Chapter Text
Flipping the familiar-grainy textured page of my favorite worn out copy of Frankenstein—the 1818 text of course, an amalgam of comfort yet excitement feelings course through my veins, though this was the third time my eyes greedily scanned through the faded, sable-printed words. But still, I could never get over the story of Victor Frankenstein, and the bane of his existence in which he brought the creature into.
The curious sun-rays that peeked through the crevices of the long, narrow willow leaves, felt creamy on the bare skin of my back. The thick material of my jeans were certainly no aid in this heat, but by now, I was used to the concentrated, thick air of rural Georgia.
I hummed as I pressed my final working pen a new quote that stood out, creating an intricate and impressively straight line. Carl once asked how I could do it so easily, but I didn't really have an answer. I just did it so much it was easy by now.
"So tired, tired of waiting for you..."
Circling another quote, I hummed my favorite song that I wished I could listen to, if I still had my phone. But unfortunately, as soon as the world ended, so did technology. There was no more electricity, and that meant chargers and any electronic device that required one, were useless.
But books and music—they lasted forever. As well as your words and opinions on them, and that's why I liked adding mine in the margins of the novels I devoured. A personal conversation with the author, if you will, even though they're probably dead.
"...I..was a lonely soul...I had no body until I met you...But you keep me wait in' all the time—what can I doooo?.."
The imaginary lovely sound of 70's rock slams through my ears and reverberates into my bones as the remaining pages of the book of my hands dwindles increasingly by the second. The ghost of Robert Plant's scratchy, husky voice echoes in the salty summer air, when suddenly, an edged screech penetrated the calmness of the softly cooing swallows nestled in the branches above.
Lifting my eyes from the pages, reluctantly, they land on Shane, and beside him with more than a foot difference, Carl. It didn't take much time to connect the pieces. Bundles of grey-pale faced fishes in Carl's hands, while Shane had just shooting two more walkers that emerged from the tree line.
Stunned, I don't move from my station on the hillside, where the fern overgrew and took shelter in the shade of the willow I was propped against. The sweet breeze that carried floral accents was tinged with the stench of copper, and death. Even from all the way up here. Not even the subtle hints of smokey wood from the bark against my back could hide it.
They don't see me—not the dead men, nor my little brother and my dad's best friend. Probably too caught up in the moment. Never had I gone up here before either, this had been my first time venturing this far alone. It was against the rules, but I needed the time away from everyone and everything.
I began to regret that, and understand why the rules were implemented.
Shane ushers Carl to go on ahead, warily keeping an eye out for more, as they both rushed back to camp. After a few moments, nothing happened. No more of the dead men, just the blades of grass swaying amongst the tremulous waves that shook the leaves of the bushes.
The birds continue chirping once again.
I was alone with them...the dead. There weren't anymore—at least not here. Ears slightly ringing, my chest forces out a breath, as the lake feverishly glitters beyond, outlined by the viridian border of the trees. Another waft of heated winds suffocate me, and it's then that realization strikes me to reality.
Shoving my pen, book, and sketching journal into the bundle of leather I've sewn back together numerous of times—that I called a bag, my shaky, jelly-filled legs hastily guide me down the beautiful hill, and back towards camp.
Immediately, the entire place was a disarray. Sophia had been crying in Carol's arms, while her father Ed, rolled his eyes and took another swig of water like it was beer, followed by the sparking of a cigarette.
Jim had been fixing up the RV with the hood propped up, whilst Dale was handing him the tools. Jacqui was by a basket of wet clothes, seemingly about to hang them to dry, but had been fixated on the scene unfolding before her. Andrea and Amy, stuck together like glue as always, had frightened looks on their faces, eyes
focused on Shane with both pairs of hands submerging cloths into buckets of water.
Shane's back had been towards me, stiff and tense as mama frantically shook his broad shoulders. "Where is she? Where is my baby?" Cheeks and nose pink with worry, eyes glossy with tears, her voice cracked as they searched until they found mine.
The distressed tone in her voice left me riddled with guilt, a heavy stone of regret settling in the pits of my stomach.
In a moment, her hands are holding my face, checking to see if I'm harmed at all. "Amelia! Are you bit?" Pulling me into a bone crushing hug, her body radiated an unnatural amount of heat. Her voice muffled into the thick, frizzy strands of my hair. "Tell me baby—are you hurt?"
Gently, I rubbed her back. "...No mama...I'm sorry for scaring you."
Retracting her head backward to take a good look at me, relief clears her eyes. But before she could so much as sniffle once more, a booming voice unsettles the air. Not an angry one, but a livid type of thunder, that shook the ground and everyone else standing on it.
"What the hell—" Shane starts and storms up to me, until he's only a few inches away, and glares with a mixture of rage and disappointment. Both made my stomach twist since I hated disappointing him, which I always seemed to do without trying. "—on God's green earth made you think it was okay to go off and break the rules?"
My cheeks burned as all eyes landed on us.
