-Epilogue-

Greeley could not remember the last time he had seen rain, but that morning it had come down heavy. The skyfall was torrential, relentless, beating down on him as he trudged onwards, the map folded awkwardly in his hand, his other holding his leather jacket up over his head as a makeshift umbrella. He had been forced to abandon the car he had hotwired half a mile back when the thing had finally run out of gas and there had been nothing around to refuel it with. Luckily for him, the area was relatively clear of Biters, the only ones he came across so decrepit that they were all but washed away by the rain, glued to the tarmac and moaning their last.

He squinted at the map, brushing it against his shirt to wipe away the water which threatened to melt it. The ink smudged, but that hardly mattered now; he was almost there. He carried with him only a few home comforts stuffed into a backpack; clothes, candy, a portable disc player. He had the rifle, of course, and he had brought the letter-opener along with him.

Stupid, maybe. Sentimental, definitely.

He stopped beside one of the rain-pummeled Walkers as he tried to regain his bearings, using the road signs around to pinpoint his location on the map. He rooted around in his pocket for the page he had ripped from the old telephone directory which had been squashed onto the bookcase in his old apartment. Typical that Dixon hadn't bothered to throw the thing out, useless as it now seemed, but Greeley had found some use in the old pages. He looked over the address of the factory again.

It was a long shot, he knew. But he was done with Woodbury, done with the people at the prison and their ridiculous war. They were welcome to tear each other to pieces, make this world an even worse place to live for no reason at all other than their own vanities. He understood that now, how stupid the whole thing had been, how stupid he had been for following the Governor's orders, and how ashamed he was for having oftentimes relished in them. He folded the page as small as it would go and pushed it back into the pocket of his dark jeans. The Biter on the ground beside him gave a weak gurgle. It had been a woman once, perhaps even a pretty one. Greeley stared down at it a moment. Then he raised his boot high and stomped hard on its head, over and over, sending the creature into oblivion before continuing on down the empty, endless road.

Perhaps Laurel had been right about this group, that there would be nothing more at the Factory where she once lived than a brand new bunch of assholes to deal with, with all the same problems he'd found with every other person he'd met since the world ended. Still, any people would be better than no people at all. Perhaps they'd turn him away at the door, or worse. Perhaps they'd have moved on by now, and he could have the smelting mill all to himself. He frowned a little at the thought.

In spite of it all, Dewey did not want to be alone.

He folded the page as small as it would go and pushed it back into the pocket of his dark jeans. The Biter on the ground beside him gave a weak gurgle. It had been a woman once, perhaps even a pretty one. Greeley stared down at it a moment. Then he raised his boot high and stomped hard on its head, over and over, sending the creature into oblivion before continuing on down the empty, endless road.

AN: Thanks for reading everyone! It's been a pretty big project rewriting Imprisoned but it feels good to have it finished. I have a rough idea of what I'll be doing in part two, which will be titled Sanctuary, should I eventually get around to writing it.

Arrivederci!