'If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us..
shall we not revenge?'

-william shakespeare

⤐

  Zeppelin followed the Savior's trail for the better part of two hours, only roughly ten miles out from the clearing in the woods. The trek was relatively easy if she ignored the pulsing ache in her ankle and the way the straps of her weighed down bag cut against her skin. Walkers ambled towards her one at a time now and then, and she sliced them down with ease, growing bored with the way they snarled at her.

  The sky had darkened, thick clouds slowly rolling through the sky. Thankfully the rain hadn't started just yet, but still, she was irritated and on edge, the grumbling thunder above her hindering her ability to listen to her surroundings. She focused on watching the trail, the indents in the packed dirt, the broken grass where the tires smashed through. Every twenty feet, she carved another x into one of the trees.

  'Find a landmark to pin your location. Once you lose your spot, you lose perspective and then the trail won't look the same anymore.'

Daryl pointed his bow to the sycamore tree ahead of them, the lean muscles in his arms tightening as he pulled the trigger. The bright orange fletching of the bolt sticking out of the tree reminded her of the bolt she saw in the woods the day she met him, and she hid her smile. Unsuccessfully. Daryl rapped his fist against her shoulder, his cheeks flushed as he tried to hide his own grin.

  'Come on, Ace, get to it.'

  She was yanked from the memory when she realized she couldn't hear the light chirp of birds anymore, or the hum of insects rustling through the leaves. The forest was quiet, almost eerily so.

  A branch in the distance cracked, once, twice, three times.

A rumbling groan echoed by more.

She side stepped the path and pressed her back against a tree, slowing her breath as she listened. The shuffling footsteps were growing closer, louder. She wouldn't turn to look at them, wouldn't risk them seeing her before she could deduce how many of them were there. Their moans were a chorus now, harmonizing like a fog horn in the woods.

  "Fuck," she breathed. Too many.

She squeezed her eyes shut once, said a quick prayer to whatever was listening, then twisted sharply around the tree with her knife raised.

  So many walkers, too many to even begin to count, stumbled in a mindless direction across from her, headed straight for the dirt path she had been following.

  Too many for the knife. Need to save my bullets. Gonna have to lose them. Can't lose the trail. Think, think, think.

  She grabbed the hatchet from the loop on her belt and flipped it by the handle in her palms a few times as walkers began to notice her, one after the other turning their shuffling feet towards her.

  She chose to run.

  She sprinted parallel to the road, skimming through the overgrown thicket, occasionally glancing over to make sure the trail was still where she could see it.

  Fuck!

  More walkers spilled through the trees to the left of her, cutting diagonally to close her in with the corpses behind. It took all the focus she had to keep her legs up straight and not tangle herself in the thick brush and wild roots. Any pause, any moment of hesitation and everything she was fighting for was lost. Panic started to settle into her chest, gripping her lungs as a splitting pain shot through her side. Her muscles screamed against the strain of sprinting away from them, but nothing could stop her from trying.

  I should be home, I should be in Alexandria, with Daryl. With Carl and Judith.. Negan. Fucking Negan ruined everything. He's the reason I'm out here, tired and alone, about to be torn apart. It's his fault. Fuck him. Fuck. It's my fault, really. I should've done something, should've-

  Before she could think of any more curses on Negan's name or her own, she was falling.

Plummeting was a more accurate word.

  She tumbled down the steep dirt slope, broken branches and twigs whipping against her flesh like razor blades. The rifle strapped against her back crashed into her spine with each bump, the hard steel slamming into her bones.

  Instinctually, she brought her arms to her chest to protect herself, forgetting about the hatchet still clutched in her hand. The blade sliced cleanly across the top of her forearm, and she screamed out as she finally hit the bottom of the gully.

