The Lucky One//twd

025. Breakdowns and Batteries

Madison's POV

The sun was relentless.

We'd been stuck on the highway all afternoon. Some RV part was fried, and Dale was wrist-deep in wires trying to resuscitate it. No one wanted to say it, but we were sitting ducks.

I sat in the shadow of an SUV, knees pulled to my chest, sweat sticking my shirt to my spine. Flies buzzed around a half-empty bottle of water, and every once in a while, someone would shout about fuel or ammo or food like it actually mattered.

It all felt pointless.

I hadn't spoken to Shane since the blowup. I hadn't spoken to Glenn since... well. Since before the CDC. Since before I screwed everything up.

But the silence wasn't peaceful. It was heavy. Thick enough to drown in.

Lori came over with a small bottle of water and sat beside me without saying a word.

We sat like that for a while.

"I saw how he talked to you," she said eventually, staring straight ahead. "Shane."

I exhaled through my nose. "He's my brother."

"That doesn't mean he gets to talk to you like that."

I gave a weak laugh. "He's always been like this. Loud. Overprotective. Furious at the world on my behalf. I think part of him never forgave me for growing up."

"Maybe he's not mad you grew up," Lori said, "maybe he's mad you stopped needing him."

That stung more than I expected.

I looked down at my hands. Dirt under the nails. Callused knuckles. They didn't feel like my hands anymore. Nothing about me did.

"I don't even know who I'm supposed to be anymore," I muttered.

Lori reached over, resting a hand on mine. "None of us do. But I'll tell you this—whoever you were before? She wouldn't have survived this long."

⸻

Later, I climbed into one of the stalled minivans to scavenge for batteries. The air inside was suffocating, but I welcomed the heat—it was something to feel. Something real.

I was crouched over the glove compartment when I heard footsteps crunching behind me.

Glenn.

I froze. Waited. Half of me wanted him to just keep walking. The other half wanted him to yell, to finally say something.

He didn't do either. Just stood there in the doorway.

"You looking for radio batteries?" he asked finally.

I turned, nodding slowly. "Yeah."

"There's a pack under the passenger seat," he said, his voice flat. "Check the floor panel."

I reached down and grabbed it. D batteries. Still in the packaging.

"Thanks," I said, softer than I meant to.

He didn't move. Didn't leave.

"I'm not mad," he said suddenly. "At least not the way you think."

I looked up.

"I just thought..." He trailed off. "Doesn't matter."

"Say it," I whispered.

"I thought we were something," he admitted. "And then I saw you with him, and I realized I never asked. I just assumed."

That landed like a punch.

"I didn't mean for that to happen with Blake," I said quickly. "I was... overwhelmed. And stupid. And everything was burning."

Glenn nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the steering wheel. "I don't hate you. I just can't be near you right now."

I swallowed hard. "I get it."

He nodded again, and then—without another word—left.

I stayed there for a while, alone in the heat, surrounded by ghosts of families who never made it out. And for the first time since this whole thing started, I let myself cry.

Not loud.

Not messy.

Just quiet, broken tears for the girl I used to be. And the people I'd already lost.