nine. break, heart, but never cry

nine˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ break, heart, but never cry ↲

I NEVER THOUGHT ID BE THE LAST HARGRAVE STANDING. Through the years, I'd thought up numerous different scenarios about how I'd leave this world. Many had nothing to do with the dead, and a whole lot more with my father.

I assumed it wouldn't be premeditated, but it would occur midst a fight. That I'd be trying to defend someone when he was lashing out, and he'd use too much force on me. A blow to the skull—or his hands wrapped around my throat.

I was the only one willing to fight back; it was no surprise he often found me as an opponent.

He was never good at finding someone his own size. But, at least I was closer to his size than Allie was. I had a few feet on her, which meant as long as I was in the house, she was left alone.

I didn't think I'd make it out of those four walls. I pictured the only way my body would be brought out of the house, were if it was closed in a casket.

When the sickness hit, it was my mother who'd been first to go. From all the fists she'd endured, the thing that ended her was a rusted nail. Then fell my father, by my own actions. Allie and I were on our own for months, before she too, eventually joined their hands in death.

I'd tried so hard to protect her—but taking care of a child was no task for another child. I'd done it for years in our own home, though, I wasn't prepared to fend for her and myself in the state our world was viciously thrown into.

Thereupon, left the very last of the Hargraves. The girl who'd never expected to survive to adulthood. The only one who'd provoked the household wife-beater, and received the most fists in return. The one who'd thrown herself in front of altercations so that her baby sister and mother were left alone.

As I now sat in the dim train car, I thought back to weeks before she'd died.

T H E N

We'd been holed up in a tipped over school bus that was abandoned near a gas stop. The entrance and exits were reinforced, so it hadn't mattered much that it was sideways. Sleeping was an entirely difficult story that usually started with discomfort, and ended with waking up stiff and terribly sore.

It had been dark this particular night. I'd peeled the layer of warmth from my own body, and zipped it onto Allie. Sheets, towels, and whatever else I'd ransacked from the gas station covered the windows. This had allowed me to light a small portable gas stove on the seat, and boil a can of soup.

"Could you read the story again?" Allie's small voice questioned, her hands hidden by the long sleeves of my coat.

I momentarily looked at her. Exhaustion was heavy on her face. Her big eyes blinked innocence back at me, as I carefully grabbed the boiling tomato soup with prongs and set it down.

"Al, you've heard it a billion times now." I sighed, stirring a utensil in the cooling liquid.

She gave me a toothy smile. Though, she mostly lacked the 'tooth' aspect of it, as her front ones were still taking their time fully growing in. "So what?"

"So, you can read it yourself if you like it so much." I stated, turning off the stove and putting a second spoon into the can. "You learned to read two years ago."

She frowned theatrically, her eyes pleading with me. "But I like it better when you read it."

I felt myself collapse under the pressure, reaching to grab the thin children's book from our small array of items, named "Cry, Heart, But Never Break."

"Fine," I smiled. "I'm not reading it again, after this." I finished, knowing the book would most likely be in my hands again tomorrow.

It was one of the only things that distracted her from tears in regards to our mothers passing. She didn't seem to cry any tears for Dad. She only called for our deceased mother when she was sad, or asked questions I never knew the answer to. I didn't know how to make things better, or how to explain the why behind all of this. I didn't understand it myself.

I'd waited for the can to lose its heat before handing it to her, and flipping open the book where a small quote in the beginning said:

"Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead, so why be afraid of death, when death comes all the time?" -Glenn Ringtved.

It was a morbid quote for an illustrated children's book, but it made sense once realizing the story was about navigating the death of someone you loved. There were aspects of accepting death, masking the heaviness with intricate pictures. This was the only reason Allie enjoyed the novel so much, not truly paying attention to the meaning. She cared about the pretty words, and rhyming poems the author had written within.

She had always liked using big words, sometimes ones she could barely fit in her mouth, pronouncing them horribly wrong even while a dictionary laid in her hands.

As I had read on, the soup slowly disappeared from the cup. The warmth was draining from the bus, but she was still bundled heavily. Not long after I reached the end of the story, her eyes had grown heavy at my words and she'd fallen asleep at last.

I don't know why this particular memory stayed, long after she'd departed. Nevertheless, I was thankful that I'd held onto it. Grateful for the fact that I hadn't only been able to remember the last image of her.

The gruesome, terrible one.

