Small talk

The Georgia heat was, once again, unbearable — but somehow, it still felt cold. Death lingered over the campsite like a heavy fog: invisible but ever-present, suffocating and still.

Morning had been spent cleaning up the wreckage of the night before. Pickaxes buried into skulls. Corpses dragged off and burned. Graves dug for the ones they had loved — or simply lost.

Andrea hadn't moved from her sister's side. With each passing minute, Amy's body edged closer to turning. Rick had tried reasoning with her, pleading — but Andrea had only raised her gun in warning, silent and deadly.

"You can't be serious," Daryl growled, standing near the firepit, covered in walker gore and sweat, his pickaxe balanced on one shoulder. "That girl's a goddamn time bomb."

Alex caught the tail end of the argument as she stepped out of the RV with Carol. Her freshly bandaged hand throbbed, but Carol had done what she could. Despite mourning her dead husband Ed, she'd taken the time to stitch Alex up without complaint.

Alex moved toward Rick and Shane, adjusting the black tank top clinging to her still-damp skin. Her jeans were stiff with dust and heat, her vest unzipped for air. Another cigarette sat between her fingers, already burning. Her sunglasses shielded her tired eyes.

"What do you suggest?" Rick asked as Alex approached.

She was about to answer when Daryl stepped forward. "Take the shot. Clean, right through the brain. I can hit a turkey between the eyes from here."

The tension broke only when Lori stepped in, her voice sharp and final. "Leave her alone."

Alex remained quiet, watching Andrea cradle her sister's body. She understood. Maybe not the grief—but the rage. The need to hold onto something.

Daryl scoffed, muttering curses as he stomped off to help with the remaining corpses. Alex didn't follow. Her hand was killing her, and frankly, she'd done more than enough the last few days.

Instead, she pulled a cigarette from her vest and lit up.

"How's the hand?" Shane asked, eyeing her bandage.

"Still a hand," she smirked, the cigarette balanced between her lips. "Good enough."

"You left my brother for dead!"

The sudden outburst cut through the silence like a gunshot. Alex's head snapped toward Daryl, who was shouting across camp again.

"You had this coming!"

Shane sighed. "We ain't never gonna hear the end of this."

"Tell me about it," Alex muttered, flexing her injured hand. Daryl hadn't aimed for her, but she wouldn't put it past him next time.

She was strapping her holsters onto her hips when another cry rang out.

"A walker got him! Jim's been bitten!"

Jacqui's voice carried across the campsite, panic in every syllable.

Alex tossed her cigarette and stood, heart sinking. One problem after another.

Daryl was already on Jim, towering over him with a predator's look and a pickaxe in hand. "Show it to us."

Jim backed away, terrified, gripping a shovel like a lifeline. People circled around, demanding to see the bite.

T-Dog slipped in behind him, gripping Jim's arms as Daryl lifted his shirt.

The teeth marks were unmistakable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex sat beside Jim behind the RV, her eyes on the tree line as the others argued about what to do.

She didn't join in. She'd already made one life-or-death decision — Merle. She wasn't eager to carry the weight of another.

Still, her eyes flicked to Jim every few seconds. He twitched. His breathing had grown shallow. The color drained from his face by the minute.

Rick's voice rose in the distance. "The CDC's our best shot. It's Jim's only chance."

Alex didn't look at Rick. She was watching Daryl — the way his jaw clenched, his grip tightening around the pickaxe.

She stood, muscles taut, intercepting just as he took a step toward Jim.

"Someone's gotta grow a pair and take care of this damn problem!"

Daryl raised the pickaxe high.

Alex stepped in his path without thinking. A stupid move. He'd already shot her once. Maybe next time he wouldn't miss.

Her hand hovered over her weapon — but Rick beat her to it. His gun was drawn and leveled at Daryl in a blink.

"We don't kill the living."

Daryl turned, teeth bared. "That's rich, coming from the guy who put a gun to my head yesterday."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Everyone wants to kill me."

"Nope," Alex replied, seated on the cushioned bench across from Jim in the RV. "Just Daryl."

He managed a weak smile.

Alex rested her head against the window, watching life in the camp carry on without them. Her hand throbbed, and she did her best to ignore the squelching thuds in the distance as Daryl dispatched the walkers.

Even Carol's sobs reached her. Sounded like she was taking care of Ed herself. Guess she'd had enough.

Then came the gunshot. Andrea.

Alex closed her eyes and didn't say a word.

She stayed with Jim.

Later, as his fever climbed and his speech slurred into nonsense, she tried to comfort him. Empty words. Lies.

"Just hang in there, man. We'll get you help."

A promise she knew was already broken.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the funerals, Alex and Dale took a sweep of the surrounding woods. Rick and Shane covered the other direction.

"We haven't had much of a chance to get to know one another," Dale said as he sidestepped a log, keeping pace beside her.

"I'm not exactly social," Alex replied with a dry smile.

"I noticed. You're closed off."

"Not closed off, Dale. Cautious."

He hummed. "Where do you stand?"

"On what?"

"Jim."

Alex stopped walking and turned toward him. "I don't know. Maybe Rick's right about the CDC. Maybe not."

