𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄. no more hiding

BEFORE THE WORLD TILTED ON ITS AXIS AND life turned into a daily struggle for survival, there had been quieter days. Days filled with small moments and invisible tensions. Days when the sky was just the sky — vast and blue and uninterrupted by smoke or ash — and not a veil for helicopters or the glint of distant gunfire.

Wendy could remember one of those days clearly, the kind that didn't seem special at the time, but whose edges became sharper and more defined with the erosion of everything that came after.

She had been thirteen. A strange, tender age caught in the awkward interstice between child and teenager. Old enough to know her own thoughts, but young enough not to always know what to do with them. And Glenn had been eighteen. A senior in high school, loose-limbed and restless, trying to figure out what came next while still holding onto what was.

The sun had been warm that day. Not scorching, but gentle, wrapping itself around everything like a soft shawl. The park they sat in was small and slightly unkempt, one of those overlooked corners of the neighborhood where the grass was a little too high, and the trash cans were always a little too full. But it had swings, a metal slide, and a seesaw that creaked and groaned like an old ship in harbor. It had trees that offered shade and benches that were often forgotten.

Glenn had decided, out of the blue, that Wendy needed a break. He didn't ask her if she wanted to go. He just knocked on her bedroom door, leaned against the frame like he owned the whole world, and said, "Come on. You're taking the afternoon off."

She had blinked at him, her mechanical pencil still poised over a stack of geometry problems. "What? Why?"

"Because it's sunny. Because our parents are off pretending to be important, and you've been sitting in this room for three days straight. And because I said so. I'm invoking my sacred right to kidnap you."

And she had gone. Not because she wanted to, exactly, but because something in Glenn's tone told her there was no point in arguing.

He was already in the car by the time she got her shoes on.

Now they sat on a bench that overlooked the playground. The paint was chipped and fading, the wooden slats weathered by time and sun. Beside them, a tree leaned lazily, casting slow-moving shadows over their laps. There was laughter nearby — a cluster of kids no older than six or seven tumbling over each other in the sandbox, parents standing guard with coffee cups and tired smiles.

Wendy watched them. Her eyes, usually so sharp and focused, were dull today, like overcast skies. Her bag sat beside her feet, filled with snacks, a water bottle, and a protein bar she hadn't touched.

They didn't speak for a while. Glenn didn't push her. He let the silence unfold between them like a blanket, soft and unspoken. He leaned back against the bench, one leg stretched out, arms crossed over his chest. There was a calmness to him that Wendy envied. He always seemed to know when to act and when to wait. When to laugh and when to listen.

"You used to play here," he said finally, his voice low and thoughtful. "When you were little. More little. You loved the tire swing. Used to make Dad spin you until you were sick."

Wendy gave a half-smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, I remember. I think I threw up on his shoes once."

Glenn laughed, a short burst of genuine amusement. "He was so mad. But he couldn't even be mad, because you looked so proud of yourself. You were like four, and you were just grinning, covered in puke."

That pulled a small chuckle out of her. She glanced sideways at him. "Why'd you bring me here?"

He didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the playground, on the children who had no idea how lucky they were to live in a world still ruled by small joys.

"Because you never stop," he said eventually. "You're always studying, or practicing, or stressing over something Mom and Dad want you to do. You're thirteen, Wen. You're supposed to be climbing trees and skipping school and doing dumb shit with your friends. Not training like you're preparing for war."

She looked down at her lap, her fingers tracing the seam of her jeans. "It's not like I have a choice. They expect it."

"I know," Glenn said softly. "That's the problem."

Silence settled again, heavier this time. Wendy didn't know what to say. Her parents' expectations hung over her like storm clouds — always threatening, always just on the edge of breaking. Her grades were supposed to be perfect. Her form in archery was flawless. Her behavior was exemplary. It was exhausting.

"Sometimes," Glenn continued, "I wonder if they even see you. Like, really see you. Not just the grades or the medals or the potential. But you."

His words landed with a quiet weight, sinking into her chest like pebbles into still water.

"You see me," she whispered.

Glenn turned to her then, his expression softening. "Of course I do. I've seen you since the day you were born. I saw you lose your first tooth. I saw you shoot your first bullseye. I see you, Wendy. And I don't want you to forget who you are just because they can't."

