The End Of My World

Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Sleeping at night was never peaceful. I always have a dream or nightmare, never nothingness. My brain is always screwing with mlife like it always does. I find myself in a recurring memory.

The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky with streaks of orange and violet, casting long shadows over the battered road. The air was heavy with the oppressive humidity of summer, making every step feel like a struggle. Dust clung to our boots, rising in little clouds with each movement, and the chirping of cicadas filled the silence, a reminder of how desolate the world had become. We walked in a staggered line, scanning the road and tree line for any sign of danger. Daryl led the group, his crossbow at the ready, blue eyes sharp and constantly moving. Beside him, Rick kept his revolver loose in his grip, his jaw set with that grim determination that had become a permanent part of his expression. Michonne trailed slightly behind, her katana gleaming in the fading light, the very picture of lethal grace.

I kept to the back, my daggers tucked against my thighs, my senses on high alert. I'd learned the hard way that the rear was often the most dangerous position. It was too easy to be ambushed, to have the dead rise from ditches or shadows, grabbing at ankles and pulling you down into oblivion. My eyes kept sweeping over the horizon, catching every rustle of leaves, every sway of tall grass. "We'll need to find shelter soon," Carol said, her voice low but carrying in the quiet. She had her arms crossed over her chest, as if to guard against the uncertainties that lay ahead. "Night's coming fast, and we don't want to be out here when it hits." Rick glanced at her, his brows furrowed. He looked tired—no, exhausted—like the weight of the world had settled between his shoulder blades. But then again, we were all tired. Rest had become a luxury we could rarely afford. "There's an old gas station about half a mile up," he said, his voice rough from days of barking orders and making impossible decisions. "We'll check it out, see if it's clear." He looked over his shoulder at me. "Artemis, you and Michonne take point. Daryl, keep an eye on our six." I nodded, slipping forward to join Michonne. She glanced at me with a small, tired smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Ready to clear another death trap?" she asked, the barest hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Always," I replied, matching her pace. The truth was, the danger had become routine. Every abandoned building, every car we scavenged, every patch of woods we crossed—it all held the same grim possibility. But that didn't make it any less terrifying. We'd lost too many people, seen too much to ever take safety for granted. The gas station came into view, a crumbling relic of a world long gone. We approached cautiously, Daryl and Rick moving to flank us, guns drawn. The sign above the station was barely legible, the letters faded and worn away. Broken windows gaped like empty eye sockets, and the front door hung loose on its hinges, creaking softly in the breeze. Michonne and I exchanged a look, and she stepped forward, pushing the door open with her blade. It swung inward, revealing a dim interior littered with debris—overturned shelves, broken glass, and a thin layer of dust that made the air feel even more suffocating. We moved in, silent and swift, our footsteps barely making a sound. My hand tightened around the hilt of my dagger, the leather grip familiar and comforting. Michonne took the right side of the room, while I moved to the left, checking every shadow, every crevice.

"Clear," she whispered, lowering her sword slightly.

"Clear," I echoed, but I didn't let my guard down. Even if there were no walkers now, they had a way of appearing when you least expected. Daryl joined us, his crossbow still raised as he surveyed the room. Rick stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the station. "Barricade the doors and windows," he said, already moving to drag a shelf in front of the broken glass. "We'll rest here for the night. Take shifts." It wasn't much, but it was better than being out in the open. I helped Carol and Glenn fortify the windows, using old boards and metal scraps to cover the holes. The work was tiring, but it kept my mind from drifting to darker thoughts—like how long we could keep doing this, how long we could keep running and fighting. "Think it'll hold?" Glenn asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. His face was pale, thinner than it had been when we first met, but his eyes were still bright with hope, even after everything we'd endured. "It'll have to," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. Hope was a fragile thing these days, but we clung to it, even if it felt like clutching at smoke. The sun slipped below the horizon, and the sky deepened into a starless black. We gathered in a loose circle inside the station, our weapons close at hand. Daryl had taken up a position near the door, his crossbow resting across his lap, while Sasha and Abraham kept watch by the windows.