AN: I wrote this about a month ago for a Nine Lives' Challenge, so it's officially AU now, but not by too much. ;) Enjoy! Leave me a line if you liked it. :]
Disclaimer: I do not write or work for TWD or AMC.
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Joy.
Was there joy left? Could there be any joy left? Anywhere?
Carol pondered to herself as she cut down the men and women one by one, bodies falling before they knew what hit them. Tried to distract herself from what she was doing, tried not to care that their blood spurted red, not black, that they cried out in pain and not in hunger.
She would atone for this one day. This bloodshed.
But still, she couldn't make herself feel guilty. Couldn't make herself feel shame, not like she felt about Karen and David.
Lizzie and Mika.
There was no joy left in this world, just like there was no him in this world.
All it had taken was that damn poncho. A man who was not him was wearing it, and the rage that bubbled inside her at the sight, of what it meant, traveled to her trigger finger in the blink of an eye.
Dead. Headshot.
And then, in that split second of horror at what she had done, she registered that she had to kill them all now. That she only had a few seconds, and then others would come, their bullets would fly, and she would be gone from this world, as well.
She would take out as many as she could. She would make these people pay for taking him from her.
And, gradually, she saw other articles of the people she ended, saw flashes of them behind tear-streaming eyes. An orange backpack that had belonged to Carl. A pocket watch hanging from cargo pants. A katana laid on a table. Riot gear.
A crossbow, clanging to the ground as the person who had held it fell. Dead.
So much death.
And then, like magic, it was quiet. Quieter, rather. There were no more human cries of pain and anguish.
They were dead. All of them.
Was he avenged now? Would her family, all save Tyreese and Judith, rest easy now?
She pried her hands from the rifle and threw it to the ground, collapsed there and heaved in grief, wiped her face and knew she should get up, knew she should look around and make sure there weren't others, but she just didn't care anymore. Didn't want to live in a world where there wasn't any joy left.
How could she ever be happy again? Would Judith ever know what it felt like to laugh without abandon, to love someone with all that she had?
Judith was an orphan now, if she hadn't been before. Tyreese would be all alone with her, all alone with a baby.
Could she do that to him? Sentence him to that hardship? That death?
She heaved a large breath, wiped her face, sleeves coming back red.
She didn't know if the blood was hers or her victim's, but she didn't have the time to care.
There were voices echoing across the world, loud screaming, pounding feet, and it was all she could do to lift herself up, pick up her gun, and dodge the puddles of blood and brain matter as she ran.
People's brains are gray, not black.
She stuttered a sob as the realization hit her, kept running, to where, she wasn't sure.
She ran and ran down alleyways that were almost hallways, couldn't tamp down the paranoia that this was all a trap, that she was going to find her demise at the end just as he had.
Had he thought of her as he passed?
Had he gone quick, or had they made him suffer?
Had he thought she was gone, as well?
Running, running, running. Screaming. Gunshots.
She fired behind her, above her, ahead of her. Heard a couple cries, and knew she had met at least one target.
And then it opened up, and ahead of her were train tracks with boxcars, and behind those were forest cover. And not far behind that were Ty and Judith.
The screaming was louder now, and the boxcar was rattling oh-so-slightly, and suddenly she knew what was in them, what she would find if she were to open them. What her shots had awakened.
She choked on her cries as she stumbled towards them, knew this was her and Judith and Ty's only chance, knew what she had todo. She kept her face turned as she went to the doors and slammed her gun at the padlock, not bothering to hold back her sobs as something slammed against the door, straining the chains that held that lock.
She wouldn't look into the dead faces of her family. Of the man she loved.
But she would use their rotted bodies so that she could get away, would let them eat and take their vengeance on their murderers. She would let their corpses walk among the living so that she could save Judith.
The lock fell, and she pulled the heavy chain with it, took in a deep, horrified breath before flinging the door open and stepping aside.
But nothing came.
The men were still screaming, but the boxcar was still.
She didn't dare look.
Had she imagined it?
She couldn't look. But she couldn't run, either, and lead these demonic people to the baby.
She stepped in front of the door and lifted her gun. Scanned the horizon of roofs for snipers, but saw none.
"Oh my God," a voice choked behind her.
A voice she knew.
A voice she thought she would never hear again.
Could it be possible? Dare she turn around?
She swallowed, tried not to let herself get her hopes up, tried to convince herself in vain that her mind was simply playing tricks on her.
But still, she couldn't stop. Her feet turned. Her gun lowered.
And she saw him.
His eyes were clear, he was bleeding red, not black, his flesh was alive, and it was all she could have prayed for.
She reached for his hand as the gunshots rained down, pelting the boxcar with angry pings, and he took it with strength that reverberated into her bones, and this was real, this was happening, he was alive and this wasn't a dream. She laughed aloud as she turned, pulling him and the others with her, firing wildly into the air as she went, running and laughing and screaming as they bolted for the fences, hopping over with such ease.
And she couldn't quite put a name on what she felt, this relief. They were being hunted, and everything was so confusing, and Rick was behind her, too, but they were alive, he was alive, and they had a chance.
Rick diverted to the left, and before she knew it, he was digging, Michonne and Carl at his side, and when he came up with the a trusty duffel bag of guns, actual cheers rang out.
He grinned as they were passed around, and Carol knew what she felt. What was it called? Soldiers' camaraderie? The simple contentment of being with people of common cause, fighting a battle knowing you had friends backing you up?
She took the lead, dropping his hand to hold her gun with both arms. Knew where she was headed, and fired into the air once, pause two, twice when they came upon it minutes later.
Tyreese emerged from the trees, Judith quiet and wide-eyed, his palms covering her small ears above the blanket.
The shooting behind them had quieted. Their little group fell into a hush.
Carl stepped forward first, eyes shining, looking between her and the baby incredulously. He walked slowly, like he didn't want to believe it, but then Judith broke into a grin.
And giggled.
Carl choked on a laugh, and then Rick was sobbing, too, reaching towards his daughter with such compassion that she couldn't let herself feel anything else.
Daryl's arm wound around her waist, and she looked at him, saw his eyes were glassy, too.
"No one coulda done it but you," he whispered.
She leaned into him, knew she would only have these few seconds to feel it, but she did.
Blinked. Breathed. Let it wash over her, let herself forget the lives she had just taken, the lives she had taken before. Laid her head on his shoulder, felt his breath on her temple, and felt herself bathe in it. Feel it, for the first time in a long time.
Joy.
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