Finding Sophia (The Walking Dead Fanfiction)

Four: Six Days Later

"So your mom named you Andie? Like, on your birth certificate, it says Andie?" Sophia asked me the morning of her umpteenth day with me. We'd been busy, don't get us wrong, and it's been hard to keep up with the days. It's somewhere are five or six, so it hasn't been years or anything. Though, it kind of feels like it. I've learned more about this kid than I know about myself.

But she's still a fucking puzzle. I can't figure out what she's thinking or who she really is. I don't know if she's gonna kill me or what, but all I know, if this is a mask, I've let that in, and I really don't think she's gonna hurt me, or send anyone to do it for her. She's changed her clothes too. Some little girl must've lived in the house next door, so we raised that day before last, I think. It's not much, but it's everything I can offer.

We're still staying in "my house". I love those goddamned house so much. And, I taught her how to shoot, first trial without bullets and let her waste two on a couple of bottles. She's a natural. Her arm's gotten better, and it's definitely not infected. We went looking for her group the past three days, no luck...but...she's still confident that we'll find them. I really hope we do, but I don't want to let go...not now.

I smile, take a bite of the jerky sick I was calling breakfast and answer, "No, actually, it doesn't." I pause a second, "My real name's Anthea."

She thinks about it a moment and smiles a little wider, "That's pretty."

"Means blossom, I think, in Greek mythology or something." She giggles and I ask, "What about you, chipmunk?" She seemed to like the nickname, and though it was random, it was staying. "What's your..." I pause to think of the best question, "middle name?"

"Rose." She answers. Her voice wasn't so soft anymore. It seemed confident, happy, almost reassured. Maybe because she learned to shoot a gun. Or maybe because I stitched her arm up and she was better. Or...maybe it was because I promised we'd find her group.

"That's pretty." I pause a second and stare off into space, "What was your group like? Who was in it?" I ask. I wanted to know everyone, not just Carl, the kid, or just about her mom. I kind of wanted to know more about Rick, the guy who saved her.

"What do you mean?" She asks.

"Who's...who's all in it?"

"There were a lot of people. Some of them died...some of them left...but, when I got lost, there was..." I can almost see the gears in her mind working, "Rick." She pauses after every name, almost convincing herself these actually were their names, "My mom. Glenn...Carl, T-Dog, Lori, Dale, Shane, Andrea..." She bites her lower lip, "And Daryl."

"What were they like?" I ask, my voice a little off, a little gone. It was so surreal to have the visions of real, good people, not things running at me, trying to kill me.

"Rick is Carl's dad. He was in a coma when it started. He woke up and came to help us. He's nice, I guess. Lori is his wife. She's not so nice, at least not to Carl. She's always bossing him around. My mom is the nicest in the world. Glenn was the nicest adult there. He liked video games and delivered pizzas. T-Dog...I didn't really know T-Dog...Dale is smart and funny sometimes, but I don't understand him most of the time. Shane's mean. I don't think he liked me, but he always talked to Carl. Andrea and I never really talked. Daryl...Daryl was mean too. He never wanted to talk, unless his older brother did it for him." That was an unsettling thought for and eleven year old to be having. But then I run through the list of names.

"Who was his older brother?" I ask.

"Merle. He was locked onto a roof in Atlanta with handcuffs. Rick is a cop...or he was..."

That story is probably pretty clear, but being told like this, my mind fucking hurts.

"So what was your group like?" She asks, looking at me with those innocent blue doe eyes.

"What do you mean, chipmunk?" I try to play it off as if it never happened, as if there was no group before her.

"There had to be someone." She claims. "Someone before me but after this happened." She motions to the space around her.

"You know how I get from place to place?" I ask her. "With the guts?" She nods. I'd shown her how if we were ever overrun, we could take a geek down and cover ourselves with their guts to hide our smell. They can't tell us from them, and we make it through without a problem, except for maybe a few who realized who we really were. They weren't smart enough to do that without smelling us, so we were good until it wore off.

I sigh, "It's sorta like that, how guts save us, but smell really bad and look disgusting...except, the group I was in was really, really beautiful on the outside, but it kills you instead of saving you. The group I was in wanted to hurt me, unless I became someone I wasn't. I couldn't do that, I couldn't ignore everything. So...I left."

"You didn't have a choice." She says, looking at the jerky wrapper in her hands. "They were a threat. They were gonna hurt you. You left. You made the right choice."

"How old are you, chipmunk? Because I don't think eleven year olds are supposed to be therapists."

She smiles and looks at me, "You saved me. And if you didn't leave your group, then you may not have."

She's right, the fucking therapist.

"C'mon. We're moving." I tell her.