The End Of My World

Chapter 44

Chapter 44

The sun barely crested the horizon, casting a pale light over Alexandria. What was once a peaceful, quiet community now resembled a war zone. Smoke still hung in the air, curling up from the remnants of homes that had been torched during the attack. Blood splattered across the streets, mingling with the dirt and debris left in the wake of the Wolves' brutality. I stood at the edge of the devastation, my hands clenched tightly at my sides, watching as a small group of survivors carefully laid out the bodies. There were so many of them—too many. Each one wrapped in a bloodstained sheet, each one a reminder of how quickly everything could be taken from us. Aaron knelt beside one of the bodies, his face pale and drawn as he pulled the sheet over a young woman's face. He'd known her, we all had. Olivia had been one of the quiet ones, always smiling, always helping where she could. "Shouldn't have happened like this," Aaron muttered, his voice thick with grief. "She didn't deserve this." I didn't know what to say, so I stayed silent. There was nothing that could make this right, nothing that could bring back the lives that had been lost. All we could do was keep moving forward, keep fighting, because stopping—dwelling on the pain—wasn't an option anymore. Maggie and Glenn were further down the road, working together to clear away the debris. They didn't speak, their movements mechanical. I knew what they were thinking—how much longer could we keep doing this? How many more attacks could we survive before nothing was left? I bent down to help Aaron with another body, my muscles straining as we lifted it onto a makeshift stretcher. The weight of the dead felt like it was crushing me, pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe. But I didn't stop.

I couldn't.

Nearby, Rick stood with Deanna, their faces locked in a grim discussion. Deanna, the once optimistic leader, looked broken. Her vision of a safe, thriving community had been shattered in a single night. Now, all that remained was the cold, hard reality of survival. Rick's face was harder, more resolved, as if this was just another obstacle to overcome. But even he couldn't hide his emotions, not this time. "We have to fortify the walls," Rick was saying, his voice low but firm. "Double patrols, make sure no one gets in—or out—without us knowing. We can't let this happen again." Deanna nodded numbly, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. She wasn't the same woman who had welcomed us into Alexandria with open arms. None of us were the same. Carol walked past, her eyes distant as she clutched a rifle to her chest. I looked at her and saw the red in her eyes as she passed, nothing more then rage behind those eyes. She sacrifice her cover just to help save us from the threat.

One and one thing only could make this worse....

The clang of metal echoed through the air as the residents of Alexandria worked tirelessly to reinforce the walls. The once-pristine fences that surrounded the community were now marred with dents and scratches from the assault. Some sections had been ripped apart entirely, leaving gaping holes that were hastily being patched with sheets of corrugated metal, wooden planks, and anything else we could find. I stood beside Rick, surveying the work. His eyes were sharp, his jaw clenched in that familiar way that told me his mind was already two steps ahead, thinking of what else could go wrong, what more we needed to do. "We need to focus on the weak points," he said, his voice low but commanding. "Those gates—if they'd gotten through, we'd all be dead. Reinforce them with more steel, double the support beams. I want them impenetrable." I nodded, taking in the sight of the bent and twisted gate where the Wolves had tried to break through. It was a miracle they hadn't succeeded. If they had... I didn't want to think about what would've happened to the people inside. Tobin and Abraham were up on the scaffolding, welding new support beams to the walls. Tobin, a younger fellow who I barely know. Sparks flew as they worked, casting a brief glow over their grim faces. Eugene was directing a group of people as they dragged heavy materials to the weaker sections of the wall. He was muttering something under his breath about load-bearing capacity and tensile strength—terms that I didn't quite understand, but I trusted that he knew what he was doing. We couldn't afford to have anything go wrong. I caught sight of Michonne on the far side of the wall, her katana strapped to her back as she hammered nails into a wooden plank. Her movements were efficient, purposeful, but there was a tension in her that I hadn't seen before.