Dale does have books and, although they're not my choice of genre, I take what I can get. I kill time in the Dixon tent until the light runs out, then I zip up the windows and emerge from my hovel, ready to help prepare supper.

With so many mouths to feed, things are sectioned off into smaller groups of survivors, all handling their own rations. Dale spots me first and gives me a job the second I ask, and that's how I end up gathering firewood with Carl and the preteen girl, who I learn is named Sophia.

Carl seems in good spirits as he loads his arms with smaller sticks, while Sophia is quieter, shyer. There's a firewood pile set aside for larger logs and, once I've made a run or two back to various fire pits, I help the kids gather more tinder.

"Hey," Carl says. I look up at him and he smiles. "Your name is Hope, right?"

I nod. "That's right, and you're Carl?"

"Yup!" He adjusts his bundle of branches, eyebrows furrowing a little with concentration. "Sophia and I are wondering...where are you from? Your accent is different."

I could give him the easy answer, but instead, I smirk and tuck another branch under my arm. "Where do you think I'm from?"

"Michigan," he says without a moment of hesitation.

"Close," I urge. It's not the first time I've heard that comparison. "But not quite."

Sophia peeks around the nearest tree. "Minnesota, then," she says. She raises her voice a bit, lifting her chin as she starts to smile. "Up north."

"You're almost right," I say.

"What? No way, it has to be one of those two," Carl insists. Sophia nods, adamant.

I can't help but laugh. "I'm from Canada."

Their mouths drop open, then Carl nods slowly. "Ohh...yeah, that makes sense."

"Isn't it cold up there?" Sophia asks.

"It can be. Colder than here."

I still remember my first Georgia winter and how warm it felt in comparison to the harsh prairie winters in my home country. I didn't wear anything more than a light coat through most of the year and still recall how devastated I was to have my first Christmas without snow.

"You're really far from home," Carl says. "Is your family okay?"

A lump forms in my throat and my hand freezes above another stick. I take a deep breath, then shrug as I try to smile at the children. "I don't know. I haven't spoken to any of them in a long time."

"My dad came back. Maybe your family can come back too," Carl says, his voice soft yet hopeful as he stares up at me with those big, blue eyes.

I want to ruffle his hair, pinch his cute freckled cheeks, and protect him from everything the world has become, but instead, I straighten up and give my bundle a shake. "I hope so," I reply. "Think we have enough wood?"

Carl nods, lifting his bundle like it's a trophy. "I've got tons!" Sophia copies him.

We return to the fire pits just as the sun dips below the horizon, bathing the world in dusk. Sophia joins her parents at a separate fire and, before I can wonder where to go, Carl urges me to join him at the fire with his parents and a few others, thankfully mostly people I've already been introduced to: Rick, Lori, Shane, Carl, Dale, Glenn, Andrea, T-Dog. Andrea introduces me to Amy, her little sister, and I greet her politely as I take a seat between Glenn and Carl.

As the sun gets lower and the sky gets darker, we share a small meal of canned beans and dried meat. It's a weird combination, but I'm just glad that I'm being fed. It's like I can pretend this is just a fun camping trip, at least for a little while.

When the meal finishes, the conversation begins, and the overwhelming majority demands to hear Rick's story. I tuck my hoodie close and settle in to listen as he recounts his tale of survival, a hundred times more interesting than my own.

I learn that he was shot weeks before the world fell apart and, during that time, he was in the hospital recovering from the wound. He woke up alone in the aftermath, his room's door blocked by an abandoned gurney, and he found his way to Atlanta with some help from another survivor and his son. Rick had heard there was a safe zone there only to run straight into a city full of walkers.

"Disoriented. I guess that comes closest," Rick says. "Fear, confusion—all those things, but...disoriented comes closest."

"Words can be meager things," Dale says, setting his mug down at his feet. "Sometimes they fall short."

"I felt like I'd been ripped out of my life and put somewhere else," he says. "For a while, I thought I was trapped in some coma dream. Something I might not wake up from ever."

Carl lays with his head in his dad's lap, looking up at him, and Lori huddles close to Rick's side, his arm around her.

"Mom said you died," Carl says.

Rick looks up at his wife as she pets her son's hair. "She had every reason to believe that," he says. He pats Carl's cheek, gazing at him like he's his world. "Don't you ever doubt it."

"When things started getting really bad," Lori adds, still stroking Carl's hair, "they told me at the hospital that they were gonna medevac you and the other patients to Atlanta...and it never happened."

"Well, I'm not surprised after Atlanta fell," Rick says. "And from the look of that hospital, things got overrun."

"Yeah, looks don't deceive," Shane pipes up. "I barely got them out, you know?"

"I can't tell you how grateful I am to you, Shane. I can't begin to express it."

Shane bows his head a bit, staring into the fire, and Dale shifts. "There go those words falling short again," Dale says, smiling a little. "Paltry things."

There's the clattering of wood against wood from nearby and I glance over as sparks fly into the air. Sophia and her mother sit near their fire as a large man with plenty of stubble and dark, thinning hair settles back down into his seat.

"Hey, Ed, you wanna rethink that log?" Shane calls.

Ed tilts his head back. "It's cold, man," he drawls, uninterested.

"The cold don't change the rules, does it?" Shane continues. "Keep our fires low, just embers so we can't be seen from a distance, right?"

"I said it's cold. You should mind your own business for once."

