people are around—or how clear the area looks. No matter what anyone says, no matter what you think. You are not safe." Rick continued. "It only takes one second. One second—and it's over. Never let your guard down, ever. I want you both to promise me."

"I promise." Carl replied, quickly.

Rick pat his shoulder in quiet thanks.

Judith was getting grouchy. I recognized the signs on her face. The scrunch of her small nose, and the down-tilt of her mouth. She needed to be put down for a nap. Perhaps there was a nursery in the church.

Rick turned to me. "Cyn, you promise me."

I glanced from the baby. "Yes, Rick. I promise."

His eyes found my gentle touch on his daughter. A look of acknowledgment struck across his face at the sight of the care I was displaying towards her. He then nodded, and stood, to leave us be.

"Dad," Carl left his seat, taking a step at Rick.

Rick spun to face his only son.

"You're right, I am strong." He stated, turning to me for a moment. "We both are, I've seen it. We're strong enough that we can still help people. We can handle ourselves if things go wrong. And, we're strong enough that we don't have to be afraid anymore, we don't have to hide."

The child in my lap whimpered, then began crying. I sweetly shushed her, brining her in my arms again. I rocked her like a newborn. Sometimes, all babies wanted was to feel the same care that they had, when they were smaller.

"Well he's hidin' something." Rick motioned to Gabriel, who was still near the top end of the isle.

Weren't we all? I wasn't on Gabriel's side, but I had to recognize our own faults. I didn't think any of us wanted to tell the priest all about everything terrible we'd done and gone through. Not everything had to be repeated.

Some things were not even meant for the church's confession booth.

"We'll stay safe, Dad."

Rick sent a small smile our way, before leaving to collect the group of others that'd volunteered to go to the food bank. Gabriel was among them, though, from the looks of it, he hadn't been one to raise his hand. He looked like he was forced into the matter.

It was probably for the best. We'd have time to look around the place, and make sure it was safe. Not only secure—but also harmless. We could check the man's office without him knowing. Comb through the entirety of the building, before they returned.

There would be no possibility of sleep, if not. No chance Carl or I would lay our heads to rest. Not if we still had questions about Gabriel's character.

I finally stood, supporting Judith's head as I came to Carl's side. He looked at his fussy sister, unable to hold his smile back. It was a delightful, proud smile. He always looked like that, when he saw Judith. She was his saving grace.

"Points for the inspirational speech." I joked.

He grinned, hissing air from his mouth in the form of a laugh. "He needs to understand that we aren't weak. He doesn't see it, but, we already made it this far. We survived the end of the world. That itself says enough."

"The real task is seeing how long we survive it." I said.

"We can survive until the start of the next, if we put our minds to it." He oh-so-suddenly looked as if he'd cracked the code to something incredible. "That's the new challenge. Scratch the spelling bees, and dirt tic-tac-toe. We beat this world, and that's how we win."

I skeptically glanced to him, shortly realizing he wasn't joking, at all. "How will we know when we beat it?"

He raised his shoulders in question. "I'm not sure. When we get there, we'll know."

▬ ▬ ▬

Directly across from the bus, Carl and I sat along a concrete curb. The sun had not returned, but the rain was gone. There was a layer of gray still strewn across the sky, the once grey-pebbled parking lot darkened with the imprint of water.

The boy and I had been planning to scope out the area, starting with the lot. Planning was the key word, as we hadn't moved in a solid thirty minutes. There had been a car in one of the spaces, and we'd found a jug of water inside. The two of us were too blind-sighted with thirst to continue on without sitting and sipping on the thing.

It was nearly gone by now. In fact, the goodwill cowboy—as I'd decided to call him, since he wasn't quite a real cowboy—was finishing it off. Only droplets ran along the inside of the container as he tilted his head back to get the last of it. After doing so, he capped the big plastic jug and threw it into the tree-line. A look of judgment came across my face as it clunked on the forest floor directly behind us.

"What?" He said, noticing me eyeing his actions. "It's not like global warming would be the first thing trying to take us out."

I held back a grin. "Well, if we really do try and beat this world, it might be the last.

He rolled his eyes. When I shifted to move at him, he decided he didn't want the smoke, and ran to pick up the empty container. I smiled as I lowered my fists, taking delight in the obvious fact he was intimidated by me.

