Malevolent. The Walking Dead

[ 020 ] reset the clock

020: reset the clock

Tall, steel walls barricaded the community from everything else. That Aaron was right about—the sun was so bright it was reflected off the steel and straight into Joey's eyes. It was early morning, so the sun hardly reached over the trees. It was still humid, however. Despite Joey having slept for a good portion of the ride to Alexandria, her eyes were still puffy and heavy with slumber, and she had to wipe it out with her hands, and she squinted in the sunlight. Joey saw Carl look into an abandoned, broken down house that was right outside the walls, as the gates opened up. There was a girl in there—however she disappeared after a quick glance. She felt her chest burn and she wanted to think it was just because she was nervous about going inside.

Aaron helped Eric inside, however, the rest of them stayed outside the gates, apprehensive. There was a shuffling in the bushes and what looked like a possum scuffled around—they all aimed their weapons at it before Daryl shot an arrow straight through it. Another man from the other side of the gate stared at it with squinted eyes. It probably wasn't the best first impression, but Joey didn't really care. The man looked visibly shaken as if Daryl had just killed a person in front of him and Joey wanted to laugh at his pathetic expression.

"We brought dinner,"

There was an awkward silence as the man didn't know what to make of them. "It's okay," Aaron spoke up, reaching out his arm to them. "Come on in, guys,"

Bill kept his one free arm behind both Joey and Finn, as if guiding them in. They all moved in slow motion, as if they were on edge, or waiting for something else to jump out at them. Joey then realized how bad they all smelled. Joey also realized she hadn't killed a rotter in days. The gate closed behind them and she felt trapped all of a sudden and gripped harder onto her gun that she wasn't sure was even loaded. Her brain was fuzzy as if she had too much wine.

"Before we take this any further, I need you all to turn over your weapons. Stay . . . you hand them over,"

Rick walked forward, a baby in one hand, a pistol in the other. "We don't know if we want to stay. If we were gonna use them, we would've started already,"

Aaron tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. Joey wasn't letting go of her gun any time soon. "Let them talk to Deanna first,"

Abraham spoke up from ahead of him. "Who's Deanna?"

"She knows everything you'd want to know about this place. Rick, why don't you start?" There was silence while a rotter snarled from a distance. They all turned around to look out the one barred gate that separated them from the outside. "Sasha," Rick warned, and she turned around, lifted up her gun and shot the rotter square in the head. The other gate promptly closed afterward. Judith turned to the man and Aaron. "It's a good thing we're here,"

Aaron guided them to what Joey inferred was Deanna's place. Joey stared at the community and felt gross and dirty next to the clean suburbia. She watched as this place looked like it hadn't been touched in years. Like the apocalypse didn't exist in this small, closed off area of the world. She wondered if these people all lived here before the end. Perhaps they had never left—never seen the outside world as it is. It was hard to find people who didn't know the extent of how bad it was out there. She wondered if the kids here ever had to kill a rotter. Ever had to kill a person—or multiple. She felt like she was in a labyrinth of some sort. Like this place had an apocalypse of its own.

They all stood around Deanna's home while Rick went inside to talk to her. Joey had forgotten that they had to "audition" in order to get into the community. She wondered why these people had the audacity. She tried to look into their home to see the inside when Rick went in. It was pristine—clean. Most houses they had stationed in or scavenged were completely destroyed or ransacked. It was hard finding a building that wasn't completely demolished. She almost felt as though she were looking through rose-colored glasses. Maybe she was imagining all of this. Maybe she fell into a coma after hitting her head. Maybe everything since Colorado had been one big dream. Maybe Carl wasn't—maybe none of them were. She was so used to bad things happening that a potential new beginning felt like it was a fever dream.