A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to the third installment of my Walking Dead fanfiction! I'm super excited to write for season 5, since it's one of my ersonal favourites. I have a lot planned for Alyssa when we get to Alexandria. A lot. This ff will most likely be a bit darker than the others, which I'm sure some of you will detect in this chapter. I wanted to add to Alyssa's character, make her more dimensional.

So, I hope you guys like this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead (the tv show or comic books.) I only own my OC and her own original plots. Everything else belongs to AMC and Robert Kirkman.

1.

*scrape scrape*

2.

*scrape scrape*

3.

*scrape scrape*

The steady sound of my beating heart. The scratch of a zipper being yanked against wood. They are put together in time, a music to my ears.

The zig-zag motion I make with the zipper helps to sharpen the rotting wood. Each tug makes the point at the end more pronounced. The more pronounced, the better. I want it to hurt.

Rick had yanked it from the train car wall. He had grabbed one for himself, and he holds the shiv-like device tightly in his hand. We all have weapons, fashioned from what we had on. Rosita, a woman who had traveled with Glenn, had yanked out her hoop earrings and bent the metal, holding the sharp point between her fingers. Rick had taken off his belt and held the metal end in his hand. The metal part of the end that would push through the loop was being stomped on. Bent forward. The next time he grabbed the piece, it was set into his fist, and the prongs pointed outward from in between his fingers. We all kept busy with our makeshift weapons, gathering up as much as we could and making sure that they would hurt when they sliced into our capturers' necks.

As our hands work, we make small talk. It is too quiet in this prison, and the scraping sounds we make just isn't enough to soothe our senses.

"~ They seemed nice, but I was ready to go. We just got here, but, damn, it was time to go. When I told 'em about DC, a wink and a nod from the head asshole in charge and we're back to our regularly scheduled shitstorm."

"~ Before they put you in here, you didn't see Tyreese?"

"No."

"Good."

"~ Black car with a white cross painted on it. I tried to follow it. I tried."

"But she's alive?"

"She's alive."

Muttered arguments from outside the train car sound like warning bells in our ears. The adrenaline in my veins pump, fast and steady. In the darkness, I grin wickedly.

Daryl peeks through a crack in the wall. "Alright. Got four of 'em pricks comin' our way."

Rick stands up, holding his shiv steady. "You all know what to do." The rest of the group stands, ready to fight. I join, holding my sharp weapon in a tight fist. "Go for their eyes first. Then their throats."

We all prepare our stance; knees bent, arms out, weapons in front. Adrenaline fills the air so much that it's almost tangible. We're all ready.

Then some asshole ruins our mood.

"Put your backs to the walls on either side of the car NOW."

Not that we listen. We all keep our stance, looking expectantly at the door they'll most likely walk through.

But of course, this camp is full of assholes and they just love to ruin our fun.

Glenn is the first to notice the footsteps on the roof. He looks up, and Maggie follows his gaze. The rest of us have the dawning realization of, "Oh, shit. This won't end well," as the ceiling bursts open and a can is thrown on the floor, hissing.

Abraham is the first to react. "Move!" He shouts, and runs to the other side of the train car. The rest of us follow in less than a heartbeat. The can pops with force, and a white spray fills the air. We all cough, our eyes burning from the sensation. I fall to the ground in a heap, coughing my lungs out and pushing my palms to my teary eyes. My shiv is dropped in my painful haze. An arm goes protectively around me, and though I can't see who it belongs to, the familiarity of the muscle makes me believe it's Rick.

Through my mindless daze, I faintly hear the sound of the door opening behind us. The light assaults my eyes as I look back to our captors, whom are wearing gas masks as they enter our jail. In the second I turn back, I look to the body that owns the arm that's around me, making me positive in my suspicions.

One of the little Termites grabs Rick, attempting to haul him out the car. I weakly grab his forearm, coughing out, "No. NO."

But then I realize that he isn't the only one grabbed. Glenn is being pulled away from his wife. Two other tall shapes are grabbed but I can't tell who they are. My eyes begin to fail me, and my head painfully spins around the room. Goddam smoke. What is it? Tear gas or somethin'?