Her throat tightened, a knot of emotion rising suddenly and without warning. She blinked hard, fighting it back. She hated crying. It felt like failure.

The park was alive with sound but subdued, cloaked in a kind of afternoon lull. Somewhere behind them, a jogger's shoes whispered against gravel. From the playground ahead, children's voices rose and fell in wild arcs of joy and outrage, punctuated by squeals and tiny tempers. The sky was soft with high, gauzy clouds, the kind that filtered the sun just enough to tint the air a dusky gold, the kind that made time feel like it was stretching out longer than it should.

Wendy sat with her knees drawn up on the bench, arms wrapped loosely around them. Her long black hair spilled over her shoulder like ink, and her sneakers, scuffed at the toes dangled just above the ground. She looked small and old all at once, her body thirteen but her eyes heavy with the burden of someone who'd spent most of her life trying to earn something she couldn't quite name.

"You remember that one time," he said, suddenly, breaking the quiet, "when we tried to build that slingshot from Dad's old bungee cords and it backfired and hit you in the cheek?"

Wendy gave a small huff, her chin still on her knees. "You mean the time you nearly blinded me?"

"Minor detail," Glenn replied, grinning. "You got a cool scar out of it. Almost."

But Wendy wasn't smiling. Her eyes had drifted to the swing set where a little boy was crying, pointing at a scraped knee. His mom was already there, kneeling beside him, brushing back his hair, murmuring something as she checked the wound and wiped it clean with a tissue from her purse. Another child screamed from the sandbox where a small dispute had escalated, and two parents swooped in like seagulls, arguing about whose kid bit whom.

"They're all here," Wendy said suddenly. Her voice wasn't sad so much as perplexed, like she'd only just noticed something she hadn't let herself think about before. "Their parents."

Glenn followed her gaze.

"That's usually how playgrounds work."

She didn't laugh.

"They just... come. Even if it's just for a scrape or a stupid fight. They show up."

Her voice broke something in him. A brittle edge of truth that he'd grown used to ignoring. He looked at her, really looked at her now. The way her shoulders were slightly hunched forward. The way her fingers picked at the frayed hem of her hoodie. The way she was cataloging all the affection she saw and measuring it against everything she'd never had.

Wendy sighed, the sound small but heavy, like a stone dropped into deep water. Glenn turned to her fully now, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

"You okay?"

She hesitated. Then, without turning to face him, she said, "Do you ever feel like I'm a burden?"

The words landed so flatly, so simply, that for a second, Glenn wasn't sure he'd heard them right.

"What?"

"Like... you're always taking care of me," she said. "You have been for as long as I can remember. And I know you didn't ask for that. I know you had your own stuff to deal with. So sometimes I wonder if... I dunno. If you resent me."

Silence ballooned between them. A silence not awkward but dense with the gravity of her confession. A wind passed through the trees, scattering a flurry of leaves across the ground, like the world was trying to answer for him before he could find the words himself.

Glenn sat back, rubbed a hand through his hair, and looked up at the sky. Then he exhaled through his nose and turned toward her.

"I mean," he said, and his voice was rougher now, less playful, stripped of all teasing. "When I was a kid, yeah, maybe I wanted more attention. I was the firstborn. Got used to being the star of the show. Then you came along and suddenly everything was about you."

Wendy looked down, as if trying to disappear into her knees.

"But," Glenn continued, "I also remember holding you for the first time. You were this tiny, wrinkly alien thing. And I remember thinking, 'Oh. This is mine to protect now.' I don't know if that's what big brothers are supposed to feel, but that's what I felt."

He paused, looking out again at the kids on the playground, then added, "I don't feel burdened by you. I never have. You've never been some weight I had to carry. You're my sister. That's the whole point."

She blinked rapidly and said nothing. After a moment, she said, more softly now, "Someday, I'll be there for you. The way you've been for me. I promise."

Glenn shook his head. "I hope that day never comes."

Wendy looked at him, confused. "Why not?"

"Because if you're picking up the pieces for me," he said, gently nudging her shoulder with his own, "it means something bad happened. And I'd rather keep the world from falling apart for you, not the other way around."

