The Third Dixon [The walking dead OC x OC]

Season two, chapter one

The wind tore past them as the motorcycle thundered down the empty road. Measi sat on the back of Daryl's bike, her arms wrapped loosely around his waist, her helmet pressed against the solid line of his back. She tried to sleep—tried being the important word—but every time her eyes closed, the sound of the CDC detonating bloomed again in her skull. Fire. Light. Heat. Gone.

She shifted, resting her cheek against him instead, listening to the steady vibration of the engine. Once, not long ago, she would've leaned into that rhythm, let it ground her. Now it just reminded her how fast everything could disappear.

She lifted her head and glanced back.

The RV lumbered behind them, scarred and coughing smoke, followed by another car, both packed with people who should've been dead a dozen times over. Dale. Andrea. Alive. That should've felt like a victory. Instead, it sat heavy in her chest, tangled up with the knowledge that Jacquie and Jenner hadn't made it out. That they'd chosen not to.

They had to keep going. There wasn't any other option. Stopping was a death sentence.

Ahead, the road choked itself with abandoned cars—metal piled on metal, doors flung open, luggage scattered like bones. Daryl veered the bike off-road without hesitation, weaving through grass and debris, disappearing briefly before looping back to Dale's window.

Dale leaned out, eyes wide. "Oh jeez. Aw no. See a way through?"

Measi slid off the bike before Daryl even answered, boots crunching on broken glass. She scanned the blockage, eyes sharp, distant. Always calculating.

"Let's see, shall we?" she muttered, already moving.

Glenn's voice crackled with nerves from the RV. "Uh, maybe we should just go back. There's an interstate bypass—"

"We can't spare the fuel," Dale said quickly.

"Jeez."

The RV lurched suddenly, coughing hard.

Then—snap.

Steam hissed violently as the radiator hose split, fluid spilling onto the pavement.

Dale slapped the steering wheel. "I said it. Didn't I say it? A thousand times—dead in the water."

Measi didn't flinch. She just stared at the leaking engine, jaw tight, mind already ticking through options that didn't exist.

Shane appeared beside them. "Problem, Dale?"

"Oh, just a small matter of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope of—okay, that was dumb."

Daryl stepped closer, wiping his hands on his vest. "Can't find a radiator hose here."

"There's a whole bunch of stuff we can find," he added, glancing toward the graveyard of cars.

T-Dog nodded. "Fuel. For a start."

"Water," Carol said softly.

"Food," Glenn added, though his voice lacked confidence.

Lori looked around, arms folded tight. "This is a graveyard. I don't know how I feel about this."

Measi stood apart from them all, eyes tracing the rows of abandoned vehicles. Open doors. Bloodstains. Child seats. Shoes left behind.

"It already is," she said quietly. "We're just walking through it."

Daryl glanced at her then—really looked—and frowned. She hadn't met his eyes since the CDC. Not once. Even now, she kept her distance, rifle slung over her shoulder like a barrier.