The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter four

Maggie's boots clanged softly on the metal stairs as she climbed the guard tower, a sense of unease prickling at her. She had checked all the usual posts, made sure the fences were clear—but something felt off.

When she reached the top platform, she found Measi slumped against the railing, her head resting on her arms. The sunlight caught her cheek, showing a faint flush, and her breath came in shallow, uneven pants.

"Measi?" Maggie called gently, stepping closer.

The girl lifted her head slightly, trying to muster a grin, but it faltered almost immediately. "Hey... didn't hear you," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

"You're burning up," Maggie said softly, her eyes scanning Measi's pale face, the slight tremor in her hands. "You should've come down earlier. Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Measi's jaw tightened. She tried to shake her head, forcing her lips into a stubborn line. "I... I'm fine. Just tired. Ran a bit too hard, that's all."

Maggie crouched next to her, shaking her gently. "Measi, come on. Don't do this to yourself. You're sick."

The girl's shoulders sagged, the fight in her weakening. "I... I didn't want to... I didn't want anyone worrying," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced down at her hands, trembling slightly. "I can't risk... making anyone else sick."

Maggie's hand went to Measi's arm. "We can't take that chance. You're coming with me."

Measi tried to protest, but it came out as a soft rasp. "I... okay. But... just... keep it quiet?"

Maggie gave a small, sad nod. "Cellblock A. Isolation. You'll be safe, and we can help you. You'll get through this, Measi."

The young woman let out a shaky breath, standing unsteadily with Maggie's support. Her fingers brushed the railing, the tremor still there, subtle but undeniable. She had fought so hard to ignore it, but now... she had to face the truth.

As they moved down the stairs together, Measi whispered, almost to herself, "I just... didn't want anyone to see me weak."

Maggie's grip tightened slightly. "You're not weak. You're smart. And you're going to get better."

By the time they reached the cellblock, Measi's stubborn pride had faded into quiet acceptance. She stepped into her new temporary room, her body aching but her resolve slowly returning.

Nathan sat on the bridge above the stream, tugging his still-damp shirt over his head. The fabric clung to his skin, cold and sticky, and he shivered, shrugging it back on before settling his backpack over his shoulders.

"This is Turner Creek," Michonne said, her eyes scanning the water below. "Barnesville must be a few miles downstream." She handed him the map again, and Nathan tucked it carefully into the side pocket of his pack, glancing at the lines and markings with a practiced eye.