The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter six

Pulling on the straps of her backpack, Measi dragged her feet across the cracked concrete, boots scraping with every step. The road stretched endlessly ahead, heat shimmering above the asphalt like a cruel joke. She moved toward the front of the group, jaw tight, shoulders heavy with more than just the pack on her back.

She reached for her water bottle and tilted it, squeezing the last lukewarm drops into her mouth. It wasn't enough. It never was.

Three weeks.
Three weeks since Beth.
Three weeks since Tyreese.

It still didn't feel real.

Measi let out a dry laugh and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
''Jesus, it's hot as balls.''

She shrugged out of her leather jacket and tied it around her waist, the movement sharp, irritated. Sweat clung to her skin, dust stuck to her boots and jeans. Everything felt wrong. Too quiet. Too empty.

Atlanta had taken more than its share.

She remembered it in flashes—running streets with Noah, gunfire echoing between buildings, Tyreese going down. The bite. The panic. Being too late. No amount of training or hope could fix that.

Rick slowed slightly, glancing back at the walkers trailing them at a distance, sluggish but persistent.
''We're not at our strongest. We'll get 'em when it's best. High ground. Something like that.''

Measi lifted a hand to shield her eyes, staring back at the small herd. Her stomach twisted.
''They're not going anywhere.''

Rick nodded grimly, then turned his attention to Daryl.
''It's been three weeks since Atlanta. I know you lost something back there.''

Daryl didn't look at him. He just nodded toward Rick's arms.
''She's hungry.''

Judith fussed softly, her tiny face red and scrunched with discomfort.

Rick adjusted his hold on her, voice firm like he needed to believe it.
''She's okay. She's gonna be okay.''

Measi hesitated. Just for a second.

Then she sighed, let one strap of her backpack fall, and knelt slightly as she dug inside. Her fingers closed around the small glass jar she'd been saving—hoarding, really. She stood and walked up to Rick, pressing it into his hand.

''Last I got.''

Rick stared at the jar, then shook his head.
''We need to find water. Food.''

''We will,'' Daryl added. ''Soon.''

Rick looked out toward the road again.
''We'll hit something. It's gonna rain sooner or later.''

Measi snorted softly. She'd heard that before.

Daryl shifted, restless.
''I'm gonna head out. See what I can find.''

''Don't be too long,'' Rick said.

Measi pushed the jar back into his hand before he could protest.
''Don't be stubborn. She needs it.''

She pulled her backpack strap back onto her shoulder and took a few long steps forward, deliberately putting distance between them so he couldn't return it. Carl caught her eye and gave her a small, grateful smile.

She didn't smile back—but she nodded.

The road kept stretching on, and Measi kept walking, heat pressing down, grief sitting heavy in her chest, and the quiet promise that surviving didn't mean it stopped hurting.

Nathan walked beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed, far enough that it felt intentional. The road crunched beneath their boots, the sound filling the space neither of them seemed ready to touch.