The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter five

The morning sun had not yet fully burned through the canopy. Smoke still spiraled lazily from the remnants of the campfire, the acrid scent of charred walkers clinging to the air. Measi knelt a little apart from the rest of the group, scanning the edges of the camp even as the survivors moved among the burned and buried bodies. Her knife rested loosely in her hand, though she had no intention of using it—yet.

Andrea stayed on her knees next to her sister Amy, tears streaking her face. She didn't speak, didn't eat, didn't blink much, simply cradling the limp body as if sheer will could bring her back. Lori approached slowly, hands folded, voice soft but firm.

"Andrea. I'm so sorry. She's gone. You've got to let us take her. We all cared about her, and I promise we'll be as gentle as we can."

Measi's jaw tightened. She could see the raw grief etched into Andrea's face, the way her body trembled as she held her sister. Part of her wanted to step forward, to pull Andrea up and force her to step back—but she knew better. She had learned long ago that grief, like fear, needed space to breathe before it could be tempered with logic.

The others moved quietly, efficiently, but grimly. Daryl swung a pickaxe at the heads of the walkers strewn across the clearing, each blow ringing like a bell of finality. Glenn and T-Dog heaved the corpses into the fire, flames hissing as they consumed the flesh. 

Rick stood a few feet away, watching Andrea with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. "She still won't move?" he asked, voice low.

"She won't even talk to us," Lori replied, voice tight. She glanced toward Andrea, then back at Rick. "She's been there all night. What do we do?"

Measi felt a pang of sympathy. She did. But her instincts screamed louder than her heart. Amy's body, if left unattended too long, could become a source of danger. If a walker wandered near, if the blood drew more—Measi's fingers tightened on the hilt of her knife. They couldn't allow the grief of one to imperil the many.

Shane walked up, shotgun slung low. "Can't just leave Amy like that. We need to deal with it same as the others," he said.

Rick straightened, voice heavy with a mix of authority and guilt. "I'll tell her how it is."

He stepped closer to Andrea, and for a moment Measi tensed, ready to intervene. Andrea's hands were steady on the gun she had hidden in her lap, eyes sharp and unblinking.

"Andrea," Rick said gently, trying to reach her through the fog of grief.

"I know how the safety works," Andrea said, voice cold and measured, never letting her gaze falter.

Rick exhaled slowly, hands raised in surrender. "All right. Okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He backed off.

Measi moved a little closer to Andrea, crouching low beside her. "Hey," she said softly, voice barely above a whisper. Andrea didn't look at her, didn't even flinch. Measi shifted slightly, laying a hand lightly on her knee. "We've got to take care of her, or... she won't stop being a problem."

Andrea's hand twitched toward her sister's chest, but she didn't respond. Measi's eyes scanned the surrounding treeline again, ever vigilant. Even here, grief could be deadly. She couldn't let it blind them to danger.

"They're going to bury her soon," Measi said, voice calm, almost matter-of-fact. "We all will. But she's not coming back. You've got to let that part go, Andrea. You keep her too close, someone else gets hurt."

For a moment, Andrea's eyes flickered toward her, a shadow of acknowledgment crossing her face. Measi didn't push further—she simply stood up, knife ready, eyes watching the camp, keeping them all safe, while Andrea clung to the past.