"Why is she crying?" Carl asked as he jogged along beside Daryl, both his hands wrapped securely around his gun.
Daryl grunted in reply, putting his hand out on her shoulder to silently stop Beth from moving forward. He kept his voice low when he spoke. "Prob'ly hungry." Stealthily, he peeked around the corner towards the door that would take them into their cellblock. A mass of Walkers clawed at the door and each other in an attempt to get in. "Shit," he cursed. "And drawin' more attention than we need," he mused, not amused at all. "Maggie best shut'er up or she's gonna have the whole damn prison on us."
"She's a newborn…" Beth piped in, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. She shrugged shyly when Daryl shot her an impatient look. "I'm just sayin'… Maggie's probably doing the best she can."
"I count fourteen," Carl looked to Daryl and then checked the clip in his gun. "I've only got three rounds left."
Daryl didn't look at the boy. He'd assumed the kid was out of ammo, on account of how he'd failed to take care of his business in the basement. If they'd been any less lucky- which still remained to be seen- they'd have another Walker to deal with. Daryl didn't envy the kid's position, but he didn't have too many excuses for it either. Shit needed to get done, and they needed people to do it. He and Rick couldn't make all the hard calls.
"If they're attracted to the sound of the baby, doesn't that mean that they are all here?" Beth asked, her eyes sweeping the hall behind them.
"So?" Daryl muttered, pulling his knife out of his pocket. He only had a couple arrows left, they were gonna have to go hand to hand.
Carl's face lit up. "That means this is all that's left. So they aren't lurking in the halls anymore. We can go find some weapons… some pipes, a fire axe or something. They're kind of crowded over there, not much room to move. We could take them out."
"Yeah, if we had Rick and Maggie- people who know what the hell they're doing," Daryl looked at the two kids. Beth could barely swing a hammer and hit a nail on the head, never mind fend of an advancing walker while taking out another. And Carl was a little better but not much. He was fine behind a gun, but he didn't have much height to him, yet. Not to mention that he scared easy. "Nah, we're gonna have to find another way in. Pick these Walkers off after we've had a chance to regroup."
"We could try going around through the other entrance. I know the way," Carl had already taken Beth's hand and was pulling her back towards the boiler room.
With one last glance over his shoulder, Daryl nodded and followed. "We can take 'em out through the bars," he agreed. "Can't swarm us that way."
The trio carried on without speaking, Carl leading the way, one hand still wrapped securely around Beth's. He kept his gun pointed ahead of him as he checked each corner and hallway before moving forward. Daryl watched the boy's movements, the stock of his crossbow snug against his own shoulder, his finger resting on the trigger. He'd need to backtrack and collect arrows before heading out to find baby formula and medical supplies.
As they approached the steel door- the only thing separating them from their destination, Carl halted. "Walker," he whispered, looking behind him.
"Looks like just the one," Daryl stepped between the two kids, breaking their hands apart. "I got this," he said, handing his crossbow to Beth who fumbled as she took it. He pulled out his hunting knife in one motion and moved quietly along the wall, listening for the sounds of any other bastards that could be lurking in the shadows. Careful not to make a sound he was less than three feet away from the dead prisoner when it became aware of his presence. It was already too late for it to react, though, because Daryl had already plunged the knife into the base of its skull. He felt the bone pop and then crunch as it gave way to his blade and then the tacky splash of decaying blood as it sprayed back over his hand. He yanked his blade free and pushed the corpse forward with a satisfying thud.
"Let's go," he said over his shoulder and pushed his way into the first set of doors leading to C-Block. Using his bloody fist he banged on the door. "Maggie, open up."
The door was yanked open in a matter of seconds and Carl, Daryl, and Beth filed in. Carl, who was the last one, pushed the door shut again and locked it. The small group stood without saying anything, surrounded by the sound of growling, wheezing Walkers, and a wailing infant.
XXXX
Maggie was the first to speak. "Is she d-…" her eyes sliced sideways to look at Carl. The pre-teen looked away ashamed, his freckles standing out against his pale features. "Alive?" She finished, rubbing the tiny baby girl's back, trying to soothe her cries.