Dazzling stars clouded her vision the moment her skull smacked against the compacted dirt, tears welling in her eyes. She gasped for air as the oxygen was knocked out of her lungs and scrambled to sit up, clamping her hand down on the wound spurting blood from her arm. The dark blood oozed between her fingers like sap from a maple, dripping down her wrist and onto the dusty soil.

  She would only have about seven seconds left before the walkers would follow her footsteps and slide down the hill to pile over top of her. She'd be crushed under the sheer weight of them, if they didn't devour her first that is. She frantically looked around for something, anything that could help her as she shakily rose to her feet and limped over to the other side of the river bed. It rose impossibly high, almost straight up in a wall of dirt, rocks, and forgotten logs.

  "Fuck!"

  She screamed to let out the frustration bubbling inside her, raged and animalistic with nowhere to go but out. She had no chance of climbing up the other side, would have to find an easier slope. She turned as the walker's moans began to crescendo, the tops of their rotting heads starting to show above the rise of the gully. Left with no other choices, she only had one more to make.

  Right or left.

  She chose left, as fast as her aching bones would allow her to go. Warm, sticky blood still gushed down her arm as she swung her bag off her back, digging for the spare tee shirt while focusing on the path ahead. She wouldn't turn around, but she could hear the sick thumps and fleshy crunches as walkers tumbled down into the gully after her.

The gully seemed to stretch on forever, both sides of the terrain only growing steeper above her as she darted between them. She can't run forever.

Just as she came to a bend in the river bed, she came face to face with another corpse. In a split second decision, she had a plan. It reached for her with thin, boney fingers, grabbing at her shirt and hair. She sliced the hatchet across it's forehead and slumped the body against her chest, pulling it on top of her as she threw herself down on the gentle slope to her right side.

  Then, she slit it's throat open and let the putrid blood spill over her, careful to keep her mouth closed as she smeared the rancid, gooey liquid over her face and into her hair, lathering it along her neck and chest. Bile rose in her throat, and she forced it down as she scrambled to ensure all her limbs were covered underneath the corpse before she froze, as still as a mouse caught under the gaze of a predator.

The herd had caught up to her, coming around the bend in a steady, sedated pace. She couldn't stand the noise of them, the flesh squelching, the jaws snapping, the bones crunching. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to imagine anything else, any memory she could go to and disassociate from the crashing tidal wave of the dead in front of her. Her heart pounded so hard she was afraid they would hear her and turn, descend upon her and tear her apart with their blackened teeth.

  Just keep going. Please. Please don't let me die this way. Not before I can tell him. Just one more sunset, please.

  She should've spent more time with Daryl. The moment she saw him again in Terminus, she should've attached herself to his side and never let go.

  She should've thrown herself at Negan, forced him to take her too, or at least put her out of her misery.

She should've tried, anything.

She should've gotten over her fear and told him she loved him..

  But that was the problem there. Fear.

  Fear that he wouldn't feel the same or push her away.

  Fear of being vulnerable.

  Fear that everything could go right, everything could be soft and warm and beautiful, and still she would lose him anyway.

  Maybe it was her fate to be trampled.. by this herd, by life, by men.

  Maybe it was her fate to lose the ones closest to her, to fight the universe for the rest of her life.

  As she laid under the foul, stinking walker, she realized that probably wouldn't be much longer anyway.

⤐

  She didn't know how long she stayed underneath that decayed body. It was long enough that the blood covering her skin was starting to dry, cracking like the dry river bed below her. She didn't open her eyes until she couldn't hear the bodies shuffling anymore.

  She moaned and pushed the walker off of her, rolling to her side. The gash in her arm stung fiercely and she could feel a lump forming in the back of her head where it collided with the ground.

  Okay, one minute. One minute to feel sorry for yourself then get your ass up, Zeppelin.

  She curled her fingers into the cold dirt, resting her forehead against it as she let the desperate sobs escape her lungs. She was exhausted, defeated, bloody and bruised, and she wasn't even close to finding Daryl yet.

  Daryl. You have to find him. Suck it up.

