Ghosts That We Knew [2]

4 • Reunited

"Aunt Maeve!"

"Carl!"

Maevys pulled at the rope tied around her wrists, a frustrated shriek escaping her as the corse material ripped into her skin. Her nephew stood in front of her, a version of him that she had not seen for quite some time. Standing a mere 4 feet tall with wispy hair and a round baby face, Carl's doe eyes shined with fear. Walkers surrounded him, reaching to tear into his flesh. The young boy screamed for his aunt to help him, but Maevys could not free herself from her binds. She was forced to watch as the monsters dug their fingers into her little boy and tore him apart.

"Carl!"

Maevys woke with a start, her head spinning painfully as the afternoon sun burned her eyes. How am I still alive? She thought to herself, her fingertips grazing the throbbing bruises on her throat. The events of the night before came rushing back at the sight of the corpse on top of her. Maevys wrinkled her nose in disgust, groaning at her aching arms as pulled herself out from under the body. The smell, it's what kept her safe throughout the night. Any passing walkers wouldn't have given her a second glance, pinned below a rotting body in the ditch, hidden by the tall grass.

It is a new day, she decides. Her feigned optimism humored her, but the pain she'd endured threatened to crush her. Maevys could feel herself slipping around the edges. It'd been a long time since her PTSD had made an appearance; she hadn't felt out of control since before the winter, before the farm. But the weight of the last few days was crushing what little resolve she had left. So she forced herself to think logically. Find my shit, find my family, find my shit, find my family, she repeated in her head over and over as trembling legs carried her down the road.

It helped to list things she knew to be true. Rick had saved everyone from Woodbury. As far as she knew, they were all safe and sound wherever it was they were hiding. Merle was with Daryl, and despite the blinding hatred Maevys felt for Merle at the moment, she knew it would mean a lot to Daryl to have Merle back. Though she couldn't imagine anyone else in their group felt the same.

With this sunny side up optimism keeping her moving, Maevys successfully found her pack. It was like a feast for the hungry, having the supplies. Maevys and Michonne had hid their things alongside a river bed, hoping to return and follow it south. Maevys was pretty sure it was the Yellow Jacket. With a heavy heart she pulled her pack and Michonne's satchel from under the pile of brush. Michonne had not returned to this spot, giving Maevys zero reassurance that her friend was alive.

Maevys pulled a fresh set of clothes from her back pack, setting them down on a rock before turning to the stream. The water was not even remotely warm, but she desperately needed to clean herself. With a pained grimace, Maevys shook off Daryl's flannel. Despite everything she'd been through the garment had held up, save for the tear on her right arm where Merle's bullet grazed her. Maevys kicked off her boots and waded into the frigid water with gritted teeth. Cupping it with her hands, she used the water to loosen her clothes and peel them off. Her cargo pants were intact, only dirty, so she threw them back up to shore, planning to ring them out. Her black T-shirt on the other hand was so ripped up she let it float away in the stream.