There were still good things to remember about Allison Hargrave. Her uneven smile, her fawn-like eyes, and her soft spirit.

N O W

"Make anything useful yet?" Carl whispered from behind, bringing me from my thoughts.

I raised my makeshift weapon to show him. I'd unhooked my belt from my pants, and pushed nails pulled from the floorboards through the notches. I wrapped the leather around my hands, the nails now sticking outward from my knuckles.

Everyone was working away in the confined space, using whatever they could to create defenses. My fingers were calloused and raw from the effort. This was all I'd been able to make.

"Kind of makes you look like Wolverine." He noticed.

I turned my fist to gauge how much damage it could do. "Always thinking about comics, aren't you?"

"Only when life's bad enough." He replied, kneeling down to work on the loosened floorboard I'd twisted the nails from. "Guess it's been a lot, recently."

I looped the rest of the belt around my palm. This not only gave me more stability with the sharp nails, but also allowed for a protected punch, if need be. It was a boxing glove meant to do permanent damage.

"Maybe you won't need them someday." I suggested, now attempting to help him pry the piece of wood loose

He got the edge up, putting his fingers beneath it, and pulling harshly. The thing crackled and snapped, finally releasing a jagged portion from the board.

"Maybe not." He agreed, readjusting his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

As his grip tightened on the sharp fragment, I wondered if there would ever be a place that allowed him to retire his fondness for comics. I understood his fixation now. He didn't want to be the hero. He wanted a chance to escape this awful reality, for even a minute. Those booklets had allowed him to go someplace else entirely, where suffering was always overruled by triumph.

Outside of the train car, voices began to approach. I quickly brought myself up, my body pushing itself into one of the four corners. Carl came beside me, his shoulder angled in front of my body as everyone else scattered to ready themselves.

Daryl glanced through the crack, then turned to the rest of us. "All right, got four of them pricks coming our way."

"Ya'll know what to do." Rick stood, the others following. "Go for their eyes first, then their throats."

I tightened my homemade weapon against my palm, as Carl defensively raised the wood. My fist scrunched into a ball, hand lightly tremoring before I forced a breath through my chest. The shaking stopped. I was ready to do what needed to be done.

Then, an assertive voice yelled from the doors, "Put your backs on either side of the car. Now!"

The entire group was in formation. We were focused entirely on the front of the doors, hands up and ready to protect ourselves. Short nods were tossed around between everyone, a silent go ahead that said whatever happened would end with us on top.

Footsteps pounded on the roof. Carl looked back at me before his head snapped up, mine following suit. Light poured into the dark room from overhead, as if a spotlight were welcoming us to the stage. I squinted at the open sky roof, the bridge of my nose crinkling as I attempted to fight through the sudden blindness.

An object hit the floor, causing a 'clink' to echo throughout the box car.

"Move!" Abraham shouted, resulting in the ones closest to the canister, to dive out of its way. Carl and I took cover against one another on the floor.

With a deafening bang, the box was instantly covered in a layer of dense, suffocating smoke. Everyone scattered to find a way out, quickly becoming hindered from the evident poison interlinking itself in the air. I struggled to lift myself off of the ground, bringing my sleeve to cover my nose and mouth while chokes and gasps sounded from around.

The doors finally slid open. Only a few who'd been able to filter their breathing fast enough still stood. I coughed deeply as a figure in a gas mask slowly emerged from the fog. They made their way past, leaning down to drag one of us out. I swatted at the mist, eyes burning terribly as they focused on the person who'd been grabbed by the man.

The hat was all I needed to see to realize who it was. Before they had the chance to fully take hold of his struggling body, I found myself lunging towards the stranger with my weapon. I got a dig against their shoulder, causing them to bring their attention from Carl. My sudden attack caused the persons mask to clatter to the floor.

I tried to swing again, but I was sent backward with a punch, an ache rooting in my nose. The smoke finally began burning inside of my lungs, choking me as I swung my arm out.

I was too slow. I was being grabbed, hands forced behind me. I coughed heavily, images blurring in front of me as I could no longer use the fabric of my sleeve as a filter.

Another masked being stepped forward and looked to his partner. His voice was muffled by the protection. "Take her, too. It's better to eliminate the aggressive first."

The person holding onto me mumbled a response, dragging me through the car, and down the steps. When I reached the last stair, I was pushed with great force to the concrete.

My head spun in circles. I blinked violently, the side of my head resting against the ground to look to my side. My eyes met with a pair of green, doe eyes.