They lapsed back into silence, but it wasn't empty anymore. It was heavy with something sacred — shared understanding, mutual grief, unspoken promises forged in the absence of adults who had long since stopped showing up.

It was the kind of memory that stayed with her, tucked deep into the folds of her mind like a pressed flower between the pages of a book.

Sophia sat perched on a moss-slicked boulder, her knees drawn up close to her chest, silhouetted starkly against the colorless stretch of overcast sky. Her legs swung idly, just brushing the damp, leaf-matted forest floor below. She clutched an open bag of Cheetos with one grubby hand, orange dust caking her fingertips, and shoveled them into her mouth with a ravenous urgency that made Wendy wince.

The girl looked like she'd been starving for days, and maybe she had. That thought settled uncomfortably in Wendy's chest as she crouched nearby, her back pressed against the rough bark of an old pine, limbs aching with weariness and uncertainty.

Her own stomach gave a low, traitorous growl — one of those deep, hollow sounds that resonated from within like an echo through a cave — and she instinctively wrapped an arm around herself, pressing it tight as if she could smother the sound.

It was pointless. The girl wouldn't have noticed anyway. Sophia was completely absorbed in her feast, devouring each neon-orange puff like it was sacred, licking the residue from her hands with single-minded determination. There was a strange reverence to it, like she was trying to savor every chemical-drenched crunch, each bite a reminder that there had once been a world where kids snacked after school and didn't run from monsters.

Wendy couldn't bring herself to interrupt. She let the girl eat, watching as the last of the food she'd managed to scrounge from her nearly empty pack disappeared. The fruit gummies had gone first, then the sad, crumbled remains of a peanut butter cracker sandwich box, and now this — the final bag of Cheetos, sacrificed to a child who looked like she hadn't seen a meal in days.

The backpack lay discarded beside Wendy, flap open like a hollowed-out carcass. It wasn't much to begin with, and now it was completely bare.

The air was thick with the smell of crushed leaves and old rain, the earthy scent of decay mingling faintly with the chemical tang of processed cheese. All around them, the forest seemed to lean in close, its branches tangled and low, like a watchful animal crouched on all sides. Even the wind had gone still.

With a sigh, Wendy reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled water bottle, still half full. She leaned forward and offered it to Sophia without a word. The girl took it instantly, her hands trembling slightly, and gulped the water down in loud, desperate swallows. When she finally lowered it, she paused for the first time, staring into the plastic like she expected more to magically appear. Then, wordlessly, she returned to what remained of her snack, chewing more slowly now, her eyelids heavy with fatigue.

They hadn't talked much since Wendy found her. A few clipped sentences, mostly grunted replies. It wasn't distrust exactly — just the quiet that settled between strangers who knew better than to hope for kindness. But now, with the food gone and silence stretching like a taut wire between them, Wendy couldn't ignore the growing weight of questions.

She shifted slightly, brushing damp pine needles from her jeans. "Where were you before this? Before you ended up out here?" Her voice was soft but firm, the way you speak to a skittish animal — steady, clear, but edged with just enough authority to show you mean business.

Sophia stopped mid-chew and looked up. Her wide, dirt-ringed eyes searched Wendy's face for a beat before answering. "We were on the highway. Me, my mom, and the others. There was this huge noise, and then... they came. A lot of them."

"Geeks?" Wendy asked, though she already knew.

The girl stared. "Walkers. We got under the cars when they came close. We all crawled under. When they passed, it was really quiet at first, then one of them saw me. I didn't mean to move, but... I panicked. I ran."

Wendy's jaw clenched. She'd heard variations of this story a hundred times over, but it didn't make it any easier. "No one came after you?"

"Rick did," Sophia murmured. "He's new. A cop, I think. Nice, though. Everyone likes him. He tries to help."

Wendy nodded slowly, filing the name away. It wasn't much to go off of, but it was something. "You were quicker?"

Sophia shook her head again. "Rick told me to stay hidden while he led the walker away. I thought he'd come back, but he didn't. So I tried to find the road again. I thought I'd recognize it. I really did. But everything looked different. And then... I just kept walking."

