Changing To Adapt ➵ TWD

➵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ

The highway.

Lucas knows he's come across it once before. Alone that time, and never finding it in himself to step onto the asphalt. Before he'd moved to higher ground and bumped into the group at the quarry. 

He's there again, now, walking down the road like he'd never been afraid to before. Lucas knows why. Because he has people now, a group of tired survivors, safety just ripped from their fingertips.

Lucas reaches his hand through one of the immobilized cars, pulling open the glovebox with nimble fingers. Never any gloves in these things. The compartment drops, letting the sun in to reach every corner.

No gloves. In its place, a knitted beanie.

His mum was fond of knitting. Still smiled when he gifted her a new set on her last birthday. 

He squeezes the itchy fabric between his fingers. Taking the beanie and sliding it into his hoodie pocket, Lucas follows Rick's gruff voice back to the cars, lingering by the graffiti scribbled miserably across the gravel. SCREW YOU, it says, barely comprehensible.

"There a way through?" Dale asks, swiping at the sweat gathering underneath his hat.

The group collectively squints at the blockade of cars that prevent them from moving on.

Daryl nods, starting up his bike with a loud roar.

The RV follows.

Lucas is crestfallen that he can no longer ride in the back of Daryl's ute, with only the wind to talk to and the clouds to watch him. But the van is still better than walking, he digresses. He pulls the beanie out from his pockets to examine it. A simple thing, no patterns, just a knitted plain black beanie.

Sliding it over his head with no caution to who could've worn it before him, Lucas tucks his curls underneath the brim and clears his vision completely. He can't tell if it looks any good but the main thing is that it helps.

Thud.

Lucas jerks in his seat, like the hour hand striking twelve. When the van slows to a stop and Dale shoves his door open, he follows, willing his heart to stop running a mile an hour.

"Radiator hose burst," Dale says.

Steam billows from the front of the RV.

"Now we're stuck in the middle of nowhere." Dale looks around, at the abundance of cars stacked on the road, at the endless amount of trees and then them, with a droop of shoulders and an echoed sigh. "Okay, that was dumb."

Lucas presses a hand against the back of his neck, trying to ease the sore muscle, "I really didn't wanna say this but boy we have bad luck."

Crickets chirp from afar.

"There's a whole bunch of stuff we could find," Daryl offers, already digging his way through bags stacked inside a trunk.

The teenager shrugs, swinging his body back into the van to grab his bag. It gets caught on the door, jerking him back a step. His eye twitches. Lucas takes a deep, collected breath, unhooks the strap and starts his search.

"Merry Christmas," he jokes, voice bland.

Lucas travels from car to car. Moving through them like a game of pass the parcel until a swarm of flies makes him come to a stop. He takes a few steps back to get a clearer look, kneeling down.

Is that fur?

Oh.

He presses a hand against his mouth, jerking his head away.