Down by the water • TWD

Ranger Danger.

Avery didn't know how long she'd been walking down the same road she came across last night. Her eyes hung heavy as she stared ahead, moving slowly. She was dragging her feet with each step. Hunger, sadness, and tiredness—it all weighed her down.

She kept her eyes moving, ditches, tree lines, abandoned vehicles. Every shadow looked like it might shift. Every distant shape made her pulse spike until she confirmed it was nothing. The road felt endless, and with nothing to distract her, her thoughts filled the space.

She thought about the garden at the prison. About how proud Hershel had been when the first crops came in. About how she used to sit on the steps in the evenings, listening to the low hum of everyone just living. It felt like it was never real. She wondered where they were now. If they even had a place to be. If they were walking a road like this. If they were thirsty like her. The thoughts only made her chest ache with sorrow.

Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, pressing heat down onto her shoulders. Sweat dampened the back of her shirt, but her lips stayed dry. Her steps slowed when she saw something in the distance. A small gas station up ahead, its faded sign hanging crooked over the road.

She picked up her pace, though her legs didn't appreciate it. The windows were dirty but mostly intact. The parking lot was scattered with trash and one abandoned pickup truck. She circled first. Always circle. No movement. No walkers slumped against the walls. Thank God. But the front door was locked.

She hesitated only a second before grabbing a loose rock from the edge of the lot and striking one of the smaller side windows. The glass cracked loudly, shattering inward with a sharp crash that echoed far too big in the still air. She froze at the sound, ears perking up, listening. She let her body relax just slightly as nothing responded.

Carefully, she cleared the frame and climbed inside.

The air was stale and sour, heavy with dust and something faintly rotten. The shelves were half-bare, most of the obvious things long gone. Chip bags torn open. Candy wrappers scattered across the floor. She moved strategically down each aisle, her heart sinking a little more with every empty shelf. Finally, near the back, she found something.

Two dented cans of beans and a small, crushed pack of crackers. That was it. She checked behind the counter. Nothing. She checked the storage room. Empty shelves. And the cooler is dead. Warm. Dry. Her shoulders sagged at the realization of no water.

She carried the cans to the front and slid down the wall beside the counter, sitting on the dusty tile floor. The silence inside the gas station felt different from the woods, heavier, enclosed. But she almost liked it better. She pulled one can into her lap but didn't open it yet. She just sat. Her body trembled faintly from exhaustion. The kind that went deeper than sleep could fix.

She stared at the door and at the empty road beyond it. I guess this was her life now. Walking. Searching. Hoping. Losing.

She thought about Daryl again. The way he used to walk ahead of the group, during the times before the prison, crossbow slung over his shoulder, always scanning, always protecting. She tried to picture what he would tell her right now.

Keep moving.

Don't sit too long.

Don't let your guard down.

He's probably dead.

The thought made her throat tighten.

"I'm trying," she whispered to the empty store. Her voice sounded small in the quiet.

After a while, she forced herself to open one of the cans using a rusted tool she found behind the counter. The beans were cold and metallic-tasting, but she ate slowly and carefully, saving as much as she could. She tucked the crackers back into their torn packaging. When she finished, she let her head rest back against the wall and closed her eyes, not to sleep, just to breathe.