The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter three - part 2

The first light of dawn seeped through the trees, pale and cold. Measi woke to the soft hiss of embers from the dying fire outside and the distant murmur of the camp stirring. She didn't move immediately. Instead, she sat on the edge of her cot, rifle resting against her shoulder, staring at the canvas of the tent.

Daryl would be back soon.

The thought pressed into her chest like a weight she couldn't shrug off. She could picture it already: the sharp snap of a twig beneath his boots, the familiar shift of his stance, the way his eyes would sweep the camp first, searching, calculating. He'd smell danger first, and he'd smell betrayal, too.

Her hands tightened around the blanket. She replayed every moment from yesterday—the department store, Merle's rage, T-Dog dropping the key, Glenn and Rick trying to explain. The truth had to come out, sooner or later. And she knew, deep down, there would be no soft landing.

She rose quietly, careful not to wake the others, and stepped outside. The air was crisp, and frost still clung to patches of grass. Smoke curled lazily from the fire pit, carrying the scent of damp wood and embers.

Measi crouched by the van, scanning the surrounding trees with her scope, even though she knew this was different from a usual watch. This wasn't about walkers. This was about her family—her brothers—and what would happen the moment Daryl stepped back into camp.

She thought of Merle, left cuffed and surrounded, and her heart twisted. He was their problem, and now, Daryl's problem too. She hated the thought of her older brother returning angry, blaming, not knowing what had really happened, not knowing that the decision to leave Merle behind had been made to save lives.

Her reflection caught in the van's windshield: pale-faced, eyes sharp, shoulders tense. She'd seen herself in moments like this before—alone, waiting, ready. Always ready. But this wasn't just a fight. This was family.

The camp started to wake around her—Lori talking to Rick, Glenn helping Andrea. Measi barely registered it. Her focus was on the horizon, on the road leading back from town, every shadow a possible sign of Daryl.

Her rifle felt heavier than usual in her hands. She tested the scope, though she didn't intend to shoot. It was a ritual, a way to center herself. Fingers brushing over the metal, tracing the worn marks, she whispered under her breath:

"You've got this."

Because she would.

She had to.

Even if the storm was coming.

Even if Daryl's return meant confrontation, anger, maybe violence.

She would face it. She always did.

And when he stepped into the clearing, she would be ready.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of smoke from last night's fire and the faint tang of damp earth. Measi balanced two buckets of water in her arms as she walked toward the fire pit, careful to keep her footing on the uneven ground. Steam already curled from the boiling water Shane had reminded everyone to treat first, a faint hiss accompanying the faint smell of scorched pine.

"Water's here, y'all. Just a reminder to boil before use," Shane called, nodding at her.

Measi set the buckets down, letting the heat of the morning settle over her shoulders for a moment. She paused, scanning the treeline with a wary eye—every snap of a twig made her reflexively shift her weight, fingers brushing against the stock of her sniper.

Then came the screaming.

It started sharp, high-pitched, urgent, tearing through the calm.

"Mom!"