It had been chaos. You could still see the terrified faces of the others, and some being attacked by the horde of walkers, the blood, everything.

You sighed for the tenth time in the last few minutes, listening to the constant sound of the campfire in front of you, Daryl's dry breathing beside you, and the eerie, silent sound of the night.

You looked to the side, seeing your dirty, half-torn and damaged backpack resting against the edge of the wood you were sitting on. Your muscles ached, your legs were about to just give out and fail, you felt like you were short of breath after so many hours running with Daryl.

And to make matters worse, you could feel Daryl's gaze on you. He hadn't said anything at all since they had escaped, as if he was thinking about too many things at once, it was normal, right? After all, there had been a lot of things happening at once.

You couldn't stop thinking about Hershel's head falling to the ground, on the grass, dirtying everything with blood.

You raised your hands full of dirt, blood and other filth, burying your face in them. You didn't know what to do. You didn't know where to go, or what to do.