Wendy leaned her head back, the bark digging into her skull. Her eyes drifted toward the shadowed tangle of trees behind them, possibly the direction of the highway. She had veered off the road just yesterday, hoping to avoid a herd she'd seen in the distance.

If Sophia's story was true — and it felt true, in that broken, stammering way kids talk when they've seen too much — then her group couldn't be far. Maybe a day ahead. Maybe less.

But Wendy had seen that herd. She remembered the way the ground seemed to tremble beneath their weight, the long, guttural moans rising in chorus as they shuffled and scraped along the road, consuming everything in their path. That could've been the same group that scattered Sophia's people. Or worse — maybe it was just the beginning.

The smart thing would be to head back. Retrace Sophia's steps. Try to find someone. But smart didn't mean safe. And she couldn't afford a mistake.

She looked at Sophia again, saw the way the girl's eyes drooped now, her hands finally resting still in her lap. The snack bag was empty. Her stomach might be full for now, but her hope was running on fumes.

Wendy knew that feeling too well.

She rubbed her hands together for warmth, mind already racing through options, paths, supplies they didn't have. The world was smaller now, more dangerous. Choices carried weight.

Wendy chewed the inside of her cheek as she regarded the girl, trying to piece together a map in her head. Trees pressed in on every side, wet and mossy, their trunks darkened with sap and moisture. The forest had grown colder since, a thin fog curling through the undergrowth like ghostly fingers. A breeze passed through, rustling brittle leaves, and Wendy felt it settle on her damp skin, sending a shiver along her spine.

She shifted her weight, brushing a twig off her thigh, then leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. Her voice was gentle, but carried a note of insistence, a tether cast into murky waters. "Do you have any clue where your group was heading? Like... any direction at all?"

Sophia looked up from where she was fiddling with the empty cheeto bag, her eyes wide and glassy with fatigue. She shrugged, a quiet gesture that somehow held the weight of surrender. "Just away," she said simply. "Far from Atlanta."

Wendy blinked. The name hit her like the recoil from her compound bow, sudden and deep in her chest.

Atlanta?

Her breath hitched. A pulse flared at her temple. She leaned in closer, brow furrowed. "Wait, what? Atlanta? You mean... they were leaving Atlanta?"

Sophia nodded again, slower this time. Her face was smeared with dirt, a small leaf was stuck in her hair above her left ear. She didn't even notice.

Wendy swallowed, the questions piling in her throat like stones. All this time, she'd been walking toward the city. That city. A glimmer of sanctuary wrapped in the illusion of structure.

So why would anyone leave it?

She steadied her voice. "Why? Why were they heading away from there? That's where everyone was supposed to go. That's where I was heading."

Sophia picked at the strap on her shoe, squinting as if trying to recall something. "We were there," she said, nodding softly. "I think. A big place, with fences. A man let us in. It was safe. We stayed for a little. There were labs. Lights..." Sophia went on, her voice dreamy and slow, like she was unraveling a memory in pieces. "Then... I don't know. We had to leave. We all ran. I was holding my mom's hand, and the next thing I know, we're outside, and the building just —" she mimicked an explosion with her hands, fingers fanned like a fireball, then brought them to her lap. "Boom."

Wendy's lips parted slightly, stunned. She had no words. Just images now, rising like smoke. A city once filled with the echo of lives lived — offices, apartments, honking cars — reduced to silence, to fire, to ruins. The CDC was gone. Atlanta was gone. Her goal vanished in a plume of smoke before she even got close. She slumped slightly, the breath leaving her body in a quiet, drawn-out exhale.

"Well," she said hoarsely, her fingers brushing against the bark beside her. "There goes that."

The forest pressed in around them like a second skin. Insects chirped softly from deep in the underbrush. The sun was a gray coin above the treetops now, pale and weak, sinking slowly toward the horizon. Wendy's stomach gave another growl, louder this time, and her hand reflexively moved to cover it again.

Sophia turned toward her. She'd gone back to sitting cross-legged on the rock, feet tucked underneath her in the way children sometimes did when they were trying to stay warm. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out two small packets — peanut butter crackers, wrapped in plastic so crinkled it nearly fell apart. She held them out to Wendy without a word.