No matter how earnestly I strived to please Shane, it never worked. Him and Carl were two peas in a pod, and Shane sounded enthusiastic to form a bond with the twelve year-old kid. A certain light gleamed in those dark, coal like eyes of his whenever he spent time with my younger brother, but those same eyes always managed to turn stern and cold whenever they landed on me.
"You like makin' your mama worried sick? Huh?" I try not to wince from the severity of his tone.
"And what if those things would've eaten at you?"As if losing' your daddy wasn't enough? You want them to go through losing you too?"
"I was reading is all," My voice wavers, cheeks burning. "There's no good lighting down here-"
"Shane," Mama begins, attempting to calm him down. "I think she understands. I'm just glad she's okay." But he doesn't remove his gaze from mine, like he didn't even hear her.
Instead, his forehead creased more and he steps closer. "We-Your family has already lost your dad, do they need to go through losing you too?"
The tears were threatening to spill. Mentioning my dad broke whatever resistance to crying was left. But the older man continued to scold me, no longer even looking at me, punching the bridge of his nose as a deep frown forms into his harshly lined dark features. "I mean..How can you be that selfish?" The genuine tone in his voice, as to why I acted the way I did, is what made a shaky breath finally escape my lips.
I hadn't been breathing at all until now.
His dark eyes fleet to mine. And then all the anger vanishes from his face, and reveals something curious, and peculiar—but only for a moment. A subtle hint of empathy. A sparkle shimmers in those dark hues of his.
And then a sheet of stone, a stoic look, masks it. I must've imagined it.
His jaw tightens as my lips quiver, clutching the bag in my hand so tightly that my knuckles were ash white. I trembled slightly as Shane wiped his nose and sniffs.
"Don't you break the rules again—Amelia. I mean it."
Shane then looks past me, "Try again to radio Glenn and the others in the city. We need those reinforcements and the manpower, now. If anymore walkers keep come, we need to be ready." It was like I didn't exist, him not sparing me another glance, and turning around. He puts a friendly supportive hand on mama's shoulder, but she shoves him off, and thins her eyes.
"How dare you mention her father?"
Shane glances over at me, and my eyes find the floor. The words sounded cold as they hit me.
"The truth hurts."
Thick heavy boots dig into the padded soil, retreating into their owner's tent.
Shane liked mama. He liked Carl.
But he hated me.
Mama expertly removed the wooden stems from the wild onions, and fed me one of the sweet violets. Its floral undertones pleasantly tingle my taste buds, extracting a gentle hum from my lips. Repeating the action with Carl, he makes a sour face, and spits out the chewed up petals onto the mossy ground. Laughter fills the air from all around camp, including me, who'd been crying just hours earlier.
Carl never failed to bring a chorus of smiles onto all of our faces.
Continuing to separate the herbs from one another, and seeming which had been wilted or not, I hear Shane enter into the camp. His voice always stood out from the rest, demanding and naturally every word coming out like a bellow. It only softened for serpent people—Jacqui, Carol, Sophia, Mama, and Carl.
However, when it was aimed towards me, it somehow felt like a gargantuan amount of cement had been poured all over my figure, weighing down and suffocating me; restricting me from finding my voice from the pressure. To say Shane Walsh intimidated me, was the understand of the year. No, the century.
He didn't hate me. What was it the creature said? Shane abhorred me—and loathed my existence, and strived to ignore me every chance he had.
That night, as we prepped dinner, mama inquired to Shane if Glenn had still been awol, and when he confirmed her worries, he quickly followed by assuring her that everything was under control. A comforting hand rubbed her arm—and then she hugs him.
Biting my lip, staring at him, I wondered if he'd ever look at me. But he didn't. Not even for a moment. Ruffling Carla's hair, Shane reminded Carl about their fishing lesson tomorrow. The shadows of the golden flames flickered against the hollows of the older man's sharp jaw, covered in a faint layer of stubble. The necklace that glistened and contrasted against his tanned skin looked magical paired with the dreamlike shining embers in his eyes.
My throat went dry as I watched their conversation end. Shane avoids my gaze at all costs, without even trying, and walks over to where Sophia had been washing Ed's hats and clothes and Carol was beating them against a stone to dry them.
Crouching down beside her, Shane pulls his forest green bottoms up, and crouches so that he's eye level with the little girl. Pulling out a flower from his back pocket, he hands it to her, and pokes her nose. Sophia giggles and Carol offers him an appreciative smile for the sweet gesture.
It was almost painful; a heavy dreadful brick being placed on my chest. I should've been used to being ignored by Shane, but it just gets worse each time his eyes slide past me as if I didn't exist in the first place. To him, I'm invisible.
After dinner, a rock just a few feet behind the RV where the river started, called my name. The soft crashes and ripples of water, combined with the sun casting orange shadows across the sky, light particles scattering across—set me into a trance as I did my best to sketch the view. Afterward, I finished Frankenstein and debated on my only two other options.
Plays of Henrik Ibsen or Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë?