  She tried to push herself up, faltering under the pressure in her arm.

  Get the fuck up, Zeppelin. Now.

  She fought against her body's urge to lay down and heal itself. There was no time for that now. She rooted around in her bag for another spare tee and a bottle of water. She slowly peeled off the first cloth she had wrapped around her arm, the fabric already soaked through with her blood, and clamped her jaw tight as the now sticky cotton pulled at her torn flesh.

  Just a bit of water from the plastic bottle to clean up the area, can't spare too much, and she pressed the clean blue shirt against the cut firmly and wrapped it around, tucking the corners into each other so it stayed tight against her arm.

  The sky grumbled again, a crackling roar high above in the heavy gray clouds. She could smell the humidity in the air, even through the stink of the walker's blood on her. Slinging her bag back over her shoulder, she swiped her tears away and headed back the way she came. When she reached the bridge she should've ran across instead of sliding down next to it, the rain had already started.

  Little plops of water at first softly caressing her skin fell harder and harder as she stumbled over to the slope. She dug her fingers into the hard dirt rising above her and pulled, using every bit of strength she was able to muster from her tired shell of a body. With every tug of the roots sticking out from the wall, she saw Veronica's face.

  'Come on, Z! Pull! You can do it!' Veronica waited for her on the other side of the rope wall, her smile as bright as the fluorescent lights above them in the gym.

  She strained and pulled, sweat forming above her brow and on the back of her neck. When she finally reached the top, Veronica whistled and cheered, drawing the attention of every other person around. Zepp slid down the other side and met her at the bottom, tightening the ponytail at the top of her aching head.

'Why are you making me do this?" Zepp groaned and fidgeted with her black cotton shorts as they made their way over to the next obstacle.

'Because cheerleaders have to be strong!' Veronica winked, grabbing the top of her foot and stretching it out behind her.

Zepp snorted and crossed her arms. 'You're cracked, I'd rather scoop out my own eyeballs than try out for the team.'

Veronica shook her head and laughed, a twinkling, light melody. 'Well then it'll help you become stronger anyway. You never know.'

'Yeah,' Zepp grumbled and plopped down on the cement as they waited for their turn for the inverted wall obstacle. 'You ever catch me climbing the side of a fucking mountain, just shoot me in the head.'

She finally reached the top of the slope with trembling arms, slumping over and laying flat on her stomach as she caught her breath. Raindrops pelted her skin, and she could feel the paths they created in the dark blood covering her. When she stole a glance at the sun, it was hiding behind the clouds, just a barely illuminated circle in the sky, but she could tell it was farther up than she wanted it to be. She rolled over on her side, wincing from pain or grief, she didn't know.

She forced herself up once again, her joints cracking as she went, and staggered back to the path she was on. The tire tracks were there but drowning in the now guzzling rain. She'd have to rely on luck, something she's never had to begin with. Skill can only get you so far when every factor is working against you.

She kept moving.

⤐

More hours passed by, rain soaked and cold while she traveled through the woods. As the tracks disappeared more and more, luckily the road was thinning out too, little more than just a dirt path through the trees. Their vehicles had destroyed the brush around them and pummeled the long wisps into the ground.

The day was fading, along with her strength and stamina. She'd have to stop and eat something soon.

No.. no time for that. She had to keep moving. Just a stale protein bar would have to work for now.

She kept moving through the thick blanket of forest, slower and softer now. Something in her gut, a twisting, crushing feeling told her to stay low.

  When she trekked another mile, she finally saw why.

Far in the distance, through the canopy of leafy branches, a chain link fence rose up high in the horizon. She instinctively dropped low to the ground, resting her dry and cracked hands in the dirt where she crouched. It could just be another outpost, but.. what if? What if Negan is there? What if... Daryl is there?

  She slowly inched her way forward, just enough to get a better view of the giant, steel slab covered warehouse looming ahead of her.

