Lucille
Carol was a few miles out from The Kingdom when she heard rustling in the trees.
"I'm armed!" she hissed, readying the pistol she'd stolen on the way out of Alexandria. After everything that had happened, Olivia was still useless at keeping the armory safe.
She hadn't left because of the war, it was just coincidence that her crisis of faith had come at such an inopportune moment. She hadn't told Daryl – she hadn't told anyone, and if Morgan hadn't come after her, she wouldn't know that anybody had received her note. She'd left it by accident, intending to take it with her instead of leaving it at the kitchen table where she'd written it. She was going to tear it apart, but then she heard stirring from Tobin upstairs, and she bolted before he could see her packed bag.
Morgan had become a better tracker than she expected, and he saved her a few times before they reached The Kingdom together. They offered her a place amongst them, and for a while she considered taking it, until she realized that they were trading with the Saviors the same way the Hilltop did. It wasn't going to be safe for long. So she left. Again.
Morgan came into the clear, his hands held at face level, one carrying his staff.
Carol rolled her eyes. "Still following me?"
"Are you coming back?"
"To Alexandria?"
"The school." He meant The Kingdom, except that he'd refused to call it that.
"No."
"To Alexandria, then?"
"No," she maintained.
He frowned. "Then where are you going?"
"Not sure yet." She finally lowered her gun. "But I'm going alone."
"We have to go back to Rick."
"Then go. Tell him I'm fine."
"They'll need you. Ezekiel told us, Negan's on his way there."
Ezekiel was the leader of The Kingdom. He'd made it quite clear that Alexandria wouldn't be safe for long.
"More reason to leave."
"You don't mean that."
Carol shrugged. "I need you to leave, Morgan. Go. Protect them. I can't."
"You don't need to kill. You just need to be there."
"I'm not like you. I can't fight like you."
"I'll teach you."
"In one night?"
Morgan sighed. "I promised Rick I'd bring you home."
"You failed. That's not on me."
"You're right." She took little pride in the win. "I get it."
"Get what?"
"You can't be there right now. But they still need you."
"I hope you're wrong."
"Me too."
He didn't say goodbye before leaving, and once he was out of sight she wasn't confident he would stay gone. Morgan had a tendency to check up on her when she least wanted it. It was his way of feeling useful, or apologizing for the Wolf, or stepping in for all of the family that should have been more concerned.
In many ways, she was glad it was Morgan who had followed her. The rest had respected her letter, her wishes.
Not to mention: she didn't have to be kind to him.
Carol kept moving until the sun had fully set, and she was disappointed that she hadn't come across a car or cabin that she could spend the night in. She wished that she had stolen one from Ezekiel, and for a second she wished that Morgan had stuck around long enough to keep watch so she could sleep.
It was too dark to keep moving, so she sat down against a strong tree. The night was cold, and when the tears started, she realized that she hadn't had a chance to cry yet.
She knew she was doing the right thing by leaving – she was useless to the group if she couldn't step up against Negan. They were better off without her, even under the circumstances. Still, part of her wished that she was more like Paula. More ruthless, and more willing to compromise herself to save her family. That could have been her. Maybe it should have been-
The rustling started again.
"You really can't help yourself, can you?"
Silence.
"Morgan?"
More rustling. It was coming from above her.
Carol shot up, drawing out her pistol so gracefully she nearly forgot that she wasn't killing anymore. She moved a few steps out from the tree and aimed upwards.
"Don't shoot. They'll hear it." Walkers.
"Come down. Now."
"Don't shoot me."
I won't, Carol promised herself.
It was a woman – barely a woman – and she was cleaner than anyone Carol had seen outside of Alexandria in a long time. Red hair and a warm jacket, she almost mistook her for Paula.
Except Paula was dead. Her fault.
The woman climbed down with ease, proving her youth. When she reached the ground, she reached into her pocket and very slowly drew out a trench knife that reminded Carol of her own. She let it drop to the ground and held her palms out in front of her.
"I'm not going to hurt you," the young woman told her.
Carol scoffed. "I'm the one with the gun."
"And I'm the one who's been watching you since the slaughterhouse."
She had felt it, but she'd assumed it was just Morgan tracking her for the past week. Every day, on Tobin's porch, she'd known that something was off in Alexandria, and it had followed her out of it when she'd left. Carol kept her gun steady.
"Why?"
The woman said nothing. She looked afraid.
"Why!?" Carol demanded again, this time pointing her weapon more aggressively.
The woman's eyes welled up with tears. "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"He told me to look out for you, to find out more. You killed Paula and 'Chelle... and Molly…"
"I didn't kill Molly."