Wendy blinked, caught off guard. Her instinct was to refuse — You need it more, I'll be fine — but the ache in her belly, the hollow gnawing that hadn't gone away in days, made her take them with a grateful smile.

"Thanks," she said, voice quieter now.

Sophia nodded, already looking away, eyes scanning the woods.

Wendy opened the first packet slowly, careful not to tear the fragile plastic. The smell of peanut butter hit her nose like a memory: school lunches, vending machines, late-night study sessions. She chewed deliberately, slowly, savoring each bite as if it were a ceremony. She didn't know when she'd eat again.

The silence between them stretched, not heavy, but full of unspoken understanding. Two girls — one barely old enough to be called a teenager, the other just shy of double digits — sitting in a world that had ripped time in half. Before, and after.

Before, Wendy might have been complaining about finals. Before, Sophia might've been home watching cartoons.

Now, they were here. In the woods. Eating crackers like they were gold.

Wendy leaned her head back against the tree and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the taste sit on her tongue. The plan — if it could be called that — was no longer clear. Atlanta was no longer a destination. The highway was a gamble. Staying in the woods too long risked exposure. Geeks, hunger, and weather.

She'd have to come up with something soon.

She turned her head to glance at Sophia, who had curled up slightly, her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around her plushie again. A child who still believed, somehow, that she might see her mother again.

Wendy didn't know how to tell her the odds. So she didn't.

Instead, she pulled her jacket tighter, wiped the crumbs from her fingers, and stared at the mossy ground beneath them, where the roots of trees intertwined like veins, silent and strong.

The first sound was soft, barely more than a whisper against the dense hush of the forest floor. A dry crackle. A leaf snapping under the hesitant weight of something. It could've been anything, Wendy told herself: a squirrel, a deer, a raccoon rummaging for berries in the underbrush. But something about the rhythm of the steps, the slow, deliberate cadence — they were too heavy, too measured to be prey. And when another crackle echoed from the opposite side, then another from behind, Wendy's heart snapped to attention.

She shot up to her feet in one fluid, instinctual motion, her legs already braced for movement as if her bones remembered danger before her mind did. Her hand reached for the compound bow that never left her side, a natural extension of her will to survive. Her fingers found the nock of an arrow and slid it in place with the ease of long practice, a rhythm so familiar it happened before thought could intervene.

Sophia, quick to sense the energy shift, immediately pressed herself against Wendy's leg, clutching the fabric of her pants like a child might cling to a parent's hem. Her wide eyes scanned the trees, her lips parted but voiceless. The fear was thick and palpable in the way her small body trembled, as though her bones were humming with it.

Wendy turned slowly, her back pressing against the tree behind her, bow drawn, arrow ready. Her gaze darted from left to right, scanning the woods, searching for shapes in the shadows, for the grotesque silhouettes she had come to know too well.

The sound came again, now from the left. Then ahead. Then behind them again. Leaves rustled. Twigs snapped. The forest had come alive with noise, but nothing revealed itself. Nothing stepped into the clearing. The silence in between was almost worse than the noise — tense, coiled, like the hush before a scream.

Her breath came shallow, controlled. Her feet shifted silently across the damp earth as she pivoted to keep every angle in check. The forest, shrouded in the dimming light of late afternoon, seemed to press in tighter, the trees like sentinels holding their breath, bearing witness. Her body was taut, her every nerve exposed, ready to shatter at the slightest twitch.

And still the crunching continued.

She could no longer pretend it was a deer or the wind. This wasn't random. The sounds were circling. Flanking. And her instincts screamed the truth: they were being hunted.

"Sophia," she whispered, keeping her voice low but urgent, still not taking her eyes off the woods. "Can you climb trees?"

Sophia, still hidden behind her, shook her head quickly. Her voice came out small, panicked. "No. I — I don't know how."

Wendy's mind moved faster than her fear. No time to teach her. No time to argue. She nodded once, the decision made like a blade drawn — clean, precise. She bent quickly, scooping Sophia up into her arms. The girl let out a startled gasp, arms wrapping tightly around Wendy's neck as Wendy hoisted her. She staggered slightly under the weight — Sophia wasn't heavy, but adrenaline made her limbs jittery, her balance precarious.