"Last we saw, yeah, barely," Daryl took his crossbow from Beth and set it on the floor before stalking away. "Check T-Dog's cell, Carl," he ordered, picking up a makeshift spear that had been discarded next to Rick's mattress on the floor. "See if you can find that sharpened pipe o' his. 'l do just fine for this."
Maggie looked up from the red-faced infant whose wails shook her entire tiny body. "You're going to take them out through the gate?" She asked, following Daryl with Beth on her heels.
When the redneck didn't answer her she looked to Carl who was coming down the stairs from the upper cells, a pipe and another spear in hand. "Here," Maggie turned to Beth and held out the baby.
Her little sister took a step back, putting up her hands defensively. "No way," she shook her head, blue eyes wide.
"Beth, take her. Just support her head and rock her, you'll do fine." Without giving the blonde a chance to object further, Maggie pushed the baby into her arms. Beth's arms automatically adjusted to support the newborn, one hand securing itself under her bum and the other moving to the back of her head. "See? You're a natural," Maggie assured her, taking the spear from Carl. "Just bounce her real light and rock."
"She's still crying," Beth complained as her pretty features twisted in an anxious expression.
Maggie shrugged one shoulder and moved with Carl towards the gate where Daryl was already taking out Walkers. "Tell me about it."
It felt good to drive the metal rod through the first Walker's head. She grunted in satisfaction as she struck brain and then again when she pulled the spike out, ramming its head into the bars in the process. Crying babies were not her thing. She felt bad for the poor little thing, but she felt equally burdened by it. She mentally crossed her fingers that Lori would pull through this and take up responsibility for the baby that she had brought into the world.
As she delivered a blow to the next Walker she thought back to the Farm when she had tossed the Morning After pills in Lori's face. She wondered briefly if her actions had played a part in Lori deciding to keep the baby. Maybe she had unintentionally played a hand in the other woman's death. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of another satisfying CRUNCH as a prison guard's skull caved in under the pressure of her weapon.
Probable death, Maggie reminded herself. Carl had lied to her.
The boy called dibs on the last Walker and she watched as he jammed his weapon under its jaw and then, with a final thrust that held surprising power, pushed it up through its brain. A small smile played across the Carl's face and he looked to Daryl for what Maggie assumed was approval. But the man didn't even cast a second look at him as he surveyed the carnage before them.
"We'll have to clean this up to make room for the others when they come," he turned around. "I gotta go. You guys take care o' it. Stack 'em on the side for now. We'll deal with it later. Don't go outside. Who knows what's out there."
"Where are you going?" Maggie asked, retrieving the keys from the stairs. She handed them to Carl who took the heavy ring in his hands then jogged back over to the doors.
"We need medical stuff and Hershel said the baby's gotta eat. Need'ta find a hospital or something, or a store," he said, his tone belying his impatience with the conversation. He didn't wait for her to say anything else before picking up his crossbow and pocketing his hunting knife. He passed Carl on his way out and gave the boy a soft but solid punch to the shoulder. "Better put somethin' on that baby's ass before it shits everywhere," he said, slamming the door behind him.
XXXX
Rick led the tiny group down the hall, alert and ready to defend against an ambush. He listened to the sound of Lori's strained and shallow breaths and the punctuating click of Hershel's crutches. They reached C-Block without incident and Rick tapped on the door with his foot. He heard scuffling on the other side, then the rattling of keys. The door opened and his son stepped back, holding it with his arm. "The one next to Hershel's," he told them, casting a nervous look towards his mother. "Dad?"
Carl looked to him and Rick folded his son into a quick hug. In that moment he realized how long it had been since he had last held his boy and he was surprised by how much Carl had grown. Long gone were spindly limbs and slender shoulders. They had been replaced by the body of a young man, thicker and more solid. Rick's hands rested on those shoulders now and he pushed his son back to look at him, stooping a little to meet Carl's eyes. "She's alive. Glenn and Maggie are going back to the infirmary, in case there is anything left."