"Okay." The tears started falling now, reminding Carol that she hadn't yet wiped her own away. The woman continued: "I was going to bring you back with me, but then I saw you. With him."
"Who are you?" Carol demanded, waving her gun ferociously. The woman flinched.
"I couldn't do it! I know you won't go, but I need you to-"
"-What are you talking about!?"
"He's in trouble! Negan's going after him and you can help. I need you to help me."
Carol's brow furrowed. "What do you know about Negan?"
"I'm his wife."
A week earlier, Carol would have fired.
"Negan sent you after me?"
The redhead nodded. "He likes you."
"He doesn't know me."
"We were listening. He knows you killed them. He thinks you're strong, and he knows you're not with them. Not really."
Carol didn't argue. "You told him that?"
"I tell him everything. He trusts me."
Carol couldn't help her curiosity. "Do you trust him?"
The woman lowered her hands slightly as she shook her head. Then she stopped. She paused.
"Are you still with him?" Carol asked.
The woman shrugged. "Maybe. As far as he knows."
"That doesn't make any sense!"
"I can't explain it like this!" The woman shrieked, then flinched as Carol came closer to her. Her hands shot up again, well above eye level.
"Try!" Carol demanded, wishing she had the strength to shoot.
The woman took a deep breath. She started: "I was watching, at that place, and he was digging a grave. You were with him. He trusts you."
"Daryl?" Carol remembered Denise's death, and her last moments with him.
"Daryl Dixon, right? He doesn't know me," the woman admitted, "Not really. Not for years."
Carol almost lowered the gun.
"What do you know about him?"
"He likes you. He trusts you, and he needs you. I saw him go out after Dwight. They're back at that place now." She was crying again. "Negan's going to kill him, but he can't. You can't let him do that!"
Carol didn't move, but her mind was racing. The redhead was shaking in fear, and she couldn't be trusted, but Daryl was in danger.
Her arms were getting tired. She needed answers.
"How do you know Daryl?"
The woman shook her head. "I don't know what he's told you. How long have you known him?"
"Long enough."
"Maybe not. He was just a kid, I don't even know if he… he might not want to..." Her accent made her difficult to understand through her tears. It was southern, upper class. Carol hadn't heard one like that in a long time. The woman composed herself a little. "The fact is, Dwight's got Negan convinced that he needs to die. I can stop it, but only if you come back with me. We can save him."
"You want to trade me for him?"
"It's not like that."
"That's what it sounds like."
"You care about him, don't you?"
"Not enough to die for him." It was lie, and from the look on the woman's face, they both knew it.
"Negan doesn't want to kill you. He just wants to talk. If you come back with me, I can convince him to let Daryl go. He'll listen to me, so long as I earn it. He owes me a favour."
Carol sighed. She lowered her gun, backing up a couple of paces. "How old are you?" She asked.
"Twenty-four. Maybe twenty-five, I don't know. What day is it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Will you come with me?"
Carol stirred, completely baffled by the situation. Dwight had captured Daryl, and Negan wanted him dead. Unless she turned herself in.
It was a tempting offer, a way to make up for her kill list. Then again, nothing could erase the horrible things she'd done. There was no sacrifice big enough to make up for that.
Then again, if he just wanted to talk…
"Why should I trust you?" she asked, raising her gun again. The redhead hadn't moved.
"I don't want Daryl to die."
"Why not?
"He's someone to me."
"And you to him?"
"I'm his daughter."
It came out of nowhere, and Carol didn't believe it for a second. "He doesn't have children." The malice she heard in her own voice startled her, and it horrified the redhead.
"No, he doesn't," the woman agreed, "But he's my father nonetheless."
In many ways, it all added up: the way Daryl had searched for Sophia, and how devastated he'd been when she was found. He was certainly old enough to have a daughter this girl- woman's age, at least if he was as young as she claimed he was when she was born.
It explained Beth.
The redhead didn't know how to shut up: "He doesn't know me, and he hasn't seen me since I was a little kid," she explained, "But I swear to God that I wouldn't do anything to hurt him."
"You say he's going to die if I don't meet Negan?"
The woman nodded. "I don't want to go back, I don't! I'm was only with him to stay alive, and when he sent me out to find you, I thought I'd leave. I thought I'd finally get out. Then I saw him at that place, and with Dwight, and everything happened so fast…"
Carol lowered her gun as the woman started sobbing uncontrollably, her palms still held pitifully in front of her face. On her left wrist, there was a triangle-shaped birthmark.
Just like his.
"What's your name?" Carol demanded.
The redhead didn't look at her. She whimpered: "Lucille."