Allie.

When I blinked again, her figure alongside me dissolved, and was replaced by Rick. The airborne poison was clearly beginning to affect my brain. It seemed to slow the movements of those around me, making my own body feel tremendously heavy. I was too dizzy to raise myself up.

Another suited person descended the steps, cradling a bloody nose while he rushed to close the doors again. He then made his way to the few of us on the ground, watching as Rick attempted to raise himself up. A heavy work shoe of his came down against Rick's head, knocking the light from his eyes as his body slumped into the ground.

"Anyone else wanna' try that?" The stranger shouted, looking around before taking hold of an unconscious Rick,

The remainder of us stayed glued on the ground as workers approached to firmly pick us up. As soon as I'd been lifted from the concrete, I was drug through the 'A' block alleyway. It took minutes before we entered through a squeaky door, met with a cold, loud room. High pitched ringing and drilling sounded out from somewhere within the place. I inhaled the sudden smell of metal, my singular bite of food  urging its way back up.

We were then brought to the middle of the room, where a single object resembling a silver trough was placed. Something pigs would eat mulch and worms out of, only, there were no animals here.

Once we had been forced toward it, I was shoved into a kneeling position. My kneecaps made harsh contact with the floor, stabbing pain traveling up my thighs as zip-ties were placed on my limbs to bound me. I had been placed between Glenn, and Daryl—who was stubbornly refusing to sit as Rick gained consciousness back. A gag was placed in my mouth before I had the chance to yell obscenities at the people.

With all functions taken away but sight, I wildly observed the space we were in. There were large, illuminating windows behind us. They were the frosted kind, which meant I couldn't see out. Still, I felt the day pass through the glass, and warm my back. To the left, the sawing noises continued. For moments, it would stop and seem to get stuck in hard material. Then, there would be a crackle, and a splatter.

From my reflection in the metal, I turned to look at the project they were working on. A muffled cry was stopped in my throat by the gag, as I set my attention on the pale, lifeless body, laid naked on an operation table.

They were being gutted. Cut open, and gutted. The men's aprons were covered in specks of blood and fat. Next to them, sat three dumpsters. One was labeled 'burn'—the other, 'eat', and the last 'wash'.

Bile rose in my throat. What the fuck had I taken a bite of, earlier?

There were others in the lineup. People I didn't know the names of, and didn't want to learn now. They were all men. I'd only been brought here because I'd managed a good enough punch to deem me 'violent'. Maybe if I hadn't, I would have been in the last group to be—from the looks of it—slaughtered.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road." One of the two butchers shut off his saw, and walked to the side of the bath.

The two men had different weapons in their hands. One practiced his swinging arm with a bat, the other sharpening his blade. The metal-against-metal sounds sent an uncomfortable feeling shaking down my spine, causing me to tilt my neck back in order to rid myself of the tingling sensation.

These two walked to the very end, where a boy no older then twenty was violently shaking. His hair was light blonde, and he had and intense gaze on Rick, almost like they had met before.

A bat then swung at his head, causing his shakes to stop, and his body to fall forward onto the metal structure. The man standing beside the other in control of the bat, unsheathed his knife, bringing it to the boys neck, and slicing without hesitation.

This brought me to avert my gaze. Spare myself the details. As I set my eyes forward, thick darkened blood slowly spread throughout the container. It reached the drain, but didn't ever clear out of the bottom. The liquid stayed stationary there, reflecting my image back at me.

You are what you eat. I remember hearing that as a child. And, what I saw in the shiny liquid beneath me, was utterly human.

There was no question what had been on my plate earlier.

I suddenly couldn't get enough air. I huffed, and inhaled, and drew in as much oxygen as possible, but no amount could fill my lungs. A painful stitch of panic thread itself through my intestines. I squirmed and whimpered in my spot, unable to calm myself at this too-far-gone point.

They moved onto the second man. He met the same fate as the last. It was again bloody, and gruesome. So incredibly repulsive that nobody could bring themselves to watch anymore. The dripping and spatting of blood allowed everyone to imagine it perfectly, anyway.

I felt a shoulder nudge against mine. Daryl. He kept his eyes on me, as if instructing me to focus on anything else but the bloodbath in front of us. When I brought my full attention to him instead, I was finally able to catch a real breath. He nodded at me as I tried to level myself.