"Oh, shit!" He exclaimed loudly from behind.

I turned, eyes focusing on him as he dug at something in the ground. Once he'd gotten the layer of dust and earth off, the object in his hands reflected light back at me. I first thought it to be a piece of glass, before he approached me. He was still holding his trash between his other arm as he sat.

Close beside, he unfolded his hand to reveal the item. It was an IPod, of all things. Classic, presumably one of the first generations they'd released. There were a knotted set of wire headphones still plugged into the device. A few smiley-face stickers were peeling off the back of it.

It obviously belonged to a child. It was as if they had either set the belonging down and accidentally left it, or was forced out of the area, too quick to grab it. Either way, it was unclaimed, now. From the looks of it, it'd been corroding here for a while.

"Oh, shit." I remarked, repeating his exact words.

He cleaned off the screen with his sleeve, face in complete awe, then pushing on the buttons violently. "You think it still works?"

It was me who rolled my eyes this time. "You aren't pressing the right thing. Try the big middle button, dumbass."

He tried it now, and I crossed my fingers. It was a long shot. It had just rained outside. The screen remained black for a good while, until suddenly, a logo appeared, illuminating the dark glass. Obviously, the dirt and leaves had been sheltering it from an awful fate.

My mouth was parted in surprise. "I didn't think it would actually work."

"You should thank me for littering. Otherwise, I wouldn't have seen it out of the corner of my eye, when I went over there." Carl remarked, pressing the arrows to go through a list of songs.

"Tell that to the little critter who would have choked on the cap." I retorted, my head finding place in my hands, arms resting on my knees.

I leaned closer into him, taking note of every song he scrolled past. It was instinct. I'd never thought, for even a moment, that these commodities still remained. It felt like they'd been left in the old world, before death. Something as treasured as music, was too good to be true, now.

Carl turned the IPod away, choosing a song in secret. He handed me an earbud, and I rushed to put it in. It took a few moments before the soundtrack sounded out, and instruments rang in my ear. I instantly recognized the begging vocals, but it had been long enough that I didn't recognize the title. When Carl noticed my face of contemplation, he tapped the screen to show me.

'Something' — The Beatles.

The tune brought sweet static down my spine. Bumps raised on my arms. For months upon months, the only melody I'd been exposed to, were the dull sounds of the dead. It never ended. Not even when I was away from it—because it had stayed in my head, even when I closed my eyes at night.

This was different. There was a clear bass. A real guitar. The vocals sung something not of death, but love, of all things. There was no pain. Just music. Beautiful music.

You're asking me, will my love growI don't know, I don't knowYou stick around, now, it may showI don't know, I don't know

I never wanted the song to end. Though, after three minutes and three seconds, a quiet static was sounding from the earbuds. All we could offer one another were satisfied glances. Carl attempted to find a new one, but after scrolling for a few moments, the object lost its battery. We eventually were brought to take out the headphones.

"You like The Beatles?" The boy asked me, having taken note of the way I'd been smiling.

I hummed in agreement. "Never listened to anything else, really. My mom always played oldies on the car radio."

He looked at the dead IPod solemnly. "We can play more of it, when we figure out how to charge this. Maybe Eugene can make something."

I nodded, coming to a stand before I let myself be sad over the electronic. "Let's scope things out. Make sure nothings out of the ordinary."

He nodded, leading us through the parking lot, around the perimeter. Everything seemed perfectly normal, to me. This church was like any other, and I'd seen plenty.

"Take a closer look at this." Carl said, approaching a window.

I stepped beside him. The framing of the window had marks ridden of paint. Scratches. "Walkers?"

He shook his head at my suggestion. "No, they couldn't scratch wood that deep. This looks done by a knife."

I stepped back, pushing hair out of my face as I sighed. Rick was right—we would never be safe. This thought suddenly dawned upon me whilst looking to the slashes.

Carl stopped my panic. "This doesn't mean anything yet. It's just something to recognize."

We continued walking around the corner. More marks were dug into the wood. They were so sloppy and quick that I hadn't noticed they came together to spell something out. I ran my finger along the carved letters as I whispered them softly.

