Changing To Adapt ➵ TWD

➵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ ɴɪɴᴇ

Things are harder than they've ever been, moving as one big group. Places to camp in were more difficult to acquire with the bodies they had to fit in, and the noise was always an issue.

Extra food to find, too.

The flow wasn't easy to obtain, at first. But that's how it always is. And then they adapted.

They were more of a group than they'd ever been. Seven months together would do that.

It didn't feel like that long, really, but he knew it in the look of Hershel's eyes, a hardening acceptance. The way Carl carries himself. Lori's baby bump.

A routine was discovered, and roles were plucked from a metaphorical hat.

And Rick was. . . different.

Lucas didn't know where he fit, himself. A jack of all trades in a way that wasn't very useful.

He hated the silence, despite loving every moment he got of it in his high school years. Seeing multiple people in one room but not talking. Their dynamic now was all about survival and not enough about living.

But what else could they do? Moving from one place to another without end, being forced out of every house they found.

It was tiring.

Lucas heaves himself up onto the second-story window ledge, only held up by his arms and the boots digging into concrete crevices.

He risks a brief glance down at the others, gathered by the cars but watching the horizon. There isn't a smile in sight.

Lori gives him a small thumbs-up, spurring him to finally slip the rest of the way through the open window and into the room.

Pink, white, a litany of toys on a child's empty bed.

Lucas swallows, hard, but tip-toes across the floor to open the door. He peeks both ways, ducks out, and slides down the stairs.

He puts himself at risk by not checking the lower floor first, and instead unlocks the multiple latches on the front door. The one thing keeping Rick out.

The door swings open, and Lucas sweeps his arm across the air to allow him in.

Rick nods, followed by Daryl, T-Dog and Carl.

They don't talk, not until the area is cleared out, separating in different directions.

Glenn and Maggie filter in, and with a sharp whistle, the rest follow.

It's empty enough to be safe, save the few corpses leaking blood across the carpet.

Lucas ducks into the kitchen to find Carl already flipping empty cans of food onto their side in search. He flicks at the Sherrif's hat on the kid's head and crouches down beside him.

Their biggest struggle and most important feat is finding food for Lori.

His heart jumps and his eyes widen when he sees two unopened cans. But joy plummets, a dog's face staring back at him.

Pet food.

He sighs, thumping his head gently against the wood. There's an emptiness to his stomach. Carl's arm presses against his in the next second, kneeling down to see.

Poor kid was probably starving more than anybody.

Carl picks up one of the cans, looks at the label, and meets Lucas's eyes. They don't mention the matching bruise-like crescents underneath them.

Lucas takes a considerate breath, drums his fingers on his knee, and finally, nods, "Better than nothing." He whispers.

Carl smiles a little.