Glenn quirked a small smile in the boy's direction before passing through the doors, Lori still draped in his arms. Rick left Carl to lock them in again and followed Glenn, Carol, and Hershel into the cell. He stood back and watched as Lori was laid carefully onto the bottom bunk, where Carol quickly moved into place to tend to her, her hands working quickly but gently over the plastic wrap.
"Do you know her blood type?" Hershel asked. "It would be best if we could transfuse her," he said, taking a seat next to the bed.
Guilt sent a pang through his chest and Rick shook his head. "No, I don't know…" He looked to the woman who he had been married to for over a decade. She was so pale, like porcelain, her face wane and waxy. He wondered how the hell she could be alive when she looked so close to death. He moved forward and kneeled at the end of the bed, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest, and he closed one hand around her ankle. He felt rocked by fear, and he knew that there was a very good chance that she wouldn't survive this, but part of him couldn't fathom that she wouldn't. How could there be a time when he wouldn't hear her voice anymore, or see her smile. Have her arms slide around him from behind as she whispered into his ear. The mere thought of never again knowing that feeling made him feel so alone and isolated, like no one would ever be able to reach him again.
The first sob that broke free from his chest was barely a whimper. The second came in a rush of air, his throat like a fist.
Oh God.
As his insides crumbled his exterior followed suit and his body folded in on itself until his upper body was lying across her legs.
Please.
He was vaguely aware of the sound of Hershel speaking softly with Maggie and Glenn. Turning his face into Lori's shins, he blocked out the sound of their voices. He needed time to pull himself together and he needed solitude to do it. It seemed that his energy reserves had depleted so rapidly over the course of the last few hours. He felt like the generator tanks back at the CDC- running on fumes. He was counting down to an explosion that would surely take them all down with him.
The young couple was gone by the time he had pulled himself together enough to sit up, wiping one hand over his face. Carol had placed a pillow under Lori's head and was draping a blanket over her. "Will she wake up?" Rick asked, knee-walking around the bed to take his wife's hand.
"There's no way to tell," Hershel answered.
"If she does, she'll be in pain," Rick smoothed one hand over Lori's clammy cheek, pushing her hair back. When she didn't respond, her stillness served to deepen his fear, nearly jackknifing him again. He left one hand to linger on her cheek and then closed the other one around hers; his finger's brushed her wedding band in the process. Hershel didn't have a chance to answer before Beth came to the door.
"Rick?" The young woman looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes blue eyes. "She won't stop crying, and I don't know what to do," her voice broke and she looked at him ashamed, holding the newborn to her chest.
He felt his body tense at the sight of the squirming pink baby and he looked back down at Lori. He felt anger lick through him like flames but it extinguished quickly. Lori would not want him to blame anyone, least of all the one who was the most innocent among them. He released his hold on his wife's hand and turned to Beth who stepped forward and laid the baby in the makeshift cradle of his open arms. The young woman hesitated for a moment and then retreated quickly, her shoulders slumped.
"Beth, I need to speak with you," Hershel called after her. Obediently, Beth turned around and came back to help her father rise.
When he was alone, Rick turned his attention to the tiny girl in his arms and felt his heart racing.
Beautiful.
She looked just like her mother. Her eyes were squeezed shut so he couldn't see them, but he hoped that she had inherited her mother's earthy tones. The soft wisps of hair were soft and thin, barely concealing any part of her scalp. She had been washed and he would have to thank the Greene daughters for that later. Rick watched her tiny fists flail helplessly, colliding with her button nose as she raged at the world. His heart clenched and he closed one hand around hers to still her assault on herself. It had been so long since he had held anything so fragile- since he had felt his hands shaking in concentration as he tried to be impossibly gentle.
Shhhhh.
He bounced her lightly and curled her into his chest, the new position muffling her wails. The bouncing turned to a sway, his body rocking back and forth as he found her rhythm, like both he and Lori had done with Carl for hours on end thirteen years before. Back then Carl had been colicky and inconsolable. The baby in his arms now, though, quieted, her cries softening to a gentle mew. "That's right," he whispered, kissing her downy head.
