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MICHONNE HAWTHORNE
the conversations outside of the car are muffled. we veered off the road most taken to hilltop once we saw the size of alpha's herd behind us. i've been drifting off to sleep every now and then. my skin has turned hot, my muscles have weakened, but i know the worst is still yet to come.
i watch through the window, my head leaning back against the headrest. the sky is the same light blue it's been for as long as i can remember, the same blue it's been for everyone throughout their entire lives. there's barely any clouds, just a few scattered here and there. the tops of the tall trees dance with the wind, and then the tension in my temples releases.
i start to wonder if hallucinating is a symptom of the fever, i wouldn't know. i wince, pulling myself forward to sit up, a knot in my stomach.
i swallow, my throat so dry it hurts. through the window i see my friends sitting around our small, makeshift camp, resting—they're oblivious to what's in the sky a few miles away. i pull the door handle toward myself and push, "d-do you see that?"
they turn to me and rick rushes to help me out of the car as my feet unsteadily land on the ground after the two-foot drop.
"what?"
"or does the fever make you hallucinate things?" rick follows my line of sight, and soon the others do, too.
maggie's hand rests above her eyebrows, blocking her eyes from the sun, "are those real?"
"are those planes?" carl's head jerks to the side. "dad?"
"yeah, those are planes." rick tilts his head, his breath turning harsher. "hilltop's in that direction."
"then let's go." enid decides for all of us, tossing her bag in the backseat of the car.
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GREY KINGSTON
we're anything but quiet as we move quickly through the trees. my father is struggling to run, let alone even walk with the blood soaking the wrap around his thigh. negan's hair is sweaty, matted against his forehead with elijah's weight dragging him down.
"grey!" negan yells out a warning at the two walkers gaining on them. i huff, turning around and backtracking to take them out, swinging the baseball bat with enough force to dent their brains.
my father's posture is slouched beside negan, his mouth agape as he watches the scrawny, dead bodies thud to the ground in the thick pile of dead leaves.
"imagine that thing with barbed wire." negan admires the bare bat in my hands. "you ever gonna tell me where she is, my sweet lucille?"
my shoulders drop as i let out an exhausted breath, "no."