The light from the door is gone in a flash, leaving the rest of us in a hazy darkness. With my last bit of strength, I grope around in the dark, my head held low. I find the cloth of a plaid jacket that I'm comfortably familiar with.

"Carl-" I wheeze out. His hand reaches my own, squeezing it. "They took Rick."

"I know." He hisses out, coughing profusely.

Through the haze, I can just barely make out Sasha's form on the ground, heaving heavily. I look for mom but can't see her.

My heart beats fast in my chest, wondering if she was another caught. The adrenaline that gave me such a thrill before has turned into a spark of fear and desperation.

"Mom?" My raspy voice calls in the dark. The haze is slowly clearing, but all I see are lumps on the ground.

"I'm here, Liz." She manages to cough out. I attempt to sigh in relief, but it's more of a wheeze than anything. "Head count." She says. "Maggie?"

"Here." Her Southern drawl is easily distinct.

"Sasha?"

"Over here." She answers weakly.

"Glenn?"

No response.

"They..." Maggie coughs. "They took him. I don't know where."

"Shit." Mom says. I can see her form a few feet away to the left of me, sitting up from the ground.

"Daryl?"

No response. Again.

"Shit." I say this time. We were hit worse than we thought.

"Abraham?" Mom continues.

"Over here." He calls, waving his hand through the mist. It barely does anything to the white fog that covers us.

Mom continues the roll call, and the other person missing is Bob. The mist is nearly clear now, and my lungs being to work their magic once more.

"Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and Bob." I say.

"Why?" Tara asks, passion in the word. I think because they're picking us off but I don't want to say it out loud. That would make it true.

CLICK.
CLICK CLACK.

The familiar sound of bullets ripping through the air sound outside. What? I think, confused. With a BANG! the ground shakes immensely, throwing all of us over again.

"What the fuck was that?" I say, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"It couldn't have been them." Abraham thinks aloud. "These dicks wouldn't hurt their territory. Wouldn't make sense."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." Tara says, her voice quaking. "Now we have two groups on our asses. That's great."

"They could be friendlies." I say the statement like a question, shrugging my shoulders. Even I don't believe the lie.

We all gain our footing once more, standing up and trying to get a good look of outside. Abraham looks over the one crack in the wall, desperate for an answer.

"What the HELL is going on?!" He clenches his jaw tight as he growls out the words. A fist bangs the wall in frustration.

"Maybe our people got free." Sasha voices.

"Excuse me." Eugene pushes his way past her and shuffles over to the door. He bends down and grabs a single bullet shell from the ground.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rosita, obviously annoyed, asks.

"I might be able to use this shell to compromise the door." His voice, a mixture of a Southern accent and a science mind making an odd combination. "From the sound of things, there may not be anybody left to open it."

"Eugene, I'm sorry but shut up." Tara shakes her head at the science-speak.

He looks back down to the shell, a little red at the minor embarrassment.

"Hey." Carls voice rings beside me. I grab his hand and hold it tightly in my own. He gives it a reassuring squeeze. "My dad's gonna be back. They all are."

"They are." Maggie agrees behind the two of us. "And we need to get ready to fight our way out when they do."

Most give a half-assed nod at the statement, or nothing at all. She yanks Glenn's watch from her pocket and kneels down to the broken wall. Her hands pull the chain through the wood, back and forth.

Not many follow the request to keep ready, but I grab my makeshift shiv from the floor and hold it tightly like a lifeline. Mom works with the little materials she has left of her katana. She has the sheath to it, so she puts a long piece of sharp wood to it and ties it tightly together. Bam, makeshift katana.

We all notice as a walker on the outside moans out. His dead, cold fingers attempt to push through the crack on the wall, as if to reach out and grab us. It just brings the thought of, "Shit. We're screwed." back to all of us. I look to the ground, not wanting to see him, but his growls still sing in my ear.

Sasha, lying on the ground whilst sharpening her weapon, looks up to Eugene. Her shoulders slump as she asks, "What's the cure, Eugene?"

He fumbles around with the shell in his hand. "That's classified."

Classified, man? Really?

Sasha looks about as done with him as I am. She continues to try to reason with him, though. "We don't know what's gonna happen."