Before she made it to the tree line, a gargling snarl froze her in place.

  God damn it, she growled silently. Always a fucking walker around.

This one was little threat, slumped over against a tree with it's bottom half completely missing. It's torso was now just a bloody stump in the grass, yet it still reached out for her in desperation. Its eyes were gaunt and hollow, maggots slithered through the open holes in its cheek, and its skin was a sickly greenish brown, almost blending in with the muted greens of the forest around them.

She tilted her head to the side, running through the different options laid out before her. She realized that getting here had been the only thing on her mind, and that she wasn't really sure what to do next. Sure, she said she'd watch the guards and look for her opening, but realistically.. how the fuck was she going to do that? All she could think about was if Daryl was in there, and if he was, what they had done to him. If he was even there.. if he was even alive...

Negan had promised her that if they broke the deal, he'd bring Daryl back to her so she could cut pieces off of him. The thought made her sick, twisting her gut as she leaned back on her heels. That had to mean he would keep Daryl whole until they broke the deal, right? That's like promising he wouldn't kill him at least.. but what about Negan says he's the kind of man to keep his word?

Nothing.

She closed her eyes for a moment, blood and dirt and sweat stinging against her waterline. The half-corpse sat across from her, still reaching out with gangly, blood covered arms. She had to push everything out and focus on the present, as she had already told herself so many times on this trip. Now, it was time to get it done.

She inhaled deeply, letting the cool, misty air fill her lungs as she pushed herself up off the ground to stand in front of the decaying man below her. She took the kitchen knife from her bag and quickly stabbed him in the head, ignoring the black goo that squelched out from the wound as she did so.

  Dropping low again, she dragged him closer to her and crouched next to him, using the hatchet to slice open what was left of its torso in the same manner she would gut a fresh kill. She set the knife down and scooped her hands into its gut, swallowing the vomit rising in her throat as she pulled out the intestines. They plopped down next to her with a wet thunk as she rubbed the blood on her right arm and both of her legs, smearing it against her neck.

  Then she dug her bloody fingers into the wet mud below her too, and wiped that on her face and her wounded arm. She scooped more blood out of the walker's stomach and spread it over her clothes. She then grabbed the slimy intestines, slicing through them to rest a smaller piece around her shoulders. The smell was overpowering, almost enough to knock her out, but she ignored it all.

  The rain had stopped and the rotting blood and mud concoction would keep her both hidden from walkers, and blended into the forest from wandering human eyes.

Completely covered, she scrambled through her backpack for her binoculars, tossing the bag against a tree as she crawled over to the tree line. The dirty industrial building was six or seven stories high, she couldn't really tell from this angle, and the outside was covered with rusting steel plates intermixed with cracked and dusty windows. The three chimneys up on the roof had smoke coming out of them, a good indication that they used some kind of fossil fuel power.

  It was surrounded by a giant chain link fence and inside the gates was flat, open ground marred by piles of steel and rusted copper, and empty vehicles littering the area. She brought the binoculars up to her brow, scanning the building for any doors. There were two large garage-style doors on the east side, which she assumed was the front by the guards posted on either side of them. Around the southwest side, she could see one small metal door beside another fenced off area. A smaller entrance, but not guarded. At least for now. A group of motorcycles were parked nearby and her blood was on the verge of boiling when she recognized Daryl's.

She kept scanning the area, which seemed endlessly empty. On the far north side, she couldn't see the doors, but she could see the fence parallel to it. She could see the bodies scrambling around, both walker and human alike, their skin grimy and their bones haunted. She tensed, knuckles white against the grip of the binoculars. She couldn't see Daryl, or at least couldn't recognize him from the distance.

  She had to resist the urge to run to them, to free the people cruelly chained up with snarling and biting bodies surrounding them. She had to be smart, had to play it careful. She settled lower into the grass, flat on her stomach as she peeked between the weeds.

All she could do now was wait, and watch.