The Woman at The End of The World. (Daryl Dixon)

eightyfive.

Three months later.

I duck, raising my fist, allowing it to connect to Jesus' face. He stumbles backwards, grinning. Without missing a beat, I peddle back several feet. Taking a deep breath, turning my back on the man with long brown hair, closing my eyes, I throw myself into a backward flip, wrapping my legs around Jesus' torso midair, locking my muscles in place. Like I did with the truck, I throw my body back, hands kissing the ground, forcing him to bend with me. I toss him over my body as I land on all fours. He hits the ground with a thud, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Alright! Mercy! You got me!" Jesus' sits up, raising his hands. I watch as he stands, wiping the dirt off of his clothes. "I have some small hope your kids don't man handle me the way you do."

I scoff, "not likely. They have my blood." And Daryl's. My face sours at the evil, intrusive thought. Straightening up, I head for the porch, lowering myself down in a chair; listening as Jesus follows suit. "You got about two years, though," I finally deadpan. I grab the water bottle I left before we started our training, wrapping my fingers around the plastic; draining its contents.

Upon reuniting with my children; I made the decision that I will train them to survive as soon as they are able to run, walk, and talk. I hate having to thrust them into violence at such a young age, but I want to be reassured that if something happens to me, they will be able to survive. Or God forbid, something happens on a run and I'm not there to protect them.

In my peripheral, I observe as he surveys my face, "you really aren't gonna come back to the communities when this is all over?" This isn't the first time he's brought it up over the last few months. As thankful as I am for him stepping in, assisting with re-training me in preparation for going after Owen. I plan on heading out into the field sometime in the next few days. I've been sitting idly by, marking off the days until I'm fully ready for an all out, one on one death match with the bastard. If this does end up killing me, I'm prepared to take him down with me. He cannot be allowed to walk this planet anymore, dead or alive.

I've been bidding my time, eating healthy, keeping up with my appointments with Siddiq. He's signed me off a few short days ago. Now, I'm just mentally preparing myself for the grudge match that lies ahead of me.

"I can't," I allow the frown to etch itself into my tired face. The thought of returning makes me physically fucking sick. Maybe it's the thought that if I ever return, I'll have to come face to face with Daryl, and I can't stomach it. Maybe, I really am a coward.

"They aren't taking the news of your death well. Maggie is in mourning. Even if you two were on the outs, she still loves you. Your group in Alexandria... They want answers. They are angry and hurting." Jesus persists. "I heard Daryl..."

I put my hand up, hearing the blood pound in my ears at the mere mention of his name. "Let me stop you there." I turn my darkened, angry gaze onto my friend, "Daryl is gone. I don't want to hear his name, again."

"My point is - they are out actively searching for Owen like we are because they believe one of their own is dead." He finishes, narrowing his eyes at me, matching my scowl with one of his own. "They want revenge."

I shrug, "I'll beat them to it. He's mine."

"I can go with you." He offers softly. I observe his eyes landing on my weapons lying next to the front door of the house my family and I have been staying at. From my understanding, this is where Carol was hiding when Negan attacked. She reassured me that barely anyone is aware of this hide out. The downside being, Daryl knows. However, he thinks I'm dead. There's no reason for him to come looking for little ole me in Carol's old hideaway.