There was no plan. I saw it on his face. He couldn't get us out of this situation, like he'd done with the claimers. Our luck ran high and dry. There was nothing left to do, but calm my breathing, and let death take us all quick.

I brought my pinky fingernail to the fastening of the zip-ties around my wrists, desperately attempting to shove my finger far enough into it, for it to pop open. I quickly realized it wouldn't work, as days ago, I'd chewed the whites of my fingernails off out of old habit.

A blow came from behind the third man, and blood circled the drain again. The slight differences in color swirled in front of me as I realized the next one to be killed was the last of the strangers. Glenn would be next, followed by me. Then the Angel, Rick, and Bob.

"Hey, guys," Gareth entered the room, and I immediately recognized his voice. "What were your shot counts?"

The bat crunched into the fourth man's skull as the hitter said,"Thirty-eight."

Gareth wrote this down on a notepad, while the other grabbed the injured man's hair using his blade to slice his neck. Blood squirted from his artery, hitting the tub with such force that it splattered back on Glenn and I.

"Hey, your shot count?" He asked a butcher who was now ready to advance on Glenn.

The man behind us fell silent. "Crap, man. I'm sorry, it was my first roundup."

Gareth looked at him with annoyance, crossing his name off of the list. "After you're done here, go back to your point and count up the shells. Kaylee won't be gathering them until tomorrow."

"Hey!" A muffled voice shouted from the end.

I tried to put a name to the culprit shouting this, but the muffle made it extremely hard to distinct the voice.

"Hey, let me talk to you." It said again, this time originating the loudest from the man on the end, Bob.

He was fearless, or suicidal. Either way, they both ended the same. Death.

Gareth was unbothered by this, continuing to get statistics from the butchers. "Five from A, and four from D?"

He was counting us up. All four from D were limp against the basin now. The five of us, from A, still knelt.

"Yeah." The man with the blade replied, hoping to add to the conversation since he'd lost count of his shots.

"Hey, let me talk to you for a minute!" Bob now shouted, tired of being disregarded.

Gareth finally sighed, lowering himself down on the opposite side of him, and pulling the man's gag under his chin. "What?"

"Don't do this." Bob begged. "We can fix this."

Gareth shook his head, decided. He acted as if this was only business. "No, you cant."

"You don't have to do this. We told you there's a way out of this, you just have to take a chance. We have a man who knows how to stop it, he has a cure. We just have to get him to Washington." He pleaded, a newfound sparkle in his eyes. "You don't have to do this man, we can put the world back to how it was."

As much as someone might have wished what he said was true, I knew it to be bullshit. With all the things we'd done to survive, there was no option to go back anymore. I couldn't think of finding a place where things went along with past ethics, and standards. We didn't hold that kind of peace in our souls anymore. Civilization was gone. We were meant to be wild, and survivalists.

As if Gareth had taken the words straight from my head, he spoke, "Can't go back, Bob."

Bob shouted while he was muffled again, but this time, the fabric was pushed further into his mouth, making him incapable of speaking any real words anymore.

Gareth now turned to Rick. He pulled his gag down. "We saw you go into the woods with a bag, and come out without it. Had to pull my spotters back before we could go look for it. What was in it?"

Gareth had seen us come in. His surprise at our arrival, now clear to me, was fabricated. He'd been expecting us, watching our every move beforehand. There was no telling how long he'd been watching us before we'd come through the back. I'd put money on the idea that he'd probably ordered scopes to be aimed at our backs as we entered the 'sanctuary'.

Rick didn't bother to respond, only glaring back at a grinning Gareth. He was smiling because he knew this situation ended with him on top. For Christ's sake, we were kneeling before him, waiting for our turn in death.

"You hid it, right? Incase things went bad?" He asked. "Smart. Still, we'll find it."

Gareth's attention panned to focus solely on me. He stopped before my body, pulling a knife from his pocket. The blade seemed big enough to skin a cow of its hide. He reached out, grabbed the back of my neck, and pulled me closer to place the knife near my eye.

"But, it's too dangerous to go out there right now."

He motioned it closer to my face, looking to Rick as I watched the blade carefully. "What was in it? I'm curious, and it was a big bag."

Rick and I remained silent, the only sound being my hot breath against the cloth. I shuddered at the sight of the sharp metal tip, the object so close that I was losing sight of it completely.

"You're really gonna' let me do this?" He asked.

Rick shifted beside me. Daryl leaned, watching the weapon carefully. Everyone lay still in the moment.