Her eyes scanned the surrounding trees, heart hammering against her ribs. There — a wide oak, tall and sturdy, its bark thick and grooved like a thousand hands had already climbed it. The lowest branch was just high enough to require effort, but not out of reach.

Wendy ran, boots gliding over the forest floor with barely a whisper, weaving through brush and roots with a ghost's speed. Every step brought a new sound — another shuffle, another breath. The air thickened with an unseen presence.

They reached the base of the oak, its roots like twisted veins crawling from the earth. Wendy pressed Sophia against the trunk, guiding her trembling hands to the bark.

"Use your feet. Push yourself up."

Sophia obeyed, clinging to the tree with uncertain hands, her fingers slipping against the rough bark. She kicked, trying to find purchase, but the surface scraped her palms. She whimpered, her breath hitching.

Her foot slid. She slipped back, nearly toppling into Wendy.

"No, no, no — come on," Wendy muttered, gritting her teeth. She crouched low, pressed her shoulder beneath Sophia's thighs, and lifted again, muscles screaming. "Grab the branch. Just grab it."

Sophia reached. Her fingers brushed the branch.

Behind them, another sound — closer now. The unmistakable wet drag of feet across soil. A low moan, faint but unmistakable.

"Grab it, Sophia! Now!"

The girl cried out, frustrated, but managed to hook her fingers over the branch. Wendy steadied her with one hand, pushed with the other. Sophia scrambled, legs flailing, her shoe thudding hard against Wendy's shoulder. And then she was up — barely — belly-down on the branch, clinging to it like a kitten hanging from a windowsill.

"Pull yourself up, come on," Wendy said through clenched teeth. The sounds were multiplying now — crackles from every direction, closer and closer. Shadows moved behind the brush.

Sophia grunted, tears brimming in her eyes, but she threw her leg over the branch and swung the other one with it. She straddled the limb, shaking, breathing hard.

The branch was thick, gnarled with age and rain and sun, but if the sound creeping through the trees was what she feared it was — a group of geeks, shuffling ever closer — then thick wasn't enough. A geek could easily stretch its decaying arm, grope blindly, and grab the dangling ankle of a child. They didn't even need to see. They just needed to smell. Hear. Reach.

She couldn't risk it. Not even for a second.

Wendy slung her bow over her back, fingers moving with the efficiency of someone who's done it too many times, even if her hands were shaking and her thoughts tangled into knots. She crouched low, pressing her palm against the rough bark of the tree, its surface biting at her skin like it too knew the danger lurking nearby. One final glance at the forest — it was no longer just still, it was expectant. It held its breath like she did.

And she moved.

Each movement upward was a prayer muttered in gritted silence. Her boots scuffed against grooves in the bark, searching for holds that barely existed, while her arms strained against gravity. A pang shot through her left shoulder, but she pushed past it. The branch she aimed for loomed above, thick enough, wide enough, she hoped, to hold both her and the girl. A drop of sweat ran from her temple, collecting dust and bark on its descent.

The sounds below were no longer subtle. Leaves crackled underfoot. Branches swayed. The underbrush whispered and hissed. It was no longer a matter of if something was coming — it was a matter of when it would break through.

She reached the branch where Sophia sat like a trembling shadow and hoisted herself beside her. Her legs hooked around the thick limb, arms out for balance, like she'd done on fences and beams and collapsed walls before. The branch held, groaning under their combined weight, but it held.

Wendy steadied herself, every limb trembling with effort and urgency. Below, the sounds grew teeth. Low moans filtered through the trees. Shuffling bodies. Bone scraping bark. Something foul was hanging in the air.

"Okay, sweetheart," she whispered, barely louder than a breath, her voice cracking from the pressure. "We've got to go higher. That one — see it? That branch is just above your head. Grip it. Use your feet. I'll lift you."

Sophia nodded, though her lip quivered. She looked up, eyes huge with fear. Her hands reached for the next branch, scraped against it, slipped. She whimpered. Wendy caught her, held her steady.

"You can do this," she murmured. "You're okay. I'm right here."

Sophia tried again, this time catching hold, and Wendy pushed from beneath, guiding her with soft encouragement. Her own arms were beginning to shake now, not just from the effort, but from the weight of everything — Sophia, of fear, of knowing how close they were to being torn apart.

