Daddy came back yesterday only just a few hours after he left. Thing is, though, he came back by himself. Merle wasn't with him. And Dad's eyes were all glassy and red. He didn't say nothing when he came back neither. He saw me and Momma, looking at him all worried and confused, and he came over to us, but he didn't say a single word.

Him and Momma were looking into each other's eyes, reading each other's minds, and then Momma pulled him in for a hug. A real long hug. And then Dad kissed my head and disappeared into my cell.

I was gonna follow him and ask him what happened and where Merle was, but Mom said not to. That he needed his time. You know he doesn't like you seein' him cry, she said. Let him have his time.

Crying is really important.

I cry all the time and I think it's the only thing keeping my brain from exploding. Dad hardly ever cries. He's still got it in his head that it makes you weak— and sometimes I do, too, but I try to forget— and he doesn't want me to think he's weak. So Daddy never cries. Not in front of me. He's gotta cry, though, or else his brain will explode.

So I gave Daddy his space, even though all I wanted to do was run in there and hug him until all the hurt melted away.

Sometimes people don't want comfort. That's what Mom said. Some people don't want you to tell them that it's gonna be okay and everything's alright. Some people need to know that their hurt is real hurt— valid hurt is what Momma said— and they just need to feel it by themselves. Dad's that kind of person. He's gotta hurt and feel it, and when he's ready, he'll come back to you and let you pick up his pieces, even if he won't acknowledge that that's what's really going on.

Feelings are big and confusing.

Especially feelings about Merle. I still don't have my head all cleared up about Merle and it's been a full twenty-four hours since Dad came back alone.

I love Merle. I loved Merle. He was my uncle.

My stupid Uncle Merle who drinks too much and takes too many pills and is a big, huge jerkface sometimes.

My stupid Uncle Merle who snuck lollipops into my lunchbox in the mornings before school and let me have cotton candy even though it ain't nothing but sugar and stickiness.

My stupid Uncle Merle who laughed at me every time I shrieked or jumped while watching a scary movie, but let me sit right next to him so I could close my eyes and squeeze his arm super tight at the bad parts.

My stupid Uncle Merle who hurt Glenn just the other night, but hurt Grandpa Will after he called me one of those mean words I'm not allowed to say.

My stupid Uncle Merle who gave up his life to give us a chance at keeping ours.

I don't think Merle was always stupid. He was just stupid half of the time. Because sometimes he'd do bad things like getting me sent away, but sometimes he'd do good things like giving me an I'm sorry My Little Pony doll when I got to come back home. He was only halfway stupid. I just wish I could've gotten the chance to help him, like I helped Dad.

I'm trying really hard not to be angry or sad about it because I know my dad is already dealing with a lot, but I'm mad that he didn't let me see Merle with him. He said I could come, and then he changed his mind, and now I'll never, ever get to see Merle again. He's gone. Gone forever. And I can't tell him that I love him even though he's halfway stupid or that I'll miss him more than I miss my blankie, or that I forgive him for being bad and that I would have helped him if I had gotten the chance.

I can't tell him anything.

"Juni, baby." I can't tell him that I'm glad he started calling me Juni and I'll always think of him when someone says it. "JJ. Hey," Mom says, rubbing her hand across my back. I look over at her to tell her that I'm listening. "It's time."

It's time means that I gotta get into the back of the green car with Carl, Beth, Hershel, and Judith, and get away from here. Because we're not allowed to help. The Governor and his people are coming and we're being sent away. Dad says it's to protect us. Carl says it's because they think we're weak. I don't know which of them is right.

"You still thinkin' 'bout your uncle?" Momma asks me, giving me that sympathetic look she's got that makes me want to spill my thoughts out of my mouth— even the secret ones.

No secret ones this time, though. I'm sure my thoughts right now are obvious not only to her but to everyone. I'm not good at hiding my feelings. Not really at all, even when I try super hard.

I look around us, just to make sure my dad ain't lingering nearby, listening in, and then I turn back to my mom to tell her what's going through my head. "I was gonna go with Dad to see Uncle Merle a little bit before he left, but Dad changed his mind and wouldn't let me come. And I just-" My voice does that cracky thing and I have to take a deep breath, tears pooling in my eyes. "I wish I coulda' talked to him a little bit again. Because he just thinks— thought— I hated him, even though I didn't. And I wish I could talk to him. And I just can't help but feel mad at Daddy, even though I shouldn't be and-"

"You've got every right to be mad at whoever you're ever mad at, June. Your feelings are your own," Mom interrupts me to say.