"Well, let me take you out there, I'll show you." Rick pleaded.

"Not gonna' happen," Garth now pushed my head towards the knife. "This might."

"There's guns in it." Rick instantly blurted. "AK-47, .44 Magnum, automatic weapons, nightscope, there's a compound bow, and a machete with a red handle." He paused. "That's what I'm gonna' use to kill you."

Gareth chuckled, sighing as he pat Rick's shoulders, and placed the muffle over his mouth again. "Thanks."

He then stepped back, looking to the butchers. "You have two hours to get them on the driers, I'm going back to public face. Now's the time we can get messy, but we need to dial it all in by sundown."

They gave him short nods of agreement. They prepared to move onto Glenn, but two gunshots sounded outside, sending them looking to their leader for explanation. Gareth pulled out his walkie talkie, trying to speak to someone on the other end. The man with the bat raised the weapon to Glenn's head, stopping at the sound of another shot.

Clearly this was coming from an unidentified source. I thought maybe it had been more unlucky survivors whom they were rounding up, but Gareth's face was shadowed with too much confusion as he made way out of the building.

This told me he had no idea what was going on.

Silence quickly overtook the room, before a deep rumbling climbed the wall, the force rattling through the entire building. Dust and particles of debris crumbled from the pillars of the roof. The rest of us on the floor were unstable as the ground violently shook, the butchers loosing their footing and scattering apart.

More gunshots. Fire-ish fumes seeped through every pore in the building. The two men quickly  ran at the windows to investigate, but the frost paint prevented them from seeing past. Whatever was happening outside was left unknown to all of us.

I looked between my group mates frantically. With my arms still tied behind my back, I couldn't reach out for any protection. My bound legs made standing near impossible. I was completely helpless. None of us had a chance. Only Rick displayed a quiet, dangerous calm on his face.

One of the men pulled out his radio. "You there, Gareth?"

"He's busy." The batted man said. He spoke like this wasn't his first experience with all hell breaking lose.

"You smell the smoke? You hear the shots? He could be dead! The hell we doin' here? This whole place could be going up!" The other panicked.

I brought the pointed tip of my ruby-colored boot against my arm tie. I aggressively tried any method to free myself, while the men were distracted. They fought about their next plan-of-action like siblings, allowing us to silently communicate with one another. Rick revealed he still had his piece of sharpened wood hiding inside his sleeve.

"You went on one roundup and you blew protocol. We don't deal with security, that ain't our job. This is." The one holding the bat argued.

Rick's ties were off. He'd sawed them through with the wood. Now, he was just biding time, waiting for the right moment.

He continued. "Hey—look at me!"

The other turned. "What?"

Like on cue, Rick jumped up, plunging the pointed object into the closest's neck. After doing so, he slammed the other against the operation table with the deceased body. He met the same fate as his partner. Rick was still stabbing him as Glenn shouted for him to free the rest of us.

Rick twisted and cut all of us free. Once my binds snapped, I rubbed the raw sores that had developed over my wrists, standing quickly. The gunfire hadn't yet ceased outside. It sounded like battleground was surrounding us.

"If they got problems, we got a chance." Rick told us, addressing the sounds of the warfare.

"It sounded like a bomb." Glenn panicked.

He was clearly distraught. His wife—the southern lady—whose name I'd learned was Maggie, was still in the train car. The rest of them were. There was no telling if they were okay, or not. Where the gunfire had originated, or in which direction the explosions had come from.

I pulled the tied rag from my mouth, finally getting a full breath of air in.

"Sounds like a damn war." Daryl remarked. He then turned to me, noticing the fear strewn across my features. "You ok?"

"Fine." I assured him. "I have both eyes, thanks to Rick."

The son-of-a-bitch Gareth had threatened to stab one out. What kind of sick bastard took pride in those things? And now, our bag of weapons were identified, and there was no question he had people looking in the woods for them, as we spoke.

"Don't thank me until we get out of here." Rick added, eyeing me. "You were right about this place."

I nodded, saying nothing more as I grabbed a blade from the array of weapons placed on a medical tray. This particular one had razor sharp jagged teeth, like it was meant to cut through bone.

I didn't even let myself think of the bodies it had been used on.

"What the hell are these people?" Bob questioned.

"They ain't people." Daryl stated, turning away from me.