Finally, Sophia pulled herself up, draping over the branch like a doll tossed and forgotten. Wendy exhaled, chest heaving. Relief surged through her like a flood, washing over the pain.

And then the branch cracked.

Not a sharp crack — something dull and slow, as if the tree had been holding its breath and finally exhaled. The world shifted under her. The branch gave way, and gravity took her without ceremony.

The fall was fast. Silent. And then —

Pain.

She hit the earth hard. Her shoulder took the worst of it, slamming into the roots at an awkward angle that sent lightning bolts of agony through her arm. Her scream never made it past her lips — it got trapped behind her teeth. Her left arm blazed with pain. Something wasn't right. Her whole body pulsed, as if her nerves were on fire, radiating from shoulder to wrist in unbearable waves.

She rolled onto her side, gasping, choking on air. Her vision blurred. A dry sob escaped as she pressed her face to the cool dirt.

Above, Sophia screamed.

"Wendy!"

Wendy forced herself to move. Her right hand trembled as she raised it to her lips, motioning for silence. Her eyes locked on Sophia's, wide and stricken. Her own pain didn't matter. What mattered was keeping that girl alive.

"Shhh," Wendy whispered hoarsely. "It's okay. I'm okay."

But it wasn't okay. The forest was breathing harder now. Geeks, close — close enough to smell the iron tang of their rotting breath. They were behind the tree line, hidden in shadows, but the sound of them scraping and moaning filled every inch of space. It was like the forest had become a mouth, exhaling rot.

She looked around. The tree she'd fallen from stood tall above her, but there was another just a short sprint away. Just as thick. Its roots curved out like steps. Its branches arched low, reachable. If she could run — if her legs still worked — she could climb again. Maybe. If her arm didn't betray her first.

She coughed, dragging herself upright. Her vision wavered. The pain in her left arm pulsed with every heartbeat, wild and unrelenting.

But she looked up.

Sophia watched her from the tree, fingers white around the bark.

Wendy's breath stuttered, her chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged gulps. Her good hand trembled, fingertips stained with dirt and old bark, as her eyes flicked rapidly across the forest floor. The pain in her left arm hadn't dulled. If anything, it throbbed harder now, pulsing with each beat of her heart, radiating like fire caught under skin. Her mouth was dry, jaw clenched so tightly that it ached, and the corners of her vision pulsed with soft bursts of white.

The forest stretched before her in a tangle of shadows and light. The sun had fallen low, casting golden fingers between the trees, but the warmth didn't touch her. All she felt was the cold gnawing edge of dread. Every leaf rustle sounded like a whisper of death. Every snapped twig is a herald.

The trees around her loomed like sentinels, gnarled limbs stretching toward the sky, their leafy fingers brushing one another in murmured conspiracies. Then she spotted it — a tree just as large as the one Sophia clung to, bark just as scarred and sturdy. It stood perhaps twenty feet away, partially veiled by hanging vines and knotted underbrush, its roots curled like a slumbering beast. It was perfect. If she could just get high enough again —

She rose to her feet slowly, favoring her left side, cradling her arm like a broken wing. Her boots dug into the soil, wet with rot and leaves, and she took a single step forward —

"No!"

The sound was sharp, piercing, panicked. Sophia's voice cut through the hush of the woods like glass through silk. Wendy froze.

"Wendy, don't leave me!"

Her body pivoted before her mind even caught up. That voice — that tremble in it. It wasn't just fear. It was something older, something hollow and bruised. A child who'd already lost too much. The sound burrowed into her chest, cracked something open that she'd tried to bury deep under survival and silence.

The last time she'd walked away, the last time she had turned her back thinking she could fix something alone, it had ended with blood and screaming and Jade's body crumpled on floor, eyes still open, lips still parted like she'd been about to laugh.

She couldn't do that again.

Wendy turned on her heel, breath catching in her throat. She didn't slow down this time. She sprinted — not away, but back — circling the base of Sophia's tree until she was positioned just right, knees bending, eyes fixed.

She needed momentum. She needed trust in her legs, her core, and her instinct.

