Look

Three.

          As she looked-up to the cloud-ridden sky, Enid contemplated cutting her miniature-exploration short and -- maybe... just maybe. -- turning-in (in her own bed) for the night -- something along those lines. A thunderstorm is imminent. A thunderstorm is imminent, and it sure looks like it won't be showing mercy! Enid just wasn't sure. Enid absentmindedly-tucked a stray lock of hair back.

          Merle (and even Daryl) spoke-of setting-up some much-needed safe-houses for the Runners and for Merle Dixon, who have long-since grown frustrated with being forced to try to haul-ass without some sort of retreat — Merle missed living-off the land, as well. Merle had had a soft-spot for the young survivor, which most-definitely surprised Enid. But, the two survivors quickly-became fast friends.

          Merle and Enid would make for one lethal team, which would not go unnoticed; Ron hasn't been able to get to Enid since, a lone-handed, zombie-slaughtering, backwoods survivor way-more than ready to be sure to defend his adopted granddaughter. Enid set-off for the nearest safe house for much-needed rest, rain drops descending in droves. Enid swung a left. Enid swung a right.

           "... fuck." Enid whisper-shouted. "... fuck fuck fuck!"

            Enid slid-into a nearby alcove as soon as that... figure turned-around, his own, respective eyes -- what's left, that is. -- glazed-over as quickly as her own, respective eyes widened in absolute-horror -- another figure shambled-over, though it didn't stay long! Mom? Enid held her breath. Dad? Of course, it wasn't like it would never, ever take place -- neither of the parents were put-down.

           Enid's Dad took-off towards the sound's source, snapping and snarling! But, the other figure -- along with a chance at a possible, positive identification (for now.) -- was long-gone, which could make sneaking-away easier for the young survivor... as long as said young survivor could simply... stay calm, stay calm and think things through. ... just, Enid closed her eyes. survive — somehow. Enid's Dad closed-in on the alcove, decomposing intestines dragging-along the ground and lidless eyes surveying the surrounding area; there were multiple cables in his blood-stained hands, jumper cables. However... these jumper cables (still) appeared in good condition, even after all this time. 

            It... just might work. But, is it worth it? Enid's Dad had had an iron grip on those jumper cables, ruling-out snatching-away even one cable safely -- honestly, snatching-away even one cable left this sour, sour taste in Enid's mouth, especially because those exact, same jumper cables (partnered-with this "lack" of spacial-awareness) contributed to his gruesome-demise. Enid's Dad had had the jumper cables in his hands when their family would find themselves brutally-ambushed while trying to get to the bottom of some last-minute car woes, resulting in the couple's daughter being left on her own in an apocalyptic hellscape. Enid's Mom had had a medium-sized dagger.

* *

               Simon took one, last look at that tree before precautiously-pocketing that small, folded note once nailed to its thick, blood-ridden trunk — she did say she would leave a note (that is, in the very-near future). Dwight averted his own, respective gaze, whittling-away at a wooden figure. It's... coming-along. It's... coming-along... just fine. Dwight stashed-away said figure, followed by the knife, and let stray-shavings plummet-onto the ground. Littering just didn't seem to go on to hold the same weight as before, with the End of the World.

              "So..." Simon spit-out his pick, "... let's go!" Now, a fresh pick was in his mouth in no time flat. "What in the Hell are you looking a -- am I just that handsome, Dwight-y Boy?"

             Dwight knew that that note was from Angélique — Angélique perpetually-preferred Cursive. Dwight chuckled, putting-away the wooden figure before taking-off after Simon. Lightning danced-across the sky, illuminating the beat-up truck which contained numerous, painful memories.

             The Sanctuary is Hell. Negan Smith is Satan -- Angélique dodged the Satan Gene (as far as they knew). But, who (in their right mind) would dare go-up to Negan to accuse him of being Satan, aside from Angélique and quite-possibly Sherry, though Sherry wouldn't've exactly-been keen on risking her own head over dishing-out an insult, even though she openly-admitted she prays for his death time and time again; preferably, his excruciatingly-painful death. Sherry just might, though. Dwight would quite-literally pay to be able to watch that take place, as long as it didn't result in her death! 

*       *

               Enid's Dad collapsed in a heap, his eyes shut for good... and the damned jumper cables (still) clutched-tightly in his fist. Enid choked-back a sob, reaching-for the jumper cables before reaching-for a relatively-small, well-worn switchblade tucked-into a side pocket and continued-on -- albeit quicker -- towards the Safe-House to the South as fast as humanly-possible. The Clock was (still) ticking, especially because Figure #2 could very-well make an appearance at any given moment! Some lightning ripped-into a nearby tree, serving-to amp-up the bits of fear cascading-down, cascading-down like the warm rain, and leaving-behind the smell of burnt wood. 

               The Safe-House played peek-a-boo in the distance (finally). Enid broke-into a sprint, muddy messes tugging-at her shoes, rain flinging-itself into her notably-bloodshot eyes, and tears (still) falling freely, as she kept-up. Enid was almost there. Enid was almost there, and couldn't wait for a nice snack (indoors). Merle made sure to getting-around to setting-aside a safe-house specifically for Enid (located in a location most-frequently travelled), since she's almost-always out-and-about, despite the non-ending nagging from her fellow Alexandrians. Enid just couldn't be contained, and that was that.... that was that, whether people agreed (or not).

               Carl believed that that was a dangerous mindset, voicing such sentiments quite-often, such sentiments freely-falling on "deaf" ears and a serious-scowl. Glenn had had similar scenarios take place with his own crush (and one of Enid's Mentors), Angélique Smith, with both Enid and Angélique venturing-into the forest every other night. There's no stopping either! 

               Rain slid-down the kitchen window. Enid slid-into a chair at the rust-coated dining table with some green beans, this scenario prompting flashbacks to Thanksgiving Dinner, green beans a staple dish, green beans, mashed potatoes, what she'd give to be able to turn back time once and for all, even if it meant giving-up her comfort foods, firstly. Enid could only dream. 

               Of course, the Monroes tried their absolute-best to make sure to provide residents with a permanent haven, despite believing that that just isn't possible given the ever-present circumstances -- Aiden's erratic behaviour only-furthered this concern, especially because of his very-public, very-loud distrust of the Survivors. --, with this, this outright-lying about their views being their collective, dirty, little secret. Deanna had had experience with this sort of thing, but it felt like it was only becoming more (and more) difficult of a "task" to try to carry-out, despite her best efforts. But, it doesn't mean it would stop this Matriarch -- just... what to do with Aiden? Reg wasn't even sure!

               Enid cleaned-up, scurried-over to the couch, and just laid down to try to sleep -- as long as nothing showed-up for a late-night bite, getting some sleep should be at least somewhat-possible, but you never know. Enid covered-up with a tattered, old blanket draped-over the back of the well-worn couch. There wasn't any mold, at least?