"And if he's not?"

She hesitated. "Then Jim dies. Just like Amy." She turned away. "Let's head back."

They didn't get far.

Cutting across the other sweep route, they found Shane — alone, gun raised. No walkers.

But he wasn't aiming at the woods.

Alex followed the sight line.

Rick.

Shane was aiming straight at Rick.

Alex's stomach flipped. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Shane lowered the weapon.

Dale's voice was grim. "Jesus."

Shane laughed nervously. "Guess I should start wearing a reflective vest out here. Seriously."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Looks clear to me."

Shane called to Rick. "Come on, man!"

Alex said nothing else. But she didn't take her eyes off Shane until they reached the camp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They returned to a tense, silent circle of survivors. Shane stepped forward.

"I've been thinking about Rick's plan," he said. "There's no guarantees either way. But I've known this man a long time. I trust his instincts. And the most important thing? We stay together. Those of you who agree — we leave at first light."

Alex listened carefully. Shane had done a complete one-eighty. She didn't buy it. Not entirely.

That night, she laid back in the stripped-down Dodge, thinking.

She could leave. Still had that option. Going solo meant less noise, fewer attachments.

But it also meant no one to watch her back.

Maybe being with others... maybe that was survival now.

The car door creaked open.

Alex jerked, hand flying to her gun.

It was Dale.

"Christ, Dale!" she groaned, lowering the weapon.

"Sorry," he said, holding out a blanket. "Thought you might want a little comfort."

She took it, softening. "Thanks."

"You're part of this group now, Alex," he added. "And a valuable one at that."

He shut the door gently behind him.

Alex laid back and stared at the ceiling.

She'd give it a shot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Camp packed up at dawn. Morales and his family said their goodbyes — heading for Birmingham.

Alex ended up in Shane's open-top Jeep. One leg propped on the dash, scarf pulled up to stop the wind from whipping her hair.

Neither of them spoke.

That was fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I told you that hose wouldn't last. I said we needed the one off the cube van."

Alex stood atop the RV, keeping watch as Dale cursed his engine.

"I see something," she called down. She raised her scope. "Could be a gas station up ahead."

"If we're lucky," Shane muttered, peering through binoculars.

Suddenly, Jacqui rushed out of the RV.

"Y'all—Jim! It's bad. I don't think he can take anymore!"

Alex knew it. She stayed silent, but the writing was on the wall.

Shane and T-Dog headed out. Rick ducked into the RV. Alex remained on top, scanning the horizon for threats.

Daryl paced below. They locked eyes briefly.

"Relax, Dixon," she muttered. "You might still get to put that pickaxe to use."

He ignored her, but his scowl deepened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim made his choice. No CDC. No RV. He wanted to die under a tree.

So they granted it.

One by one, the group said goodbye. Even Daryl gave a respectful nod.

"Good luck with that one," Jim rasped to Alex as she approached.

She cracked a small smile. "I'll need more than luck. Maybe another pair of cuffs."

Jim laughed. Coughing.

"Thanks. For looking out for me."

She nodded. "Be seeing you, Jim."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every vehicle was full — except one.

"The hell you think you're doing?" Daryl snapped as Alex climbed into his truck.

"What's it look like? Hitching a ride."

"Nah. Go hitch somewhere else."

She sighed, removing her glasses and looking him dead-on. "Look. I ain't getting in that moody Jeep or the broken-down RV. Just suck it up and do me a favor, yeah?"

"I owe you jack shit," he snapped. "Get the fuck outta my truck before I throw your bitch ass out myself."

"Oh, for Christ's sake." She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her vest and waved it in his face. "I'll trade ya."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl drove with one hand on the wheel, cigarette in the other.

Alex sat comfortably in his passenger seat, watching the road.

"So," she tried, "the bike in the back — yours?"

"Merle's."

Shit. "Oh."

Daryl smirked. Her awkwardness was delicious.

"He'd kill me if I left it behind."

She nodded, silence settling again.

He finished his smoke and reached for water. Then, unexpectedly, he offered her the last few sips.

She blinked. "Thanks."

Maybe there was more to him than rage and arrows.

"You think we'll find answers at this place?" he asked.

"I don't know. One can hope."

"Yeah..." he muttered, chewing his lip. "Hope."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stench of rotting bodies hit them long before they reached the CDC.

Flies buzzed like an angry swarm. The corpses of soldiers littered the entrance — a final stand that had clearly failed.

"Alright, everybody keep moving."

They moved quickly, Alex pulling her scarf up, gun ready. The silence felt wrong.

"Nothing?" she asked Rick as they reached the doors.

"They're locked."

"Then why are the shutters down?" Rick asked, still scanning.

"Walkers!" Daryl called out.

Chaos. Panic. Arguments.

"You led us into a graveyard!" Daryl yelled.

"It was a risk we all took," Alex snapped back.

Rick refused to retreat. He stood at the door, begging into the camera. "Please! We have women and children!"

Alex tried to pull him back. "You're killing us, Rick!"

The group turned to flee—when a floodlight snapped on.

The doors opened.

They all froze.

And stepped inside.