The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter one - Part two

Dawn came slowly, light leaking into the world instead of announcing itself. The sky was pale and colorless, like it hadn't decided yet whether it wanted to be morning at all. Mist clung low to the highway, curling around abandoned cars and broken glass, softening the sharp edges of the night before.

Measi was already awake.

She stood near the guardrail, sniper slung across her chest, hands steady as she checked the scope one last time. No fog inside the lens. No grit in the action. She moved with quiet certainty, the kind that came from habit rather than confidence.

Rick stepped forward, voice low but firm.
"Everybody takes a weapon."

People shifted. Hands went to knives, crowbars, tire irons. Andrea's jaw tightened.

"These aren't the kind of weapons we need," Andrea said. "What about the guns?"

Shane didn't even hesitate.
"We've been over that. Daryl, Rick, Measi, and I are carrying. We can't have people popping off rounds every time a tree rustles."

Measi felt it before she saw it—the weight of Andrea's stare, sharp and accusing. She looked up just in time to catch Andrea gesturing toward her.

"It's not the trees I'm worried about," Andrea said. "So the teenager gets one, and I don't?"

The word teenager landed like an insult sharpened on purpose.

Measi didn't bristle. Didn't snap. She simply adjusted the strap of her rifle and met Andrea's eyes, calm and unblinking.

"I know how to handle it," she said evenly. "I've been doing this since I was five, and for you math, because you apparently suck at it, that's fourteen years."

The silence that followed wasn't comfortable.

Shane stepped in before it could stretch too far.
"Say somebody fires at the wrong moment," he said. "A herd happens to be passing by. Then it's game over for all of us. So you need to get over it."

Andrea looked away, but the resentment didn't leave her face.

Daryl shifted his weight, scanning the treeline as if the woods themselves were listening.
"The idea is to take the creek up about five miles," he said. "Turn around and come back down the other side. Chances are she'll be by the creek. It's her only landmark."

Rick nodded.
"Stay quiet and stay sharp. Keep space between you, but always stay within sight of each other."

Shane handed out the last of the blades. When he reached Measi, he paused only a second before passing her another knife. She took it without comment and slid it halfway into her waistband—tight enough to stay put, loose enough to draw fast. Muscle memory locked it into place.

Dale watched them from beside the RV, worry etched deep into his face.
"We won't stay here a minute longer than we have to," he said. "Good luck out there. Bring Sophia back."

Rick met his eyes.
"Keep an eye on Carl while we're gone."

"I'm going with you."

Carl's voice cut through the air before anyone could stop him.

Rick turned. "Carl—"

"You need people," Carl pressed on. "Right? To cover as much ground as possible."

Lori exhaled slowly, torn, then lifted her hands in surrender.
"Your call. I can't always be the bad guy."

Dale offered Carl a small, reassuring smile.
"Well, he has all of you to look after him. I'd say he's in good hands."