Cassia Dunlain was probably the most fortunate amongst her siblings, when it came to names and such. Their parents had been naive, carefree and spontaneous types when they were younger, and so they named their firstborns Lavender and Basil. They had been twins. This was where Cassia came in, born second to a family of five, not including her parents. After Lavender, Basil and Cassia came Cayenne, and then finally, the youngest of them all; Ginger. Her youngest sister, in Cassia's opinion, was the least fortunate. It seemed almost unreal to her now that she would never see them again, her herb and spices siblings. Basil and Lavender had moved out to go travelling months before the Outbreak had occured, last she'd heard they had been in Thailand, so she took comfort in knowing they had been fulfilling their lifelong dreams when it had all gone to shit. Basil had taken his wife and their newborn son with them. Ginger was still in high school. Cassia didn't even want to begin thinking about what could have happened to her youngest sister. The thought alone was too barbaric even as a concept. She cleared her throat louder than intended and frowned, blinking harshly to stop herself from crying. Any sign of weakness in front of Merle Dixon was as good as paying him to stab you in the foot. There was too much he could do with ammunition like that. Cassia had learned that early on. Instead of bothering to turn to look at Merle, lounging and singing in the backseat, she let her mind drift back to the fate of her siblings. She didn't mind so much if Daryl noticed her upset, he would merely find it awkward, and would leave it at that.

Cayenne had always been the coolest amongst them, Lavender and Basil were vegan Buddhists that lived and looked like hippies; so they were cool in their own right, but they were in no way cool the same way that Cayenne was. Crowds literally parted for her anywhere she'd go, her immaculately kept collection of leather jackets and iridescent shades probably helped to boost this immense aura she always had around her, but Cassia reckoned it was the expertly applied makeup and the many piercings and tattoos and ability to preempt fashion trends that caused Cayenne to always be ahead of the curve. Idolised by so many. Her hair had always been a different colour each month, and even though she was younger than Cassia by a whole year, she had always looked up to Cayenne.

Cassia's attention drifted to herself, and she glanced down at her leggings. She'd paired them with a long, baggy grey jumper, that suited her, but wasn't exactly edgy or trendy. She supposed it didn't matter, as her gaze drifted to her company. Daryl had his window rolled all the way down, his elbow perching on the now available frame. To an outsider he might have even come across as relaxed, his other hand laid casually on the steering wheel, drifting the wheel to the left or the right whenever he would need to, staring straight ahead. Daryl always managed to look like he had multiple things going on inside his head at once. It was amazing to her how he always gave that impression. Right now was a perfect example. Cassia was about to turn back to look at Merle, but for the second time, decided against it. Conversation with him should be avoided until absolutely necessarily.

It was at this point that Daryl's beloved grey 1973 Ford F-250 pickup truck let out a telltale groan, and then very promptly ran right out of gas. No-one showed any surprise. They had been running on fumes for a while, and the huge motorbike in the back on the truck did them no favours. Daryl cursed in that unique way he had of speaking, where it was always nothing more than a murmur, but still somehow intelligible. Daryl followed this up by abusing his steering wheel for about 4 seconds in total, and then hopped out of the driver's side, slamming the door shut behind him. Cassia craned her neck to exchange a look with Merle in the back, who merely shrugged and continued with whatever it was he had been doing to pass the time. After observing him for a bit, Cassia quickly determined this consisted of Merle pretending to shoot passing trees or cars with his gun. She raised an eyebrow and then heaved a sigh, knowing it would be up to her to help Daryl. Luckily, they'd thought ahead, and gas cannisters were also in the back of the truck.

An hour or two later, and they'd made it to Atlanta. One word could about summarise their reaction to the state they had found it in.

Shit.