𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐔𝐌 (𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝐷𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛)

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑦

"Charlotte!"

With a gasp, my eyelids snapped open. Chunks of glass littered the dashboard like the missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, each one broken into its own unique shape with razor sharp edges. A yellow LED light blinked rhythmically with the little click of the turn signal, illuminating my surroundings for a quick moment with every second that passed.

"Oh, thank god!"

I winced at the smell of burnt rubber and turned to my right: Standing in the open passenger door was a frantic Lori sighing in relief.

Click. Click. Click.

"Come on," Lori reached over me and unbuckled my seatbelt. I noticed a gash on her bottom lip that oozed a red deeper than any lipstick I had ever seen. She put my arm over her shoulder and lifted me out of the car, tiny pieces of glass falling out of my lap as I stood up.

The movement sent my head flying out of orbit and my stomach along with it. I shoved Lori to the side and hunched over a small patch of grass that was reaching up through the cracks in the road. The bitter taste of my lunch came lurching up faster than I could open my mouth, and for a quick second, all of the vomit sat on top of my tongue until I spit it out.

Every muscle in my body was screaming at me to stop, to become limp and collapse on the road just for a couple of minutes, maybe even hours. But I knew better. If I gave up now, I might never get back up. Once I was sure that I had nothing left to throw up, I carefully straightened myself and wiped my mouth with my bare arm. Lori tried to steady me again but I waved her off and slowly made my way around the car.

To say that it was beat up was an understatement: the car was totaled. Not a single window stood intact and dents bigger than my head were punched into various places. Two dead walkers were sprawled out beside the car, specks of brain matter and blood littering the ground around them.

"Charlotte, you have something," Lori pointed above her own eyebrow. I ran my fingers over the skin above my brow and felt an open gash. I hissed and quickly drew my hand away as I felt a sharp sting when my fingertips touched it.

"What happened?" I mumbled to Lori as I took in the crash site. I unwrapped the gauze covering my left hand and gingerly pressed it to my forehead: My cut from the glass was pretty much healed anyway.

"You don't remember?"

"If I'm asking, then no," I snapped. I wasn't trying to come off as rude, but I couldn't help it. I was grateful that I survived the crash and wasn't launched out the windshield, yet the violent pounding in my head made it difficult to act humbled.

"I was looking down at the map. It was upside down, and you were trying to fix it for me, but I wanted to do it myself. When I looked back up, there was a walker right in the middle of the road. I swerved out of the way so I wouldn't hit it and I lost control of the car," she explained to me in some sort of trance, as if part of her wasn't really there at the moment.

A high pitched whine sounded to my right, and I rubbed my ear furiously to make it go away.

"We have to get back," I gestured in the direction we had come from. I myself felt like my mind was slowly detaching itself from everything around me. Reality was starting to feel like a hazy dream instead.

"No," she shook her head furiously, "No, I need to find Rick."

"What?!" I asked her incredulously. "We just got into an accident! We can't be wandering around alone in the dark." I couldn't believe that after everything that happened, Lori was still determined to carry out her suicide mission on the off chance that she might run into Rick.