"You leave him be." Abrahams gruff voice calls out to her. He wraps his fist around in a broken cloth as he looks to Sasha's form on the ground.

"We need to keep working." Maggie points out to everyone, hoping to keep talking at a minimum. The walker at the door moans out, making her point more distinct.

"Yeah, but it's time to hear it." Sasha argues. "'Cause we don't know what's coming next."

"What's next is we get out of this." Tara tries to remain positive in the moment. Sasha says nothing back to her.

"Even if I told you all, even if I provided step-by-step instructions, complete with illustrations and a well-composed FAQ, and I went red-ring..." he looks to Sasha, and in a voice of confidence and composure, he finishes the statement. "The cure would still die with me."

"I'm not gonna let that happen." Abraham says in what I can only think of is his sing-song voice. The ginger soldier gives a stern, protective look to Eugene. It's a silent statement between them, Abraham saying that he will keep Eugene safe.

"The best case scenario, we step out into a hell storm of bullets, fire, and walkers. I'm not fleet of foot, I sure as hell can't take a dead one down with sharp buttons and hella confidence."

He looks back down to his work. As mom finishes the knot on her faux-tana, she tells him, "Yeah, but we can and we will."

Sasha stands up and looks at Eugene. His eyes warily meet hers. "You don't owe us anything. Not yet. But we just want to hear it."

"You don't have to." Rosita says, her tone strangely calm. Nothing like the roughness that Abraham talks with.

Eugene looks up at Sasha, then to the ground. A hand wipes his forehead and he sighs heavily. With a thought, he looks up from the ground. I notice that his hands are shaking as he eyes over everyone around him. "I was part of a ten-person team at the Human Genome Project to weaponize diseases to fight weaponized diseases."

As he speaks, the rest of the group stands up to listen. "Pathogenic microorganisms with pathogenic microorganisms. Fire with fire. Interdepartmental drinks were had, relationships made, information shared. I am keenly aware of all the details behind fail-safe delivery systems to kill every living person on this planet."

He looks to Sasha as he finishes his little speech. "I believe with a little tweaking on the terminals in DC, we can flip the script. Take out every last dead one of 'em. Fire with fire." Abraham gives a nod of respect to the scientist he guards. Sasha looks dazed from the information.

"All things equal, it does sound pretty badass." Eugene gives a smirk at his own words.

Maggie doesn't seem impressed. Instead, she changes the subject. "So let's get back to work."

I start to make my way over to where I sharpen my shiv, but a heavy banging sounds outside the door. All of us crowd around it once more, our weapons held proudly in front of us. This time, we get to put them to use.

Rick pulls the door open for us, holding an AR 14 in one hand. The sounds assault my ears, screams from the dying Termites and guns being shot from everywhere. The adrenaline comes back, flowing freely in my veins. It's absolute chaos out here.

"Come on!" Rick screams to us. My eyes search for the other three that were captured and find them beside our metal prison. They all hold weapons and are stabbing at the undead. "Fight to the fence!"

We all run out of the train car as he shoots the gun. Whether it's at a dead one or the living, I'm not sure. I don't really care either way. They're both trouble.

"Do not leave his side!" Abraham instructs Rosita as he runs out fast, stabbing a walker in its eye. I go next, the closest walker to me receiving a harsh stab in the decaying skull.

"Gogogo!" Glenn shouts over the sound of the speeding bullets. He hovers at the door as the rest of us file out, waiting for Maggie. As soon as she reaches him, though, it's all work.

It's utter chaos in the Terminal base. Buildings on fire, concrete crumbling from the first initial blast. The dead roam the path freely, moaning and trying to catch a bite out of me and my family. We're lucky enough that some have decided to feast on our enemies, the Termites. Those that are a meal scream in agony; some try in vain to shoot the walkers that are ripping their flesh apart. Those that aren't food are trying to kill us. I can say safely that they don't get even close to hurting us.

Rick uses his gun to create a semi-path for us. It's a hard game to play. The walkers in front of us are gunned down, but the ones behind us try to follow the sound. We are faster than them, and that isn't the only perk we have. We kill them, too.

