Author's Note: I seemed to have been bitten by the writing but again while watching the Walking Dead. I wanted to get this out before the episode tonight. Hope you enjoy!
Carol's POV
Carol stood staring down two dark hallways, one of them had to lead to safety, or whatever they call safety now a days. Just moments ago she left a dying T-Dog, his pained screams still behind the door next to her. Hell, it wasn't even ten minutes since she was smiling at Hershel up and moving. Her head scarf caught on the door hinge as she began to step away. Pulling it off her head and dropping it she thought she could see a few walkers down the right hall, so she turned and started down the left. Now that she was without ammo, Carol felt around her waist for her small knife, it wouldn't do much damage to a walker, but she felt better having it out and ready. Slowly she stepped past bloodied, rotting limbs that walkers left behind, one hand poised to fight, the other touching the wall to keep her bearings. There was an alarm blaring and the over head lights were flickering. The noise was going to draw more walkers. She had to find a way out or a place to hole up.
The halls smelled of death and mildew and there were low growls and moans drifting toward her. The hall took a sharp turn to the right in front of her. Carol slowly peeked around the corner and waited for the lights to blink again. There were three large walkers in blue prison jump suits shuffling toward the light on a wall mounted alarm.
Hearing the moans behind her kept her pushing forward. Hoping to move quickly past them she kept herself to the opposite wall. Even with the blinking light it was too hard to see. She stepped on a rotting pile of flesh, forcing her to stumble slightly. The small noise that escaped her involuntarily was enough to draw the walkers attention to her.
The first to reach her was the smallest of the three. He was pale even before death, a large black gang tattoo wrapped around his neck and a completely shaved head. His dead hands reached out for her, and Carol made quick work of him, her small blade sinking into his eye socket. With a quick twist of her knife the walker fell to her feet.
The larger two reached her moments later. They were both larger than her, both in height and build. One had most of his face eaten off prior to turning and the other was so blood soaked all Carol could see were his clouded eyes. She backed farther and farther down the hall, kicking and pushing the two away from her. She stumbled over the torso of a legless zombie crawling toward her. Something sharp stabbed through her side. With her own blood soaking her shirt she took both hands wrapped around the hilt of her blade and shoved it into the crawler's head. She braced one foot against its face and pulled her knife out. The larger two walkers were now on their knees reaching for her.
Pulling herself back with her arms Carol kicked out at the walkers. The hard contact to their faces did little to slow them down. Teeth biting air they reached and pulled on her limbs. Struggling with her arms she backed herself into a wall.
The blaring alarm stopped and the lights gave a final blink. Just long enough for Carol to spy a closed door across the hall. She took her knife in two hangs again and plunged it toward one of the walkers, it made contact, but didn't stop its movements, she must have missed the brain in the dark. She let go and pulled away from him, kicking both feet out at the second walker, her contact pushing it back. She pushed herself to stand, she searched for the door.
A sob escaped her throat, her fight slowly draining. She continued to feel the walls, the walkers moving toward her. She found the frame and felt around for the handle. Two tugs and she almost gave up.
She started thinking of every one she needed to fight for. T-Dog sacrificed himself so she could continue,she had to live. Lori was going to have that baby, and they would need her to help deliver, she has to live. Hershel's leg was still healing and what if he took a turn for the worse, her limited medical knowledge he has been teaching her would be needed, she had to live. Sophia, her baby in heaven, needed to see she was a fighter and wasn't going to roll over and die, she had to keep going. Daryl, he has spent so much time training her it couldn't have been for nothing, she would live. She was going to get out, either that or Rick or Daryl will find her, she just had to keep trying. One strong push and the door opened inward.
It was a small linen closet. A large metal shelving unit filled with blankets and sheets lined one wall. She pushed what little weight she had against the door as the walkers clawed for the fresh food trapped inside. She pulled at the shelf, a rage filled scream and all the adrenaline she had left and Carol pulled the shelving unit over in front of the door. She sunk down to the pile of blankets sitting in the small alcove that the shelf created.
Looking down she saw her open wound, blood still slowly seeping out. It wasn't a large injury, but without knowing what made it she was worried. She wrapped it up with torn pieces of clean sheet and settled in for the wait. With the pain from her injury, no weapon and the exhaustion from her fight there was no way she would be able to leave this closet. Wrapping her hands together she began to pray.
She prayed for safety, for herself, for her friends and for the souls of the walkers. As the sounds of the scratching faded away Carol fell into a fitful sleep. For hours she faded in and out of sleep, often dreaming of Sophia and life before. She had dreams of hot showers, fresh food, iced drinks and clean laundry. She had dreams of cook outs in the back yard with her family, Sophia and Carl playing in the yard, She and Lori relaxing on the deck with iced lemon-aid, Maggie, Beth and Glenn goofing off in the small pool, Daryl manning the grill with Rick, T-Dog, and Hershel standing by, not in protection mode, but joking and laughing with cold beers in hand.
With every waking Carol was faced with the harsh reality of being trapped in a dark, slightly damp closet, the dead out side the door, infection setting into her cut and what was beginning to feel like her immanent death. That thought froze her in fear. What if she died in this damn closet? She would rise again and try to kill and eat those she loved, Rick, Daryl or Carl would have to put her down. She began to pray that when she died she wouldn't get back up, that she wouldn't hurt her family, that they wouldn't have to go through the mental anguish of putting her down.
Hours passed. Hours filled with fever dreams, walker moans, dehydration and wound soreness. She decided in a moment of semi-clear thought that she should try to leave this closet, if she was lucky the walkers would eat enough of her that there wouldn't be enough left to rise again.
Carol pushed herself to her knees and reached out for the door handle. The door was only able to open a few inches because of the metal shelving unit above her. She tried pushing it back to standing, searing pain ripping through her side, a gargled cry escaping her lips. She had no strength left, the over 36 hours of lack of water coupled with her now infected cut had sapped all the energy she had left in her. She curled into the nest of blankets and sobbed.
The door began pushing open, a dirty hand reaching in. The hand struggled but was able to push the shelf away from the door. Carol closed her eyes and waited for the pain of walker teething biting into her.
A hand gently touched the side of her face. Carol's eyes cracked open and focused on the dirty face in front of her. "Daryl?"
"Hey, you." Daryl grinned at her, a happy wheezing sound coming from him, "You did good in here. Real good" He slid his arms under her and pulled her close to him. Lifting her up he swiftly carried her back to their cell block. She smiled and put her head on his chest.
"HERSHEL! HERSHEL?!" Daryl's screams woke her, "Carol's alive, needs help." He set her on a clean bunk in one of the cells. Hershel silently went to work fixing up her side with stitches ointment, Daryl went to work forcing water into her mouth.
Every time she opened her eyes she smiled at how safe she felt looking at her family who stood guard over her. Daryl sat in a chair near her head and continued to make her drink, Hershel often stood leaning on his crutches in the cell's entry way, Beth changed her bandages and Carl brought Lori's baby in to see her. Lori's baby?
"Baby?" Carol asked in confusion, "Where is Lori? Maggie? Glenn? Rick?" thinking of T-Dog, she let a sob out.
Daryl took a deep breath and told here everything that had happened while she was trapped. Carol knew she had to heal quickly, that baby needed mothering, and that was something Carol knew well. She had to get better, that baby was their hope and she had to live.
Carol knew she had a place in this world, and that god had saved her so she could help protect this little girl.