Daddy's here.
XXXX
His chopper pounded underneath him and Daryl relished in the fresh air. He kept vigilant, watching carefully for the herd that he knew had been moving through the area. He figured he would scout east first, since the group hadn't picked through there yet. Then he would head back south, toward the farm. If all else failed he knew they had abandoned medical supplies there that last night. He pushed the throttle, knowing that he was on a time limit. The baby would only live so long without food, and Lori- well Lori probably wouldn't live at all no matter what they did, the way she was bleedin'. Like a stuck pig in a slaughterhouse. He was surprised she had any blood left in her at all.
Pushing the image out of his head, he pressed on, swerving around the debris that had been left scattered across the highway.
He slowed at the traffic snarl ahead and pulled to a stop, using one leg to brace his bike. He'd have to drive up the shoulder, which would leave him pretty exposed to the woods that lined the road. He turned his bike and moved slowly around a minivan and then cut back across to weave between another two vehicles. He hoped it wouldn't be so tight all the way up or he would never get back in time.
The process was slow but successful. Daryl had managed to collect several bottles of antibiotics and a partial first aid kit. Pausing next to one car he peered in the window before smashing it. The smell of death and puke wafted out and he leaned back to take a breath and then popped the lock. The door groaned as it swung back on rusty hinges. Pursing his lips he inspected the thing that had drawn his attention, a baby seat. The baby inside it had been dead for a long time and was mostly decomposed, its skin blackened and sliding away from its frame, exposing pearly skeleton.
Turning away from the corpse he looked around the car cab until he spotted what he was looking for and picked it up. Opening the soft yellow bag he pulled out a handful of diapers to look at the other items. He found a can of powdered formula that was almost empty and some clothes. The little pink dress and hat seemed pretty small to Daryl, but so did Lori's baby so he figured it would work. Lori would like it, he thought, and stuffed it back into the bag. The car didn't have much else that seemed useful to him, and against his better judgment he picked up a yellow stuffed duck from the floor of the car. The thing would probably be a waste of space and he considered tossing it back into the seat with the rotting baby, but then stopped.
Sophia had carried that stupid doll of hers around everywhere she went, clutched in her long thin arms.
Jesus Christ, he cursed, stuffing the damn duck into the bag and taking it with him.
The sun was dropping behind the tops of the trees and Daryl had given up on speed. The highway was too densely packed with debris and abandoned vehicles, and the mess stretched out for as far as he could see in both directions. He had abandoned his bike further back and was picking along on foot. He'd taken to leaving empty water bottles as markers on the roofs of the cars that he wanted to loot on the way back. He was considering turning around when something caught his eye further up.
The fading sunlight glinted on orange reflectors and Daryl picked up his pace. The ambulance sat half-assed in the ditch on the side of the road. The cab rocked back and forth as Daryl approached it and he raised his crossbow. He reached up and gave the back window a heavy smack with his palm then took a step back as something smashed hard against the inside.
Moving on the balls of his feet Daryl flicked the handle then leapt back as the doors burst open, smashing against their hinges. The first Walker went down easy as an arrow sailed smoothly through the spot between its eyes. The second and third advanced slowly on him slowly, stumbling down from the back of the ambulance. Daryl barely had time to reload before they were on him. He took out what used to be an EMT with another arrow before discarding his crossbow and pulling out his knife. The second EMT snarled, missing Daryl's hand by a minner's peter with its teeth.
"Come on, you son of a bitch," Daryl muttered, avoiding the things curled, lashing fingers. He kicked out, his foot colliding with the Walker's knee, satisfied as the bone split under the pressure. The Walker went down, its leg barely held together, though it seemed unfazed as it continued to reach for him. At his new vantage point, Daryl drove his knife into the crown of its head and it immediately went slack, gravity pulling it downwards until it slid off the end of his blade.
The road was silent again and Daryl looked around to make sure that he hadn't attracted any unwanted attention. Seeing that he was alone, he picked up his crossbow and looked over his new ride.