After everyone had grabbed weapons, we followed Rick, who was searching for an exit. I only looked back momentarily to glance at the four limp bodies slumped against the metal tub.

We now approached an attached room. The doors were barred like cells of a prison, but they were open and accessible to anyone who wished to enter the space. As I followed the men through it, an immediate stench hit me. My eyes flicked up from the ground. Hooks and metals chains strung drying carcasses overhead. There were bins filled of slimy internal organs, towels drenched in browning fluid, and cutting boards with diced meat on it.

It was a kitchen, and a butcher shop, all in one. The food was being prepared here. This was where the real shit went down. The grill at the front entrance was the only part of the process they allowed others to see.

"Don't look."Rick urged, pulling my elbow to  help me continue on.

I stifled a cry. Nothing so inhumane had ever been presented before me, like this. There was nothing I would witness that could ever be more vile.

"Cross any of these people, you kill them. Don't hesitate." Rick spoke to the group. "They won't."

I wound up alongside Glenn, who'd stopped at the door to look through the small glass window. There were dead roaming freely outside. A group clawed at a boxcar. Terminus's defenses must have fallen. That would explain the explosion, and the gunfire.

"If we run, we can get by em', they're distracted." Rick explained.

Distracted by the shouts coming from the inside of the train car. There were others, like us, who had been captured. I wondered how long this had all been occurring. How many people before us had ended at the hands of these awful humans.

Glenn turned to Rick. "We got to let those people out. That's still who we are, It's gotta' be."

My stomach turned as Rick nodded. There was no room for debate, as he had already opened the barrier. We were thrown out into the open, the door shutting behind us as a front of walkers turned their attention to us. I brought one down with that same kick-back-of-knee method, the dead now brought down before me, allowing me to puncture the blade through its skull.

Now that our path was clear, Glenn rushed to the door, struggling to force it open. When he was finally able to do so, a man came running outwards. He appeared distressed, and entirely crazed. He latched himself onto Glenn, shaking the man.

"We're the same! We're them!" He shouted with nonsense.

Glenn pushed him away, the frantic man now throwing himself onto Rick. His eyes were full of craze. He'd been locked away in the dark for too long. It hadn't taken a hit to the back of the head, or the slit of a knife, to ruin him. Time had taken its toll on him, here at Terminus. The job was already done.

He laughed again. "We're the same!"

"Back off." Rick remarked, pushing the hysterical man off of him.

He continued his fit of laughter. He was incredibly unkempt, telling me he'd been locked away for a great while. He brought his head up and tilted it at us all, before a walker ran straight into him. From here, they both tumbled to the ground. His shouts began immediately after, wrangling in all the dead nearby.

"Come on!" Rick ushered the group.

We began to run again, but Glenn stopped and turned back to the man and the walker. He lifted the bat he'd taken from the butcher above his head. He struck the dead twice before Daryl grabbed the collar of his shirt and forced him back.

We were left to stand behind the large box as we scanned for a way out. The alleyway to 'A' block was completely overrun. The dead ones swarmed the area like insects creating a hive. This place belonged to them, now. All of us knew this. We were aware the only thing left to do was round up the rest of us, and get out of here. However, up ahead, the people of Terminus fired their guns at the walkers like they thought they could reclaim the place.

"We gotta' double back." Bob realized.

"A is that way." Rick replied, motioning his head in the opposite direction. "We go back, we don't know where we are."

"We don't really have a choice, do we?" Daryl said, looking to the dead closing in. There was no way we'd be able to push through all of them, unscathed. We had to go back.

More gunshots fired off, ahead. Our only route of escape had shooters scattered throughout the path. It was either the dead, or them. We had to choose which to conquer.

"Wait here." Rick commanded, seemingly wanting to take out the Terminus members, rather than the walkers.

He circled the boxcar, lowly running to conceal himself behind an abandoned vehicle. He only had a knife against these people with automatic rifles.

"What do we do?" Bob panicked, looking at our hunched-over leader.

"We back him up." I told him.

Rick was too distracted with the approaching gunfire to notice the walker coming up behind him. I kept low as I made way towards the car, my sweaty grip tightening around the handle of my weapon. When I crossed the open range successfully, I pulled on the walker, who was inches from biting into the man. It was so frail and thin that I'd been able to push it into the brick wall, and plant the ridged edges of the blade into its head. It slid to the ground with a thud.