Shane exhales before getting to his feet, heading over to Ed's fire, and I gauge everyone else's reactions. No one seems bothered, maybe slightly uncomfortable, and I decide to just leave it be as I poke the logs before me with a stick.

"So, Hope, what about you?" Dale asks. I look up and attention is on me again. "What's your story?"

"I can't promise anything half as interesting as Rick's," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "I've been cooped up in that department store since the start. I was at work when it all went down. I used to have others with me, but they left."

"What about before?" Carl asks. His parents look down at him and he smiles a little, slightly proud of himself. "She's from Canada."

"You're a long way from home, then," Shane says as he returns to the fire, sitting down with a grunt. He levels me with a stare. "What brings you down South?"

"I was in vet school up in Saskatchewan. It felt like something I had to do, not...something I wanted to do," I say. I stare at the flames, still poking away with my stick, and I shrug. "The more time I spent in school, the unhappier I got, so...I started saving up, getting papers ready, planning my new future. My parents were paying for half my schooling. They...never really believed in just handing me things. I had a job, so I had some disposable income to sock away. I was lucky for that."

I don't mention that my parents only agreed to help pay for school if it was for veterinary medicine like they wanted. My job was waitressing at a café; studying in the mornings and afternoons, working in the evenings. Thinking of it now, it's no wonder I felt trapped. My whole life was centred around work and school, with no time for making any real friends.

No one interrupts but no one's asleep either, so I count that as a win. I sigh a little.

"I...wanted to try and become an actress, so I thought I'd take my chances in California," I continue, cringing a little. "Los Angeles, maybe."

"But you ended up on the other side of the country?" Andrea asks.

"I did make it to California, but it was really, really expensive, and I ended up just...doing the tourism stuff for a bit before realizing I had to cut my losses. I considered going home, but...I guess I wasn't done trying. At that point, I wanted to make an adventure out of it."

I was so excited, then. Being in Los Angeles and realizing how out of my element I was had dragged my enthusiasm down, but I had thought then that my journey wasn't over. How many state lines could I cross? How many places could I see? I could go to Florida, then drive back up the east coast, all the way back to Canada if I wanted.

"I made it to just outside Atlanta when my car broke down and by then, I was too broke to fix it. Ended up selling it and using the cash to get started in the city. I got a few jobs and kept putting my feelers out for auditions, being an extra. I figured, eventually, I'd get going again and see some more major cities or make it big. Instead, I just...stayed in the city for a couple years, and then..."

"The end of the world happened," T-Dog mutters.

I nod. "I went to work one day and...stayed there."

We fall silent, listening to the snaps of the fire, and things are quiet for a good, long while. I stare at the fire, toying with my fingers, ruminating on my story. I spent so long in that store in a fog. It's like I'm still in a nightmare but at least now I'm aware of myself.

"Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon?" Dale asks, not aiming the thought at anyone in particular. "He won't be happy to hear his brother was left behind."

I purse my lips. I picture a second Merle, a stereotype with a beer gut, a scruffy beard, and a dirty white wife-beater tank top, cursing and slurring and generally spewing the most colourful word vomit you've ever heard. God, I do not want to meet this guy.

"I'll tell him. I dropped the key. It's on me," T-Dog says.

"I cuffed him. That makes it mine," Rick retorts.

"Guys, it's not a competition," Glenn says. He looks at T-Dog, lips pursing. "I don't mean to bring race into this, but it might sound better coming from a white guy."

T-Dog sighs, clasping his hands together in his lap. "I did what I did. Hell if I'm gonna hide from him."

"We could lie," Amy suggests.

"Or tell the truth," Andrea says. "Merle was out of control. Something had to be done or he'd have gotten us killed." She looks at Lori, adding, "Your husband did what was necessary, and if Merle got left behind, it is nobody's fault but Merle's."

"And that's what we tell Daryl?" Dale asks, appalled. "I don't see a rational discussion to be had from that, do you?" Andrea doesn't meet his eyes. "Word to the wise, we're going to have our hands full when he gets back from his hunt."

Crickets chirp. The fire spits a few sparks into the sky.

"I was scared and I ran," T-Dog says. "I'm not ashamed of it."

"We were all scared. We all ran," Andrea assures him. "What's your point?"

"I stopped long enough to chain that door." T-Dog swallows, shifting in his seat. "Staircase is narrow. Maybe half a dozen geeks can squeeze against it at any one time. It's not enough to break through. Not that chain, not that padlock. My point—Dixon's alive, and he's still up there, handcuffed to that roof. That's on us."

T-Dog gets up and walks off, leaving the rest of us in awkward silence. It doesn't take long before others turn in for the night. The fire starts to get low.

"I'm gonna go to bed," I say. I stand up, then point at the empty bean can near Dale's chair. "Would you mind if I had that?"

Dale seems confused, but he shrugs and hands over the can. I thank him and head back to "my" tent, picking my way through the darkness. I dip inside, zipping the flap shut behind me, and set the can down underneath the cot where I found the original. With that done, I lie down on the other cot and stare up at the tent ceiling.

Today was...hard. I'm out of the city but, with it, I'm away from my bubble of ignorance. In the department store, I could hide and pretend that the world would go back to normal soon and I'd wake up from the endless nightmare, but now...now I'm in some redneck's tent, far away from anyone who's ever loved me. No family, no friends, just me and a backpack and an empty can of beans.

I roll onto my side and hug myself close, sniffling a bit as a few tears well up. I cry softly into my pillow until I fall asleep.