𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄! ᶜ ᵍʳⁱᵐᵉˢ

004. 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐬

I don't know how long I slept. I do know that my eyes flew open, and I jolted up before the stabbing pain in my ribs caused me to relax back into the seat. I groan, grabbing my ribs 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.

The pain has only worsened since I woke up with the Claimers around me- mere hours ago, yet it feels like days. I sit up slowly, fumbling for the door handle. It must be early morning- it's light out. A soft glow illuminates the woodland area, a few chosen birds chirping a good-morning song. 

Daryl and the others are all awake and standing together, gathering belongings and talking in a hushed tone. The boy- with an oversized sheriff-style hat and a bloodied gash across his cheek- watches me through the windshield as I open the door. The adults flinch at the sudden noise, whipping around to see the cause. I carefully climb out of the car, moving slowly to avoid triggering the pain in my ribs. The man, who I'm beginning to assume is the leader, moves away from the group to acknowledge me.

"Are you coming with us?" he asks, his southern drawl reminding me too much of my fathers. I press my weight into the car door, digging the toe of my boot into the soil. "Where yall going?" I ask, peeking behind him at the others. Daryl watches us, gripping the strap of his weapon. The woman next to him is putting out the remnants of a small fire. The boy, whose face I've seen clearly for the first time, is staring directly at me. I raise an eyebrow, challenging it. He quickly looks away.

"Terminus," the man answers. I shift my weight onto my non-injured leg; my calf is still sore. I chew on my lip. I haven't heard much of Terminus besides what the Claimers said. I think about what Dad, Mom, or even Lincoln would do. As much as I'd rather be on my own, maybe this is what I'm supposed to do. Maybe I need to be taken care of for once, rather than taking care of everyone else. "I guess."

The man nods, looking down. "I'm Rick. That's Michonne, Daryl, and my son Carl. And you are?"

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

I look back at Michonne and Carl. They're watching me- Michonne, with curiosity, and Carl, more with annoyance. I look back at Rick, "Elody."

His eyes are so similar to my father's, it makes me slightly uncomfortable, and I have to look away. "I'll give you your axe, but I'll be keeping your gun. C'mon."

Rick holds my axe out, waiting for me to take the weapon. I press my lips together to offer a pathetic thanks. He nods as I take the weapon. The cool, wooden handle felt refreshing against my palm. I grip the handle tight. The familiar weight of the melee was like an omen of protection. I run my finger across the length of the blade. Dry, crusted blood scratches off in flakes.

A whistle cuts through the early air. I jerk my head to the source of the noise- Daryl stands at the edge of the makeshift camp, nodding his head toward the forest edge. Michonne and Carl stand next to him, waiting on Rick and I. "C'mon," Rick orders, walking away from the spot we stood. I leave the car, giving one last passing glance at the blood-stained ground where the Claimers were slaughtered.

I trail behind the group as we travel through the forest, Daryl in the lead with his crossbow, poised to shoot if needed. I sneak a few glances at Rick and Michonne, who flanked the sides, exchanging few words in a hushed tone. While they weren't being chatterboxes, their taut bodies spoke volumes.

Carl hung between the pair and I, seemingly preoccupied in his own mind. His gaze hung glued to his own boot-clad feet that shuffled across the ground. A dirtied blue baseball tee-shirt clung to his slim frame, a jacket tied around his waist. I wonder if he's seen the things I have.