YOU'LL BURN FOR THIS

The rest of the day, Carl and I kept quiet about our findings. He'd only told his father, whom instructed us to keep an eye out, but stated we couldn't act yet. There was no saying when it had been written, or who'd done it. Back at Terminus, asking the leaders questions only led them to lose their trust in us. Rick thought it better the gauge to situation ourselves, and not intimidate Gabriel with his own secrets.

I used a plastic spoon to scoop a heap of baked beans from my plate. The food steamed as I raised it to my mouth, listening in on the 'toast' Abraham was proposing. It was less of a celebration, and more of a question. He was instant that there was life beyond this chaos, and that it was just out of touch. He seemed utterly consumed by the possibility of his friend Eugene's ability to help right all of the scientific wrongs.

I wasn't religious anymore, but I also didn't believe this to be solvable with science. This type of death and destruction transcended the average petri-dish. It was the cause of something bigger—something inexplicable.

The redhead continued his speech. "Now, we get to Washington, and we will make the dead die, and the living will have this world again. And, that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip."

'A little road trip' were his words, but he was off by a long shot. Starting from from Georgia, and ending in D.C, the trip would take ten hours. That was without any stops. Nothing ever went smooth enough to not make any stops.

We had much more to worry about, than traffic.

"Eugene," Abraham turned to his accomplice. "What's in D.C?"

He cleared his throat, pushing the long pieces of his mullet away from his face. "Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude. That means food, fuel, refuge. Restart."

Minutes went by. All I could think, was that I would be leaving Georgia. There was not enough communion wine in this chapel to bring me from the sobriety of this realization.

If not in Georgia, where would I belong? I hadn't thought much about a place beyond my hometown. It was all I knew. People I'd loved were buried in this soil. Some still roamed the streets.

How many of this group would die, trying? How many of us would see a better world? Was it worth the slim chance?

"We're in." Rick spoke.

While everyone cheered, I turned myself away in fear of being perceived as upset. I was, but I didn't wish to ruin the laughter and smiles surrounding me. It was my own apprehension clawing at my throat.

My gaze shifted to Tara, who was speaking softly with Maggie. The two looked to be in low enough spirits that I found myself getting up to join them. As I came off the pew, Carl looked to me, eyes searching for reason. I only gave him a small smile. He deserved to enjoy this possibility. They all did.

"Beth—she's not weak, anymore." I picked up on Maggie's voice as I neared. "She could be alive. It feels so wrong leavin' without her."

"I had a sister, too." Tara revealed. "She's gone—but even now. . . It's hard to think about leaving."

Wasn't that the truth? It was like moving far from a graveyard where your loved ones were buried. You knew you'd never see their headstones again. You'd never place another flower of remembrance on their place of rest again.

Maggie could only show a nod of thanks, before Glenn neared her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and planting a small kiss near her ear.

Tara turned, finally noticing my presence. She offered a smile. "Hey, kid."

"Hi." I replied, taking a seat beside her.

"I didn't know you and Maggie were friends." I said, in relation to the two having sat next to one another.

Tara shrugged. "I've been trying to tell everyone about where we came from, you know? Maggie took it fine. She was reassuring, actually."

"Why are you bringing it up to them?" I asked, genuinely curious.

The thought was frightening. Another part of me, felt relief. From what Tara made it sound like—we were being accepted, fully. They cared more about the fact we were here, now, than the reality that we hadn't always been.

She blinked, contemplating this. "I don't know, but hearing that we're one of them—It makes me hate myself a little less."

I gave her a nod of understanding, eyes shifting to the door as Bob walked out. As the doors echoed a squeaky shut behind him, I came to a realization. Carl and I had left an object of extreme value outside.

The IPod. I stood, the urge to grab it, too strong to resist. There would never be another find as good as the music player. We had been absolutely blessed to find the thing. Only a fool would leave it on the curb, for another to find. Or, for one of the dead to step on, and snap in half.

"I'll be back, I left something outside." I told her.

She looked to the doors. "Be careful, alright? You have your gun on you?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay." I assured her whilst tapping my palm against my leg holster. "And, Bob's already out there. We'll have two sets of eyes."