Letting out a little bit of a pathetic huff, I wipe at my eyes a bit. "But I can't be mad at him right now, Momma. He can't take it. But I can't stop feeling it in my heart." Mom frowns, squeezing my hand in hers. "I just wish I could tell Uncle Merle I forgive him."

"I know, sweet girl," Momma says, her voice all silky smooth. Her sad, sympathetic look suddenly lightens, though, and a small smile forms instead. "Hey, you know what? I have an idea. You got a notebook or anything in your backpack?" she asks me.

"Yeah. It's halfway full of somebody's math notes, though," I tell her. It's true. Beth took the notebook from some girl's bedroom when we were still on the road. Half the pages are full of weird math stuff with letters in it, if you can even believe letters are in math.

"Doesn't matter," Mom tells me, shaking her head. "How about when you're gone off with Hershel and them, you can write in that notebook all of the things you wanna tell Merle, alright? So then they'll be all out of your brain. And when you come back and the Governor's all gone, we can have a little funeral for him. And you can read him all the things you wanna say."

I know that when people are dead, you can't really be sure that they're ever hearing what you're saying to them. I know that if I sit at Lori's grave, talking to it like it's her, she might not really be listening. And I know that if I talk to a little grave we might make for Merle, he might not really listen. But it'll feel good. And I can hope he'll be listening.

So I nod, sniffling a little bit. "That's a good idea."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Momma smiles, pulling me towards her and kissing my cheek. "You know I love you more than anything, right?" she asks me.

And I don't really like that question because I don't know how to answer it. Of course, I know it. But if I say I know it, won't I sound a little bit cocky? Like Han Solo in the Star Wars movies? I'm not fully sure how to respond, but I take my best guess and say, "Yeah, I know, Momma. I love you, too."

"You better," Mom teases as she pulls away from me.

"I do," I insist because it's true.

"Good. Go on, now." Momma ushers me off towards the car, and I go without complaining because I gotta.

When I get to the car, Carl is already sort of sulking in the backseat. He has his arms crossed over his chest and he doesn't even look up from his boots when I pull the door open. He's really mad at Rick, I think. Carl really likes Michonne and I think that's why he's mad at his dad. I think he should rethink it, though, because Rick made the right choice in the end.

I don't tell Carl that I think that. I think he'd get mad at me, too, then, and I would really not like that. So I don't say anything at all. I just slide into the other seat, right next to my backpack, and reach for the door to pull it back shut. Just as I pull the door shut, though, my dad's hand is suddenly there to catch it. I gasp a little, not expecting for anyone to be there.

"Hold up a sec," Dad says, pulling the car door back open.

"Sorry," I murmur.

"You're good," Dad replies as he leans forward, resting his arms on the car and dipping his head a little bit inside. Dad gives me a weak sort of halfway smile and tucks my hair behind my ear. I don't untuck the hair yet, though, just 'cause I know he's gonna tuck it right back if I do. "Be good for Hershel, alright? Listen to whatever he says. He's smart."

"I know, Dad," I tell him.

"Be safe."

"I will."

"I love you, angel," Dad says to me, gently tugging at a strand of my hair.

"I love you, too."

"Alright." Dad goes to close the door again, but I stop him this time.

"Hey, Dad?" I say. He looks at me, raising his eyebrows just a little bit. I hope he doesn't get sad about me asking this. I hate making him sad. "After this, Mom said we could maybe have a funeral for Uncle Merle. Can we?"

Dad's face softens and I think I made him sad again. Sometimes when he's sad, he shuts down and gets all walled off, but other times, he gets sort of melty. He's the melty kind this time, so he chews his thumb for a moment before nodding. "'Course we can, angel," he says, his voice quiet.

I'm glad he's not so angry about it all, like he was last time he thought Uncle Merle was gone for good. It's different this time, I think. Because it was Merle's own choice, what he did. And the last thing he did was good. Undeniably good. The type of good that deserves some flowers, I think.

So, "And can you take me out to find flowers for him, too? Please?" I ask Dad.

"Yeah. Soon as it's safe to," Dad promises me.

Funny thing, though, is that it's never really safe anymore. Safe doesn't mean the same thing as it used to. It used to be safe for me to play in the backyard at our old home because the guy who rented out the other half of the house put up a chain-link fence around the whole thing. But now it ain't even safe for me to be anywhere alone because we don't know when the walkers— or worse; other people— will show up and hurt us.

What he means by safe now is as soon as the Governor and his people are dealt with. As soon as Dad can be sure that going out there ain't gonna get me shot by one of the people from Woodbury. We can't ever be sure that there won't be no walkers, but that's why Dad has to come with me. He can take care of walkers. Humans— alive people— are a different story. They're not so stupid.

