Don't Get Dead | TWD | Volume 1

[25] Nebraska

The first thing the men wanted was a drink, asking Rick to grab some glasses and a green bottle from the shelf behind me. He placed each item on the nearest table, pouring the golden-brown liquid into the shot glasses.

I wanted to say something, do something that meant we could leave. Hershel was ready to go now—so why was Rick entertaining these men? Couldn't we head back to the farm? I wrapped my arms around me, clutching my shirt so tight that my fingers slipped into the woollen holes that ran down either side. The sun shone through the dusty windows, giving the room an eerie glow that sent uncomfortable tremors through my body every time one of them looked at me.

The smaller man dragged out a chair, the wooden legs scraping along the floor as he turned it to face the bar. "I'm Dave," he said. "That scrawny-looking douchebag there is Tony."

"Eat me, Dave," Tony chuckled, leaning forward to take a glass from Rick.

Tony had seated himself on one of the stools next to Hershel, leaning back against the long edge of the bar. He was the one that scared me the most. The way he glanced over or stared at me sometimes made me feel dizzy—I wanted to be sick.

"Hey, maybe someday I will," Dave glanced down at his glass before he tilted his head back, looking up at Rick. "We met on I-95, coming out of Philly. Damn shit-show that was."

Glenn had moved, so he was standing next to me, leaning forward against the bar. "I'm Glenn," he gave a small wave and smiled. "It's nice to meet some new people."

Rick, who placed a shot glass in front of Glenn, also introduced himself, "Rick Grimes."

Dave took his own drink in his hands, flicking the glass with his nail as he stared on, his gaze resting on Hershel for a moment. "How about you, pal? Have one?"

"I just quit."

"You have a unique sense of timing, my friend," Dave said.

Rick sat down on one of the stools in front of the bar in front of me. "His name's Hershel. He lost people today, a lot of them."

Dave was quiet for a moment, turning back to Hershel. "I'm truly sorry to hear that," he said. "To better days and new friends. And to our dead, may they be in a better place."

Dave tapped his drink on the wooden table beside him before each of the men raised their glasses and gulped down the liquid in one go. Even Glenn joined in on the toast, hesitant, but after a second, he knocked back what I assumed to be whiskey. His face scrunched up, and he shook his head before coughing at the strength of his drink.

Then Dave turned to me. "What about you, honey? How old are you?"

"Not old enough," Rick told him.

Dave raised a hand. "My apologies, it just seemed like the kid could use a drink," he then turned back to me. "What's your name?"

I found Rick first, looking back at me over his shoulder like he was expecting an answer, but I couldn't say anything. My heart was pounding so hard against my chest that I thought it might jump out, and if I opened my mouth to speak, I wasn't sure my voice would even carry across the room. Rick seemed to understand because he answered for me.

"Her name is Ace."

"Your daughter?" Before Rick could correct him, Dave said, "I can see the resemblance."

Resemblance?

It was probably an easy explanation for why a random teenage girl was travelling around with these guys. Rick didn't try to correct him, which told me one thing: he didn't trust these people. I wondered why he was letting them believe that I was his daughter. Still, I found it comforting that Rick had also been put off by their presence because it meant my fear of these men was justified.