The distance between the ground and the low-hanging branch was shorter than it had seemed from below, but not by much. The bark scraped across her knuckles as she jumped, her right arm latching onto it with desperate precision. Her entire body hung for a heartbeat in the air, caught in the tension between earth and sky, suspended by the strength of one arm.

Agony ripped through her side.

She groaned through her teeth, biting down on the sound so hard it nearly bled. Her left arm dangled uselessly, a dead weight at her side, pain sparking like lightning with even the tiniest shift. But she could see Sophia now — those big, tearful eyes, that small hand reaching down, fingers trembling.

Wendy swung her leg upward, found purchase on the trunk with her foot, and pulled. The world narrowed. It became about movement, about survival, about the sacred geometry of body against bark. She hauled herself up inch by brutal inch, her right arm shaking under the strain, muscles burning like fire about to crack bone.

The roughness of the bark bit into her palm, splinters driving themselves deep into flesh, but she didn't stop. Her lungs were twin furnaces, burning oxygen like paper, her heart pounding with such violent insistence that she could feel it in her ears. Her injured arm screamed with every jolt and shudder of movement, nerves alight with white-hot agony. But the branch was closed now. She gritted her teeth and summoned what remained.

When she finally made it, when her chest cleared the branch and she threw herself forward, her face was slick with sweat, breath coming in shallow, broken bursts. She rolled, arm tucked, just enough to avoid further injury, just enough to collapse beside Sophia, heart pounding like thunder.

Sophia gasped, her tiny fingers brushing Wendy's shoulder. But Wendy, still heaving, still bracing for the worst, immediately reached for her, pressing one hand gently, urgently, over the girl's mouth.

"Shhh," she breathed, forehead almost touching Sophia's.

Below them, the forest came alive.

A sudden shift in the air, the crunch of dry twigs snapping beneath rotted weight. Then the smell, faint but rising: the sweet, cloying rot of decomposing flesh. The sound followed like a symphony of dread — wet footsteps dragging across dead leaves, the occasional throaty groan, the rattle of something inhuman pulling itself along.

Wendy tightened her grip on Sophia's shoulder, eyes locked on the forest floor just beneath the tangle of roots and leaves. The first one appeared — a geek, its skull half caved in, one eye swinging loosely in its socket, the lower jaw missing entirely. It shambled past the tree, its head twitching with every erratic step, arms outstretched as if groping blindly for a memory it couldn't quite touch.

Another followed. And another.

Five. Seven. Twelve.

They moved like a current, slow but unstoppable, drawn by hunger or instinct or something far older. One paused, head tilting upward, nostrils flaring as if it sensed something nearby. Wendy's breath caught in her throat. She didn't move. She didn't even blink.

Sophia trembled beside her, but she didn't make a sound. Her small body pressed tightly to Wendy's side, breath shaking against Wendy's ribs. She was trying so hard, trying to be brave. Trying to trust.

Wendy closed her eyes, only for a second, not in fear, but in silent thanks.

The walkers passed like a grim parade. Minutes stretched into years. The pain in her arm pulsed in time with her heartbeat, and sweat slid down her spine in rivulets, pooling at the base of her neck. A single leaf detached from the canopy above, spinning slowly in the still air before drifting down — down — onto the back of one walker's shoulder. It didn't notice. None of them looked up.

And then, as quietly as they had come, they were gone.

The forest held its breath.

Wendy didn't move until the last moan faded into the distance, swallowed by the trees. She let the silence wash over them, let the trembling in her bones begin to ebb, if only slightly. She felt the damp of the bark beneath her, the scratch of it against her torn jeans, the faint thud of her own pulse in her ears.

Only then did she lower her hand from Sophia's mouth and whisper, "It's okay. We're okay."

Sophia didn't respond. Her eyes were wide and wet, but she nodded, curling against Wendy's side. Wendy winced, but allowed it, resting her cheek against the girl's tangled hair.

She breathed in the faint scent of dirt and sweat and forest, grounded herself in the presence of this small, fragile life pressed to her side.

AUTHORS NOTE

yeah this was most def filler lol

will have better scenes in the future, also will hop around season 2 because that was a boring season for me

and the closer we are to mid season 3 the closer we are to a reunion !!!!!