𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄! ᶜ ᵍʳⁱᵐᵉˢ

𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐮𝐬

CHAPTER FOUR          terminus

"I won't need it, right?"
"Let's hope not."

I DON'T KNOW how long I slept. All I know is that when my eyes shoot open, I jolt up too fast. This was a stupid mistake- pain spikes through my ribs like someone jabbed a screwdriver into my bones. My breath catches in my lungs and I fall back against the seat. I grab at the bruised area as if I can hold the tender aching in my fist rather than in my bones. I push my sleeves up, looking around the empty car. Just stale air, pain, and me. 

The Claimers are gone,but their blood still stains the ground outside. It's morning- or close enough. The gray-gold light filters through the  trees, the kind that feels like a lie-  soft, pretty, and to calm for the world we're living in. 

Through the windshield, I see them. Daryl. The woman. A boy. All standing a few feet away, talking lowly between the group of them. Watching. The boy stares at me, an oversized sheriff hat hanging too big on his head and a cut on his cheek that's probably still fresh. I hold his gaze. 

I push the door open. The creak is louder than I expect it to be, slicing through the quiet. The adults all flinch, whipping around. I step out carefully, bracing myself against the door and gritting my teeth, moving slowly, like every move might split me open.

The man- the leader- I can tell by the way they all look to him first. He walks over. "You coming with us?" he asks, Southern drawl tugging at something deep inside me. 

I press my weight into the door. "Depends," I say gravely. "Where yall going?"

He nods behind him. "Terminus."

The name makes something crawl under my skin. Terminus was the same place the Claimers mentioned. Like a mere myth, something too good to be true. And I don't like myths. 

A few chosen birds chirping a good-morning song as I chew the inside of my cheek, eyes flicking over the group. Daryl's gripping the strap of his crossbow tightly. The woman's pouring out the last of the fire. The boy still watches.

I think of Dad. Mom. Lincoln. What would they do?

I meet expectant his gaze once again.

They're not here. Only me.

I nod once, curt. "I guess."

He studies me for a second, like he still hasn't decided if that was a good answer or not. "Rick," he says. "And that's Michonne, Daryl, and my son, Carl."

Rick. It suits him more than 'the man'.

Something fatherly in his eyes makes me internally flinch. I force myself to look away before the resemblance to my father can gut me.  

"I'll keep ahold of your weapons for now."

Rick waits for a reaction that I don't give. A sharp whistle cuts through the early air. I jerk my head toward the sound; Daryl stands at the edge of the makeshift camp, nodding toward the forest line. Michonne and Carl stand there with him, waiting.  "C'moon," Rick orders, already walking.