After I stab a particularly gruesome-looking walker, (the stomach cavity was completely missing. Its guts were spilling out over the pavement and its large intestine trailed slightly behind it,) the group crowds around the fence.

"Up and over!" Rosita calls out to us.

Most of us follow. The rest travel a little behind for protection. I'm one of those. I stay to the right of the group, stabbing as many as I could. Some of the living Termites, including our ole' friend Gareth, are on the rooftop. They attempt to shoot at us, but the range is too far away for their weapons. Rick should have known that, too, for his rifle, but he continues to blindly shoot at them in anger.

I'm so preoccupied by Rick's gun that I almost miss the sound of a scream beside me, getting louder as the person charges. It's a man, on the older side. His sand pepper colored hair is slowly turning grey, and he sports a beer-belly. In his hand is a machete, held proudly in his hand as he runs to me.

Rick easily shoots him, the bullets going through his stomach. Three growing trails of blood seep through his shirt as he cries out in pain. He falls to the ground, lying on his back. The machete clangs against the floor. I give Rick a nod of thanks, which he returns. I think he expects me to go to the fence after, but I don't.

Instead, I run over to the dying man. I see the agony on his face, the fear chilling through his bones. Instead of sympathizing, I grin wickedly down to him. I can hear his panicked breaths like music to my ears. I take my shiv in hand, and bend over him. The splintering wood meets his skull, and I watch the light leave his eyes. The feeling of warm blood trickles down the shiv and onto my hand. I look to it and yank it out. I watch each drop, slowly moving along the curves of my palm and sliding off the sides, as if entranced. My grin from earlier fades to a horrified frown.

What's wrong with me?

"We gotta go!" Daryl's voice brings me out of my terrifying thoughts. I hastily rub my red palm against me jeans, as if it could get rid of the evidence that I enjoyed the kill. My breath catches in my throat at the thought. I'm turning into a psychopath.

In a last-ditch effort, Rick runs close to the roof and fires a couple shots to Gareth. He manages to hit the Termites' shoulder, and with the victory he runs back to the rest of the group. I follow him.

I hoist myself over the broken fence and head to the forest with the rest of the group. My guess is that we're heading back to where the duffel was stuffed only a few hours ago. It seems to be the logical move.

I travel behind most of them, though Abraham is the one to take the true back. I guess he needs to make sure all the ducks are in line, to make sure Eugene's safe.

My eyes wander to the shiv I hold in my clean hand. The wood has taken on a stain, a red that is slowly drying into it. My mind goes back to the man's face. The horrified look in his eyes. The way they went blank after I stabbed him.

I close my own and take a shaky breath, hoping to clear my thoughts. The darkness that I see only makes it worse.

"Hey." I hear a soft, comforting voice say. I open my hazel orbs to see Carl walking beside me. His sheriff hat somehow made it through the compound without falling off his head. His blue eyes hold clear concern in them. "You alright?"

I can't look into his eyes too long. The comforting hue just makes me feel guilty about my earlier actions.

I answer him with a quiet, shaky voice. "No. I'm not."

"Hey." He grabs my bloody hand and holds it tightly in his own. "We're okay. Got it?"

I give a small, barely-there smile. "Better be."

He smiles back, reassuring me. I take one last look at the shiv before I drop it to the grass. I don't need it anymore.

He doesn't let go of my hand as we walk through the green. Without speaking he knows that I need an anchor. After what happened last night, and now? I'm on the breaking point. He knows it. And he knows how to help.

We make our way to the small clearing, where our duffel is stashed. "Right here." Daryl says, and drops to the ground to dig it out with his hands.

"What the hell are we still around here for?" Abraham asks, impatient.

Rick sets his AR 14 down and helps Daryl to dig. "Guns. Some supplies."

He starts to make a plan. "Go along the fences. Use the rifles. Take out the rest of 'em."

My grip on Carls hand tightens. No, I think. I can't. Not now. I fear what I could possibly do in another fight. I can't do it again. At least not now.

"What?" Glenn says, confused. I mentally sigh in relief.

"They don't get to live." Rick says, as if it's that simple.

"Rick." Glenn sounds annoyed by our leaders gun-ho attitude. "We got out. It's over."

