The Dead Walking 3

So many things happen in a lifetime. Some are good and some are bad. All of these things make up a person. All of these things determine who you are. I have to say that my memories are mostly bad, but the few good ones are the things that keep me going. (this is the third book in the Dead Walking series)


22. You Cant!

          Once everyone gets their fair share of hugs we head back to WAL-MART. Rick hasn't left Carl's side and I'm surprised when Beth and Judith stay planted at my side along with Katy and Mark farthest from me on the right. I guess being in a group isn't that bad all the time. Its only bad on the move and when fighting, which is really most of the time, but I enjoy the times like this when everyone is happy and loving and it almost feels like we are actually living again. I know this wont last long. It never does.

        Judith struggles against Beth and she reaches toward me, letting out little irritated huffs. Beth smiles and so do I. She hands Judith to me and I hold her. I push my right hip out and set Judith there while I walk. She's really get heavy. "She like you a lot Izzy," Beth says.

       I give her a small smile. "Its only because she knows I like Carl," I joke.

       "I don't think so. I think she likes you," she smiles again, flashing her teeth.

       "I don't see how. I'm not very nice," I shake my head.

       "I've seen you around her Izzy. You're nice... to certain people. And really now that's all that counts. Most people aren't very nice anymore," she sighs, sadly.

       "I guess. But most of you guys are nice. Rick, Carl, you."

       "Rick is a respectable man and Carl... he's can be sweet," she looks at the ground a little. I would feel a little weird about her calling Carl sweet, but I can tell there's nothing to feel weird about. She's just speaking the truth. "And me," she shakes her head. "I wouldn't say I'm nice. I just don't like to kill people."

       "Yeah. I think there's only a couple people that actually like killing people. Some people just don't care. It doesn't mean that they like it," I tell her.

        "My dad. I mean he was just... he had so much hope ya know. He didn't give up faith that things would get better and he sure has heck wouldn't kill someone unless they threatened me or Maggie. He wouldn't kill anyone even if it cost him his life," she looks at me sadly. "I wish I had his faith," she admits.

        "I guess that's what separates us now. There's the people that still have hope that things will get better, there's the people who don't have any faith at all, and then there's the people in between. I think I'm in the middle."

        "I guess... I used to believe that things were going to get better. That one day we would wake and this would all just be a bad dream. That God would change things, make them better," she shakes her head. "But I don't believe that no more. I don't see how God could do this to us. Even if he really did think that we were that bad of people, how could we have done something bad enough to bring this down on us? How could he turn people into monsters and make us watch as our family is torn apart by a human?" she says this like she is discusted and I don't blame her. "I'm startin to think there isn't a God at all."

        "Maybe there isn't," I shrug.

        She laughs a little. "You agree with everything. Why do you do that?" she asks.

        "I don't mean to. I mean... I don't always agree with people," I shake my head.

        She smiles. I look up and notice that we are already walking up the parking lot as that we have fallen behind the group. I walk a little faster and Beth walks faster too. I catch up to Carl and he smiles at the sight of me and Judith. "Hey," he says.

       "Hey," I respond.

       "Hay," Judith giggles.

        Carl shakes his head. "I don't know how you do it."

       "Maybe she understands me better," I shrug.

       "But I have tried to get her to say the same words that you have said and you get her to say them in 1 try. I've been trying to get her to talk for a month or two now!" he exclaims.

       I smirk. "Oh well. Let me feel special," I joke.

       "You are already special without the talent to get babies to talk," he teases.

       "You say the cheesiest things."

       "Maybe I do, but I cant say they aren't true," he points out.

       "I am not perfect. You need to get that through your thick head," I notice he isn't wearing his sheriff's hat so I rub my knuckles over his head, messing up his hair.

       He just gives me a "are you serious" look and fixes his hair. "Where's your hat?" I ask.

       "Its laying on our bed," he explains.

       "Why didn't you wear it?"

       "Because I had took it off to sleep and I forgot to put it back on," he shrugs.

       "Oh. Your hair looks longer without it," I tell him.

       "Yeah. I've been meaning to cut-"

       "No! You cant!" I cut him off.

       He rolls his eyes. "Just a little. Its getting to long. Look its almost down to my shoulders!"

       I laugh a little. "Fine. You can cut it just a little bit. No higher than your chin," I instruct.

       "Why are you so obsessed with my hair? I didn't care that you cut yours," he points out.

       "I'm not obsessed with it I just don't want you to cut it. I don't really know why I just like it longer," I shrug.

       "Fine I wont cut it past my shoulders. I promise," he rolls his eyes again.

       "Good," I smile.

       We walk in WAL-MART and the group starts to scatter. I hand Judith back to Beth and me and Carl are left standing there by the doors. "I'm going to cut it now. Wanna come?"

        I nod and we walk away from the doors, deeper into the store. "Lets go to the "hair isle." They have scissors meant to cut hair."

        With that we walk to the "hair isle." The blonde strands that I cut a couple weeks ago are still laying on the floor. They are each about 5 or 6 inches long. Carl looks at me. "And you complain about me cutting to much off my hair. You cut like 6 inches off yours," he points to the strands on the ground.

        "You never told me I couldn't cut mine."

        "You wouldn't have listened anyways."

        "True," I smirk.

        He picks up the scissors and looks in the small mirror. The same mirror that I looked in as I cut my hair off. He cuts about an inch off at first. It hardly makes a difference so he cuts another inch off. Then another. I watch as the strands fall to the ground. They are nowhere near as long as mine. Once his hair up to his chin he stops. I walk up behind him and check to make sure its even. I give him a thumbs up. To be honest it looks a little better now. It doesn't flare out at the bottoms anymore. It doesn't look so ratty and it will be harder for zombies to grab now. That's what he told me when I cut my hair and I guess that's true.

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