The Lucky One//twd

037. Pieces We Don't Get Back

Madison's POV

We lost Dale on a Tuesday.

It was Carl's fault — that's what he believed, anyway. He'd taunted a walker near the creek and hadn't told anyone it got loose. By the time Dale stumbled across it, it was already too late.

I heard the scream from the pasture and ran toward it. Everyone else did, too. I just remember Hershel yelling, and Andrea sprinting ahead of me. Rick's voice cracked when he saw him, collapsed in the grass with his stomach torn open.

And Dale — God, Dale — he was still alive.

His eyes wide, hands trying to hold his own intestines in. He was choking on his own blood, trying to talk, trying to ask for help.

Rick knelt beside him, sobbing. "We can't fix this. We can't fix this—"

Everyone stood back like they could make it less real by not stepping forward.

Except me.

I got on my knees beside him, held his hand, and whispered, "I'm here."

His eyes locked onto mine, and for a second I could almost pretend he didn't know he was dying. But I think he did. He just didn't want to die alone.

Rick raised the gun. Hands shaking.

Then he lowered it again.

"I can't—" he whispered.

That's when Daryl stepped in.

He didn't say anything. Just took the gun, knelt down, and nodded at Dale.

"I'm sorry, brother."

One shot.

Just one.

Then silence.

And something in me — something that was still soft, still seventeen, still human — it broke.

⸻

I didn't eat. Didn't sleep. Didn't talk.

I sat on the steps of the farmhouse all night. I smoked the rest of the pack Blake had given me last week. My fingers were shaking so bad I could barely hold the lighter. The smoke burned, but I needed it. It kept me from screaming.

The next day, I threw up in the barn. Andrea found me, handed me water. I told her I was fine. She didn't argue. No one does anymore.

Because I'm not.

⸻

Two nights later, Rick and Shane left to "talk."

That should've been my first clue.

Blake was cleaning his knife beside the RV. Carol was inside with Lori and Carl. Hershel had fallen asleep in the chair by the porch.

It was too quiet.

So I followed them.

I stayed low in the trees, moving slow, careful. I found them arguing in the moonlight — Rick trying to reason, Shane circling like a caged animal.

"You can't keep doing this," Rick said.

"I did this for you! For Lori! For Carl! I'm a better father than you, Rick. I'm better for Lori than you, man."

"You killed a kid, Shane!"

"I protected us!"

Then Shane stepped forward — too fast. I saw the knife in his hand.

I froze.

And Rick...

Rick stepped closer, almost calmly, his voice dropping.

"You're gonna have to kill me to make this right."

And Shane tried.

But Rick was faster.

The knife slid in — clean, cruel — and Shane's eyes went wide.

I saw it happen. I saw him fall.

Rick held him until he stopped moving.

And I watched the last bit of Rick Grimes — the good man, the sheriff, the father who tried to make things fair — die right along with Shane.

He didn't see me. He just stood there, covered in blood, staring down at his best friend's body.

Then Carl showed up.

And shot Shane a second time — after he turned.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe.

Because I knew... everything had changed.

⸻

The walkers came at dawn.

The gunfire must've drawn them. A herd — more than we'd ever seen.

I heard Carol scream first. Then Maggie shouting for Beth. People scattered. Guns fired. Rick yelled for everyone to head for the barn.

I ran back toward the house and found Blake with Glenn near the fence line, dragging Patricia from the path of a walker. T-Dog sped up with the truck, and Andrea covered the rear with a pistol.

Rick set the barn on fire to draw the herd in.

It worked — for about five minutes.

Then the fire got too big. The roof collapsed. Smoke filled the sky.

I saw Hershel standing on the porch with a shotgun, screaming at the walkers as if his voice could scare them away.

Blake grabbed my arm and screamed, "Madison, we have to go!"

But I couldn't move.

I saw Dale's grave from the corner of my eye. Still fresh.

Shane was gone. Dale was dead. The house was burning. Rick had changed. And everything I thought we were fighting for — it was all gone.

"I can't do this anymore," I said, stepping back from him. "I can't. It's all fucked, Blake. Everything's gone. What's the point?!"

"The point is you're still here!"

"I don't want to be!"

I turned, started to run — I didn't even know where. Into the trees? Toward the herd?

I just knew I wanted out.

Blake tackled me from behind and we hit the dirt hard.

I screamed, hit his chest, shoved him, fought like my life didn't matter anymore.

"You don't get to give up!" he shouted. "Not after everything we've been through!"

"I didn't ask for this!"

"None of us did! But you're still breathing. You still matter. Dale believed in you. Rick still listens to you. I need you, Madison."

I went limp under his hands.

He held me. I shook. I cried like I hadn't since my parents died. Ugly, loud, violent sobs that ripped out of my chest.

The fire raged behind us, and for a second it looked like the sun had died.

And Blake — he didn't let go.

Not once.

⸻

We left that night.

Me, Blake, Rick, Carl, Maggie, Glenn, Daryl, Carol, T-Dog — what was left of us.

We didn't talk about Shane.

Or Dale.

Or what we lost in that fire.

We just drove.

Because there was nothing left to burn.