Shane reminded me of Mr. Rochester too much, so oddly, I decided to read the second option. It takes me about half an hour to reach the part where Rochester begins ignoring Jane and courting Lady Ingram solely to make her jealous. My pen was beginning to fade out, and with a curse, and a vigorous shake, more ink victoriously spread onto the paper.
I check my surroundings for a moment, since the dead did decide unfortunately to not only roam amongst the living, but eat them as well. However, everything seems normal and fine as far as I can tell. Laughter and chattering from the parents and children sang into the night air, bringing it alive. But for some reason, I couldn't find it in me to even smile, which is why I decided to submerge myself into solitude.
Shane's words hit harder than I should have let them—but there they were, sinking into my chest. Ever since dad got killed in Atlanta, when the outbreak initially started, I couldn't help but feel like I've been nothing but a huge burden to not only mama, but Shane.
He felt responsible for our family, carrying the stress on his shoulders. But I understood why—him and dad were like brothers. So it was natural that Shane felt obligated to save our family, and guide us through the chaos of the city and the loss of my father. That didn't mean he cared for me though, I just so happened to be in the family he feels the urge to protect.
If anything happened to me, it wouldn't affect Shane, but it'd break mama. And that's who he's looking out for. Otherwise, he'd stomp me into the dirt himself probably.
Somehow my spirits managed to lower even further into the potful ground beneath me. Sinking my face into the book, forcing and willing myself to read with a deep furrow in my brows, none of the words register and all thoughts fly back to Shane.
The way he acted made absolutely no sense. What did I do for him to grow so irritated of me, to the point where all he does is scold me?
A frustrated huff rips from my lips and I slam the book shut.
The next day, I climbed one of the trees, and laid onto a branch, submerged in the foliage. God decided to bless us with a light summer rain, that made my white long skirt stick to the slick skin of my legs. Despite raindrops getting caught in my hair, and lashes, I continue to finish the final few pages of Jane Eyre, finishing it in less than twenty-four hours. A new record.
"Ah, silly Jane, I would've kept the twenty quid for myself." After circling another quiet, my shoulders tense, as footsteps pad towards the spot below me.
Before suspecting it was a dead man, the sound of mama's naturally gentle voice fills the air. But it sounded strained. "Dammit, if we lost T-Dawg, Glenn, Andrea—Hell even Merle, then how will we have enough me to kill protect more than ten people?"
"You don't need to worry about that." Shane approaches her, putting a hand on her thin shoulder. Her head drops towards the floor as a tightened look crosses her features. Mama looked so worried—because she had a good heart crafted out of the finest, purest gold. "No matter what happens, I'll protect your family—meaning Amelia and Carl."
A dry laugh leaves her, crossing her nimble arms. "She thinks you hate her—you know? Sometimes you're a bit harsh...and I think it hurts her. I can see it on her face." At the mention of this, Shane's face shifts from soft to a much more firm look, as if he'd been deep in thought.
She turns around to face him, broken twigs and dead leaves crunching beneath her. "I know I'm hard on her. It's called tough love." But his words are dismissive, and came out in a jumbled up mess of a sentence. At this point, it was almost undeniable that he couldn't mask how much he truly detested me.
Mama's thin brows furrow, bangs slightly blowing in the wind.
"It ain't no tough love when you're makin' my baby girl cry in front of everybody." Her motherly instincts seem to kick in, and it overwhelms my figure with a warm sense of affection. Her fists ball at her sides then proceeds to jab a finger into his chest. "Now you listen here, you're going to start being nice to that girl. You say hi to her, and you teach her how to fish. It'll clear the air between you two."
Reluctance sharpens Shane's striking features, eyes narrowing down at her. "No," Placing his hands on his hips, almost sassily, he walks up and down the trail lined with stones, almost laughing as if she said the funniest joke in the world. "No, no, no. Don't do that. Let me tell you something, Amelia is a great kid. But she don't care for fishin’. I don’t have time anyway with the camp and all.”
"No wonder Lia thinks you don't like her," She scoffs, scowling up at the much taller man. "You avoid her like the plague, and the only time you speak to her, is to tell her what she's doing wrong. Considering she just lost her father—you'd think you'd be more...I don't know—not a jerk?"
At that, he chuckles, up towards the heavens. Adam's apple bobbing, angled jaw; the definition of a man. "Fine, fine. I'll teach her how to fish. You win, Lor, as usual.”
“Just give her a chance, Shane. You’re not the only one who lost Rick.”
Shane immediately averts his gaze, finding solace on the flourishing forest floor, rubbing his chin and lost within his mind. Finished with the conversation, pleased, Mama walks back towards a camp, leaving just the two of us alone.
Maneuvering myself down the tree, making my presence known, Shane blinks quickly as my feet land on the ground with a heavy thump.
"See you tomorrow." It comes out weak, but he hears it, and his face flickers. His hues scan my features carefully, and his lips even move to speak. But I don't stay long enough to notice to hear, fleeing the scene, already dreading the following day to come.