Humans are smart and that isn't always a good thing. Not anymore, at least.

"Alright. See you later, Junebug," Dad says. He closes the door and walks off toward Rick, leaving me alone in the car with grumpy Carl. I turn to look at him and he's still staring at his boots, his hat blocking my view of his face just a little bit. Hesitantly, I ask him, "Are you okay?"

"Leave me alone."

Okay, well, that is that, I suppose.

♡

Everything's really sort of creepy in the woods, especially when I can hear all the gunfire and screaming coming from the prison. 'Cause I know my parents and all the other people I love are in there. For all I know, those gunshots could be hitting them. I don't think so, though, because they're smart and they know what they're doing. They better.

I'm sitting in the back seat writing a letter for Uncle Merle, minding my own business, while Hershel, Beth, and Carl are outside peering through the gaps between the trees, not minding their own business. Judith's being nosy, too, I guess, but it's against her will considering Beth is the one holding her.

Anyway, I don't know how they can stand listening. It's hard for me to drown it out, even with the doors of the car shut and the sound of me humming trying to cover it up. But they're listening willingly. Trying to watch it, too.

And the whole way out here, Carl was even complaining about how he wanted to be there, shooting people and nearly getting shot himself. I get wanting to help. I always do. But I also get why our parents won't let us. It's for a darn good reason, but Carl doesn't seem to care about that. I don't wanna argue with him, so I haven't been saying anything to him at all, really. I love him, but when he's grumpy, he's mean.

Been a little mean since Lori.

I can't blame him.

I'm almost completely done with my letter now. I've filled up two and a half pages with just the words in my brain, which I think is pretty good. Merle never liked long stories anyway, so I think he'd prefer if I didn't go yappin' in his ear while he's trying to rest.

When I put the period at the end of my current sentence, the gunshots come to a sudden stop. I stop writing, pausing to listen for the next one, but there isn't another. I think it's all over.

After carefully placing my notebook down next to me, I push open the car door and hop out. My shoes make a nice crunching noise when they hit the leaf-covered ground. That's a way better noise than gunfire. It reminds me that time is still moving because it means that autumn is coming.

I join Hershel, Beth, Carl, and Judith by a tree. "Is it over now?" I ask quietly. You're never supposed to be very loud in the woods.

"I think so," Hershel says with his nice, soft smile. He squeezes my shoulder a bit, so I smile back at him.

Then, we hear it. Quick, little steps making the leaves crunch on the forest floor. The sound doesn't remind me that time is still moving, this time. It makes it feel like time has stopped all over again, and I freeze in my spot, too scared to move as the steps get closer and closer.

Carl, though, jumps into action, like a little boy soldier. He shoves my shoulder and Beth's shoulder downward. "Get down! Get down!" he whisper-shouts at us. Considering he just pushed me, I do, and so do Beth and Hershel.

At first, I'm thinking that Carl is about to crouch down with us and the steps are gonna run right past, and we're gonna be lucky. But that's not what happens. Carl doesn't crouch down next to us. He steps out in front of the car and holds his gun out straight in front of him just in time for the steps to reach us.

The steps belong to a boy. He looks like a high schooler, I think, so he can't be more than, probably, three or four years older than Carl. He's just a kid with wide eyes and a gun he doesn't want to be holding, running off feeling afraid and alone. His voice hasn't even gotten deep yet. It cracks with fear as he stammers out, "Don't shoot!"

Hershel stands up, too, pointing his gun right at the boy. I know he won't shoot, though. He's got too kind a heart for shooting scared kids. "Drop the weapon, son," he says very sternly.

I grab onto Beth's arm without thinking about it. She's scared too, I think.

And even though he doesn't act like it, I think Carl is, too. He's just as afraid as any of us. His eyes are a bit bigger than they usually are and his mouth is just a tad bit open as he takes heavy breaths that make his shoulders move up and down. His hands are shaking, but he keeps his gun up.

"Sure," the boy says with a firm nod. Carefully, he leans forward to hand the gun to Carl, the barrel pointing up at the sky. "Here. Take it."

Carl doesn't reach for the boy's gun. He stays as still as he can, his gun right in the boy's face. The boy looks anxiously between Hershel and Carl, wondering why he ain't taking the gun. He doesn't wonder for long.

Next thing I know, Carl's gun goes off and a bullet is in the scared boy's brain.

The silencer keeps the shot quiet, but I flinch anyway.