The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter five

Measi sat in the back of the car, her knees pulled up slightly as she balanced one of her backpacks on her lap. The worn leather jacket she always wore felt heavier than usual, as if it carried more than just fabric—memories, fear, the weight of needing to survive. Outside, the sun glinted off the cracked windshield, making the shadows in the city streets dance and twist in ways that made her skin crawl.

Merle and Daryl had gone ahead, scouting further up the interstate. They moved with that effortless, dangerous confidence that only came from years of surviving on the edge. She envied it, and yet she also knew she couldn't hope to match it—not then, not yet. Her hands rested lightly on her knife at her hip, fingers brushing the hilt, more out of habit than necessity.

She watched a group a few cars up, a family huddled together. There was a young woman, her brown hair tied back tightly, and a man whose uniform marked him as a cop. He seemed tense, protective, his gaze constantly flicking over the horizon. Beside them sat a small boy, maybe a year or six younger than Measi herself, gripping a stuffed animal that had clearly seen better days. Another couple sat across from them, a young girl perched nervously on the edge of her seat, her wide eyes darting between the road and the buildings on the horizon.

Measi's stomach twisted at the sight of them, a mix of admiration and fear. They didn't yet know what was coming, but she did. They were sitting ducks, fragile against a world that was suddenly breaking apart.

A low hum drew her attention upward. At first, she thought it was the wind, but then the sound deepened, reverberating in her chest—a mechanical roar that made her heart skip. The plane appeared over the skyline of Atlanta, silver and gleaming, its shadow racing over the buildings below. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the bombs fall, one after another, tearing the city apart. Smoke and fire spouted into the sky, buildings collapsing, glass shattering, screams echoing faintly in the distance.

Merle and Daryl's voices reached her then, sharp and urgent. "Get moving! Now!"

They leapt into the car, grabbing their packs and slamming doors with the precision of people who had rehearsed panic a thousand times. Measi's own bag was heavy on her shoulders as she scrambled out, adrenaline slicing through her nerves like a knife. Her sneakers slapped against the pavement, heart hammering, lungs burning, every sense on edge.

She glanced back once, catching a final glimpse of the family on the interstate. The man in the uniform had his arm around the boy, shielding him, but it didn't feel like enough. Smoke and dust curled over the highway, swallowing the city's skyline. The screams were louder now, closer, a horrifying symphony of chaos.

Merle's grin was manic, teeth flashing, while Daryl's focus was absolute, scanning the streets, calculating every move, every danger. They didn't look back—they never did. And in that moment, Measi understood exactly what that meant: survival was about moving forward, no matter what you left behind.

She hefted her bag higher, matching their pace as they dashed down the interstate. The city behind them burned in an orange haze, smoke curling toward the sky like a wound that could never heal. And even though she was only a teenager, she felt the shift inside her—the day her childhood ended, replaced by the unrelenting clarity that survival didn't wait for anyone.

Somewhere in the chaos, the sound of sirens, explosions, and distant cries became white noise, a backdrop to the most important lesson she would ever learn: you run, you fight, or you die.

And Measi ran.