Hurrying down the aisle, I arrived at the end, pushing the door open with force. The cooled air instantly sent a breeze through my hair as I walked past the threshold, crossing my arms across my chest.

The church's sign was moving back and forth in the wind. The chains keeping it upright were creaking and groaning, the sign itself smacking on the pole it was attached to. I briefly scanned the front for Bob, but he must have been lighting a cigarette somewhere else. I didn't take time trying to venture out and find him, instead, going straight for the parking lot.

Just as I hoped, the player was there. Still dead as ever, but if Eugene could supposedly save the world, he could most definitely charge it. Carl and I needed music for the ride to D.C. Otherwise, we'd most likely turn on eachother, and start up our feud, again.

Before I knelt to pick the small player up, a sound brought my spine straight. It could have been the sign changing its course against the metal it was suspended from, or, it could have been something else. A walker, perhaps. One of the dead being attracted to the noise upfront. Nothing awfully alarming, but enough to make me reach for the weapon in my holster.

I'd made a horrible, horrible mistake.

It was empty.

I suddenly remembered taking the gun from my holster. The action was such an unnatural thing for me to do, as I was always armed. But, I'd been putting Judith down in the small nursery, hours ago. I was holding her, and I didn't want any weapons within reach. I'd put the damned thing on the rocking chair.

By the time I picked up on the footsteps from behind, it was unavoidable. When I attempted to twist, a figure from behind grabbed onto me. My mouth was hastily covered with a roughened hand so that my scream was nearly inaudible. Even Bob wouldn't be able to hear it from out here.

When I tried desperately to free myself, a fist was smashed against the sensitive part of my skull. My limbs felt static now. Uncontrollable, even, as I slipped to the ground. My vision was slowly dissipating.

They went in for another hit. Thats when I recognized their face. Alex, from Terminus. Gareth's partner. Somehow, he was here.

They'd found us.

I rolled from his blow, forcing myself up, and across the lot. His heavy steps followed close behind as I ran for the church to warn the others. With my ragged breathing, I couldn't force out a scream. I could only pant, each quick stride sending a throb throughout my skull.

He wasn't inside the church for a reason. He could have fired on us all, but he hadn't. This meant he wasn't looking to attack us all. He was settling on just one, for now. If I opened up those church doors, his group, who was proud hiding in the forest, would come for us all.

It would open a cattle range to hungry wolves.

This realization had me stumbling past the front of the church, going further onward. My steps squelched in the wet grass, the mud kicking up behind me as I ran down the path, to the mouth of the road.

Vertigo took root in my body. Deafening ringing resonated throughout my ears—a kind of pain that started towards the back of my head, and traveled like wildfire to my temple. Alex had hit me, hard. I could recognize the extreme pain, even with my adrenaline.

I wasn't okay. I couldn't process my own movements. I was only aware of the fact the I was moving. I didn't feel like I was controlling it, however. I couldn't stop, never once slowing to look back. I felt like a wind-up toy with too much battery power.

A car, of all things, sped down the road I was now running along the outskirts of. Their speed didn't nearly give me enough time to proceed back into the trees before it violently reversed, screeching to a stop beside me. The doors opened before I could even take my first step back.

I was close enough, even in the dark, to notice the mirrors on the vehicle. White crosses were painted on them.

I stumbled back into the trees. My vision was progressively declining, the images in front of me turning to small clicks, like the shutter of a camera. One moment, my eyes were focused on the tree ahead of me. The next, I was somewhere completely new.

Time didn't exist. It was just,Click. Click. Click.

I found myself against a tree. My limbs didn't dare move. My head was pounding too viciously, stomach threatening to empty itself if I took another step. I was pressing a hand against my aching head, the other grasping for my heaving chest.

It hurt. It hurt so incredibly bad.

My only goal now, was to find someplace to lay and close my eyes. My lids fluttered to remain open, but the fight was quickly leaving my body.

I blinked, and blinked, and blinked.

The world in front of me was blurring by each second, until an object then finally completed the job,

there was absolutely nothing after.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·8,063 words.

I know i've got a bad case of writing for too long, when my keyboard starts making weird shapes and levitating off my phone. (does that even make sense? istg i cant be the only person this happens to)

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.