The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter three

Measi stepped out of the car, her boots crunching against the gravel driveway. The house loomed ahead, standing alone in the middle of the property, neat and well-kept—a rare anomaly in a world gone to hell. She scanned the area instinctively, eyes sharp, taking in the fence, the trees, even the subtle movement of shadows behind the windows.

Glenn hesitated beside her. "So... do we ring the bell? I mean, it looks like people live here."

Measi's lips pressed into a thin line. "We're past this kind of stuff, aren't we?" She started toward the front door, already moving on, her rifle slung casually at her back. "Being considerate... optional."

The sound of footsteps made her pause. The woman they'd seen earlier—the one on the horse who had taken Lori—appeared at the gate, eyes narrowing as they reached her.

"Did you close the gate up the road when you drove in?" she asked.

Glenn stepped forward quickly, voice a little nervous. "Uh, hi. Yes. We closed it. Did the latch and everything." He cleared his throat and gave a respectful nod. "Hello. Nice to see you again. We met before briefly."

T-Dog shifted uncomfortably, wincing as he lifted his arm. "Look, we came to help. Anything we can do?"

The woman's eyes flicked to the injury, frowning.

Measi stepped forward, her tone calm but firm. "It's not a bite. He cut himself pretty badly, though."

The woman relaxed slightly, then nodded. "We'll have it looked at. I'll tell them you're here."

Measi held out the medicine she carried—the stash Merle had kept hidden like a lifeline. "We have some painkillers and antibiotics," she said, her voice steady. "Already gave him some. And if Carl—or anyone else—needs any..." Her hand remained extended. "I'm O negative. I can help out, if Rick can't."

The woman studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Come on inside. I'll make you something to eat."

Measi gave a short, almost imperceptible nod, slipping past her into the house. Her eyes never stopped scanning—corners, windows, the faintest movements—while Glenn and T-Dog followed close behind. She wasn't here for hospitality. She was here to make sure they survived the night. And that, she knew, sometimes meant being the first line, the one who saw everything, the one no one else noticed until it was too late.

Inside, the smell of bread baking and fresh herbs hit her, warm and almost normal, but Measi's mind stayed on the door, the windows, the gate, the fence. She let the warmth wash over her just enough to move through it, but every sense remained alert. Because in this world, she'd learned, normal was a trap.

And she wasn't planning on walking into it blind.

Measi stepped quietly into the small room, her boots making soft thuds against the wooden floor. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and herbs, a strange comfort in the chaos they'd left behind. At the center of the room, Carl lay on the bed, pale and sweating, his small chest rising and falling unevenly. Hershel knelt beside him, carefully adjusting the bandages, his eyes tense but steady.

Measi cleared her throat softly. "Excuse me," she said, her voice low, controlled, respectful. She stepped closer, keeping her hands visible, careful not to startle. "I'm... Measi. I know we haven't met properly."

Hershel looked up, his face etched with the weight of worry and age. "Ah... yes. You're with Glenn and T-Dog?"

Measi nodded once. "That's right. I wanted to check on Carl. Make sure he's getting what he needs." Her eyes flicked to the small cut on his arm, then back to Hershel. "I have the right blood type. If it comes to it, I can donate. I can help him myself."