Rick gave me a thankful nod as I sat down beside him on my knees. Daryl came from behind, and the three of us waited for the majority of the snipers to pass. When it came down to the last one of the group, Rick snuck behind him, and attacked him. As soon as he was able to grab hold of his gun, he aimed up ahead to the rest of them.

He took every single last one out.

I ran after him, picking up a few of the guns before more of the dead made their way down the alley, pushing Rick and I back towards the others.

"Let's double back, now." He instructed.

I dropped the knife and brought myself forward with the new guns, keeping pace with him. Our breaths were ragged as echoes of chaos surrounded. Daryl fell into step beside us, and I handed him the second gun as the rest of our group followed close behind. We found our way through the streets strewn with dead, the airspace filled with the constant rhythm of gunfire. Each bullet that left our newly acquired guns were a desperate effort to hinder the advance of the walkers.

The five of us eventually made it to 'A' block, after much effort. Sweat was rolling down the divot of my spine as Rick scaled the steps to our train car. He quickly unlatched the door, bringing a cascading light throughout the dim interior. I only had a moment to look to the others huddled inside, as now was not the time for pleasantries. The dead were closing in on us.

"Come on, fight to the fence!" Rick instructed, turning to the masses of dead as his gun casings clinked to the ground like rainfall.

They exited the train as quick as possible, joining our fight on the ground, with their homemade weapons. My sights were out ahead, finger pressing against the trigger to create an opening amongst the dead. The kickback protested against my shoulder, the loud reverberation creating a deafening ringing in my eardrums as we moved forward.

A wet, squelching stab came from directly behind. I whirred around, met with the boy in the sheriffs hat. Carl. He was pulling his defense out of a walker who'd been much too close to me for comfort. We momentarily connected eyes, and the ghost of a greeting appeared on the corners of his mouth. I didn't have time to thank him. He didn't seem to be expecting one to begin with. I only blinked at the reality that he'd just saved me from imminent death, before being forced to continue onward.

"Up and over!" One of our acquaintances with a ponytail of brown hair peeking out from her hat shouted. She knifed a dead through the fencing we now approached.

Abraham peeled his jacket from his body, then placed the fabric over the barbs on the fences. The brunette went first, then helped Eugene—a scientist, who was said to be extremely crucial to our survival—over. While I waited for my turn, I unloaded on the spread-out hoard gaining.

They were joining together to create one, inescapable, black hole. Once they got close enough, I knew they would pull us in, and consume to the point of non-existence. We'd be erased off the face of the earth. There would be absolutely no trace of our bodies. No proof we'd ever lived at all.

Once most had gone, Abraham reached a hand out for me. I lowered my weapon and approached, allowing him to lift me over the fence with ease. As soon as my feet hit the other side, I inhaled a steady breath. Rick shortly followed, then finally, the redhead himself.

The dead reached the fences hardly after Abraham had pulled himself over. They pummeled into the wiring, fingers wrapping around the chains as their jaws unhinged to snap. We all took a moment to look at Terminus, which was now ignited in flame. Dark grey smoke raised itself through the air, the image mimicking rainclouds on a stormy night. We then continued on, returning to the spot Rick originally buried the duffel of supplies. On the way, I'd chosen to walk alongside Daryl. I'd caught Carl, who was just ahead with Rick, glancing at me once or twice. His mouth was clamped shut, the lines between his brows forming an eleven. His eyes were cold. Maybe more than the day I'd first met him.

At first, I believed it to be anger. Yet, something said otherwise. It was an emotion I couldn't put my finger on. I wasn't good at deciphering those. It was my weakest trait.

Upset, scared? I finally got it. Worried.

He was making sure I was still truly alive. I'd been dragged from the dark, smoked-out box for defending him. I wasn't quite sure with myself why I had done it—only that I had, and that it felt more like an instinct than a personal choice. Still, I could understand his looks back at me. He hadn't known where we'd been taken. The chance of us being dead was a whole lot higher than coming back, alive and well.

But here we were. Against all odds. It was too good to be true. Even I had a fleeting thought that I did die in the slaughterhouse, and was now only a spirit following them. Though, my body felt too heavy to not be real. My limbs ached, knees pulsating in pain from the pressure they'd withstood.

I was real. I would only allow real terror to settle, if I could no longer physically feel myself. That was always a terrible tell-tale that something was amiss.

As we approached the site, Daryl pointed at a tree he'd marked. He knelt down, hands moving through the leaves to find the small shovel he'd buried beneath. Once grasping it, he passed it to Rick, who took no more than a minute to pull the bag from the unsettled dirt.