Rick yanks out his Python from the bag in the dirt, checking the ammo. "It's not over 'till they're all dead."

"The hell it isn't." Rosita sides with Glenn on the matter. "That place is on FIRE. Full of walkers."

"I'm not dicking around with this crap." Abraham puffs out. He has such a way with words. "We just made it out."

Maggie takes a different approach from the angry ginger. "The fences are down. They'll run or die."

Rick looks to the group, but no one stands with him. Not even mom, or Carl, or me. We're done with this fight.

The crunch of leaves to my left alerts the whole group to another person. At first my muscles tense up, ready for another fight. But I drop the stance as soon as I see the crossbow hanging from her tiny fist.

Daryl runs to her the moment he realizes her identity. Their arms wrap around each other tightly, almost crushing each other with the force. I can hear the small laughs they make as he picks her up from the ground, only for a moment but feels longer. The crossbow, his crossbow, is left on the ground, completely forgotten for the time-being.

Carol.

Alive and well. Right in front of us.

She saved us from Terminus.

I can't believe my eyes. Happiness is the first emotion that floods through my body. My friend, my family, finally back with us. The second emotion is anger. She killed Karen and David at the prison. She killed two of us.

I shake the second emotion away. I don't want this moment to be ruined by my own thoughts.

I watch, a tear in my eye, as Daryl's arms stay around Carols middle tightly. I can feel his relief, tangible in the air. He never wants to let her go. His head rests on her shoulder, and her arms go around his neck to keep him close.

This moment between them, so pure. And happy. I never believed such a thing is possible after such a bloodbath. I'm happy to stand corrected.

Rick takes slow, incredulous steps toward the two. In his eyes is happiness and amazement. I can see it everywhere in our group.

"Did you do that?" He asks her. Daryl, though he doesn't want to let go of Carol, reluctantly pulls away and grabs the crossbow from the dirt.

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she sucks in her lips tightly and stares at him. Tears well in her eyes as she looks up to him. There isn't disgust in his eyes, which I'm pretty sure she's looking for. Instead, she's met with a gracious hug from him.

It seems like forever before they pull away from each other. Carol keeps a hand on his shoulders as she says, "You have to come with me."

The rest of the group doesn't complain. We all follow her trail as she leads us up a trail. It leads to an old wooden lodge, once cozy for a camping family. This time, it holds two friends that I haven't seen in a long time.

At the same time, Sasha, Rick, and Carl break out into a full-on sprint to the house. Tyreese is outside, holding baby Judith in his arms.

Judith. Tyreese. Alive and well.

I can't believe my eyes. Judith. It takes all my strength not to run with the Grimes. Instead, I settle for a huge grin on my face as I stand by mom, who looks to them contently.

I can hear the relieved laughs from Sasha as her arms wrap around her brother, and the joy in the whispered sayings of, "you're okay!" that Carl tells Judith. Rick holds his baby in his arms, and she fits like a puzzle piece in them. All the happiness I've seen today, after such a brutal fight, is a much welcomed sight.
Rick looks up to the group, and I notice the few tears of happiness that escapes his eyes. Normally, I would be worried about tears from him. But I know the origin of these ones. They aren't from pain or loss. They are from his two children, safe and sound and in his arms.

His eyes find mine, and the arm that relaxes around Carls shoulder beckons me over. I cock my head to the side, and he makes the same motion. I look behind me, where mom stands. Maybe it was for her? But I realize, no. It's not for her, or for me. It's for us.

I don't question the motion again. I walk over to the family huddle, mom trailing behind me, and we crowd around Judith. Carl cradles her head in his hand. My own goes to push a tiny wisp of blonde hair behind her ear. Mom rests a hand on Carls' shoulder as she watches the two of us with the baby.

In this moment, this joy, I truly smile. A grin that reaches from ear to ear. I can feel the tugs on my heart that tell me that, yes, this is real. I'm not dreaming. I'm not making this perfect scene in my head. That hand on my shoulder is mom, and that little whine is Judith's. The laughter that fills my ears is from the group, and we are okay. It's really happening. Judith is alive, and Carol's alive, and we made it out of Terminus. We are safe.

We are alive.