"The hell we still around here for?" Abraham impatiently asked.

"Guns, some supplies." Rick explained. "We go along the fences. Use the rifles. Take out the rest of them."

Bobs face twisted at these words. "What?"

"They don't get to live." Rick stated.

It made sense, in theory. There were still survivors in Terminus, who'd no doubt be vengeful if they made it out. If . . . because the place was burning down, and the dead had taken it over. We'd just barely escaped, at it wasn't smart to push our luck any further. The best plan of action would be to haul ass from this place.

Glenn looked to all of us, who stood, unmoving. "Rick. . . we got out. It's over."

He still grabbed for the guns, making sure they were loaded. "It's not over, till' they're all dead."

"The hell it isn't," The brunette stepped forward. I couldn't remember her name. Rose? No—it was Rosita. "That place is on fire. Full of walkers."

"I'm not dickin' around with this crap, we just made it out." Abraham agreed.

The girl holding Glenn's hand nodded. "The fences are down, they'll run or die."

A twig snapped from behind. Daryl immediately turned, causing me to follow his line of sight back. An unrecognizable woman stood, her face solemn as she remained steps away. She held his crossbow. Before I could ask Daryl about it, he broke off into a run, pulling her into a tight embrace.

The woman laughed softly at the greeting. Others broke from the circle, and came up beside the two. I found myself staying behind, coming alongside Tara, almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Without much warning, she leaned her head into me—a small action of solace.

Back at the prison, I'd asked her if we'd deserved to make it out. I was still deciding this much.

The woman and Rick then exchanged a few words, before they too embraced. Watery tears lined the space beneath her lashes as she melted into the gesture. When they broke apart, she said something that I could not make out from the distance between us.

Rick stepped back, and she motioned the rest of us to follow. We silently walked through the trees until we hit concrete, and a road was sprawled before us. I stayed to the back of the formation, side by side with Tara, as we started up the long incline path.

When we reached the top, a small log cabin shielded by forestry waved back at us. I automatically adjusted the gun in my hands as a man came out from the front door, but realized there was no danger attached to his presence, as Rick ran forward. Carl followed, his shoes pounding against the pavement as he used his last bit of adrenaline to catch up with his father.

When they approached him, I noticed the small baby held in his arms. Rick swiftly took the child, his hands gently cradling her as he pulled her to his chest. He hunched over, holding her tightly as he let out a choked sob.

Carl now joined them. He ran his hands along the baby's back, pressing a kiss to her sun-bleached hair.

I now thought back to the empty baby carrier. The thing they'd been knelt over, when I'd come out of the cellblock. I remembered Carl saying the name Judith when talking to Michonne over breakfast, and the way he'd shut down after realizing what he'd said.

This was his sister.

I watched as the tiny child reached her little fingers out to touch him. Without so much as a warning, my eyes burned with salted envy. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, my throat raw as if I had swallowed a piece of sand paper. I had to force myself to look away. This was not a moment to break apart. It wasn't about me, at all.

This was a reunion of family.

Just not mine. My baby sister wasn't standing in front of me. She wasn't reaching out to brush her fingers against my cheek. I would never again feel the touch of Allie. The losses of our siblings had been the only mutual understanding between Carl and I. Now, that was gone, and I wasn't sure how to feel happy for him. It was selfish, and awful, but I couldn't be any other way. Allie had been small like Judith, once. I vividly remembered the day she was brought into the world. It had been such a good day. Walking into the hospital room, the vulnerability of new life creating such anticipation within me. My mother lay there, radiant and warm. My father stood beside her, a complete revelation. His face void of any anger, for the first time. His fingers carried nothing but softness against my mother's cheek.

That day, I'd help hope that maybe, Allie would be the resolution of our broken family.

Of course, after a month or so, Dad was back to himself, and the world was no longer changed. His soft hands had transformed back to fists. The light dulled from Mom's eyes, again.

Still, I had a sister.

I had a sister, and something good finally took root in our home. She had been my saving grace. And now—now her departure would forever torment me.

Break, Heart, But Never Cry.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·7,705 words.

first off, wow, my book hit 2k views in under a month. that's so insane, & I couldn't think of a better way to thank you all, besides writing a long ass chapter.

k, interaction time! - how did you guys like this chapter? (ghost readers, i'm talking to you, too!)

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.