~Daryl~
Rick turns at the sound of the prisoner's voice, and I ask, "Who the hell are you?"
"Who the hell are you?" the short black prisoner replies.
"He's bleeding out. We gotta go back," Rick says, turning his attention back to Hershel. "Glenn, put pressure on the knee. Push hard!"
"Why don't you come on out of there," Clary orders, crossbow raised.
"Slow and steady," I add. The five prison survivors walk out in a single file line, and I don't miss the gun tucked in the Hispanic one's jumpsuit. He peers around me, looking down at Hershel. He inquires, "What happened to him?"
"He got bit," I say.
"Bit?" the Hispanic prisoner, who's obviously the leader, repeats, reaching for his gun.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Clary says, turning her crossbow away from the other prisoners and towards him. "Calm down there, man."
"Nobody needs to get hurt," I say, even though I raise my crossbow as well. The leader aims his gun at me, then T-Dog, who appeared beside my sister, back at me, and then to Clary. That's not the bastard's smartest move. I close my finger around the trigger, and Clary hisses, "Daryl, don't."
I don't remove my finger, but I don't fire. Yet. "He has a gun on you," I reply. "I ain't lettin' my sister get shot."
The leader quickly points his gun away from her, and aims it at me, realizing that I am a much bigger threat when it comes to my baby sister's safety. Behind us, Rick's telling Maggie to hold down on her father's knee, and Glenn walks forward, right into the line of fire. "Get back, Short Round," Clary rushes.
"Do you have medical supplies?" Glenn asks, ignoring her. He walks straight past the prisoners, into the back room of the cafeteria. The largest survivor asks, "Hey, where do you think you're going?"
"Who the hell are you people, anyway?" the leader inquires.
"Don't look like no rescue team," says the only white prisoner.
"If a rescue team is what you're waiting for, don't," Rick says. Glenn is making a hell of a racket back in the kitchen, and walkers are banging on the doors. Hershel's breathing hard, and I know he's awake. Glenn wheels a steel cart past us, and I hear them get Hershel up on it. "C'mon!" Rick barks. "We gotta go!"
"Holy Jesus!" one survivor exclaims upon seeing Hershel's leg.
"T, the door!" Rick orders.
A short black prisoner looks at us with wide eyes. "Are you crazy? Don't open that!"
T-Dog opens it, and a single walker, dressed in riot gear, comes through. I take back what I said before. There was a single walker banging on the door. T-Dog shoves it up against the wall, killing it the one way we learned how. "Dixon! C'mon!" Rick cries, his way of gesturing to the both of us.
Clary and I follow him, the leader's gun still pointed at us, as he rolls the cart and Hershel away. We run back through the halls, Rick ordering us down one hall only to go back. "Daryl!" he cries, seeing an approaching walker.
I comply, grabbing my bolt as I take over the lead. "Daryl, Daryl!" Clary hisses, and I turn.
"Stop, stop," Rick whispers, and then I hear it. The prisoners' voices, footstops, and a flashlight beam.
"Follow the flashlight." A prisoner's voice, the short black one.
"Come on," says the leader, "let's go."
I see them come around the corner, their leader in front. "Go go go go go," Rick whispers.
We start off again, Clary and I staying in the back now, ready to cover them from the prisoners. I push my sister behind me, staying in the back should they fire as we scramble to make it to Cell Block C.
~Clary~
Daryl takes the lead as we near the cell block, unlocking the first cell door. "C'mon!" Rick ushers, then calls, "Carl! It's Hershel! Unlock the door!"
We come around the corner to find most of the group crowding at the door, Carl scrambling to open the door. They hurry through, Carl locking it behind them. Daryl, T-Dog, and I remain in the common room, waiting for the prisoners to arrive. T-Dog and I scramble to hide the weapons from view, while Daryl takes watch at one of the tables, keeping his crossbow raised for when they show. I run to his side, skidding to a halt, when I hear him say, "That's far enough."
"Cell Block C," the leader says. "Cell Four, that's mine, gringo. Let me in."
"Today's your lucky day, fellas," Daryl says. "You've been pardoned by the state of Georgia."
"You know what that means, don't you?" I say. "You're free to go. All y'all."
"What you got going on in there?" asks the leader.
"What's goin' on ain't none of your concern," Daryl snaps.
"Don't be telling me what's my concern."
The leader pulls his gun out, aiming it at my brother. I reach behind me, pulling out the gun I hardly ever use. I aim it with my right hand. Even though I'm left handed, I still have pretty good aim with my right. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Cabron." I say, and the leader looks at me, surprised considering I just insulted him in his own language.
"Chill, vatos. Dude's leg is messed up," says one of the other survivors. The tallest one, and also the largest one in general. "Beside's, we're free now. Why are we even still in here?"
"Man's gotta point," my brother agrees.
"Yeah, and I gotta check on my old lady," another survivor says, this one also black and clearly from somewhere in the South.
"A group of civilians, breaking into a prison they got no business being in, got me thinking there ain't no place for us to go," says the leader.
"Why don't you go find out?" I suggest.
"Maybe we'll just be going now," says the prisoner with blonde hair.
"Hey, we ain't leaving," the leader says.
"You ain't coming in, either," T-Dog says, coming around the staircase, gun raised.
The leader points his gun at the approaching T-Dog. "Hey, this is my house, my rules. I'll go where I damn well please."
"It ain't your house no more, vato," I snap. "We took it. It's ours. We fought for it. We spilled blood, you hijo de puta."
"What'd you just call me?"
"You heard me, you Malditos poxy, sin madre, hijo de puta."
"You've got one hell of a mouth on you, tú perra pequeña," the leader snaps, aiming his gun at me.
"You motherfucker!" Daryl yells over the others, ready to kill the bastard. "I've told you once, and I ain't gonna tell you again! Get your gun away from her, you son of a bitch!"
At that moment, Rick runs out, crying, "Hey, hey hey! Relax! There's no need for this."
"He has his gun on Clary," Daryl growls, his finger on the trigger.
I glance over at Rick, saying, "If you spoke Spanish, I think you'd definitely beg to differ on whether or not this is called for."
"Put your bow down," Rick orders, then glances at me. "Why? What'd he say?"
"It's not all me! That tramp started it!" the leader cries. Rick waves his hand, telling him to put the gun down. I aim my crossbow at the leader, seeing as he now has his gun aimed on our leader. Like my brother, he doesn't listen when Rick tells him to lower his weapon.
"How many of you are in there?" asks the leader.
"Too many for you to handle."
"Hell yeah!" Daryl says rather loudly. Rick glances at him.
The prisoners' leader follows our leader's glance. "You guys rob a bank or something?"
I almost laugh at that, but I don't when the leader continues. "Why don't you take him to a hospital?"
We're all silent, glancing at each other. Rick inquires, "How long have you been locked in that cafeteria?"
"Going on like ten months," their leader says. I glance down, then back up at the leader. Daryl and I've been with Rick's group for that long, since the apocalypse started.
"A riot broke out," says the tallest survivor. "Never seen anything like it."
"Attica on speed, man," says the blonde prisoner.
"Ever hear about dudes going cannibal, dying, coming back to life?" asks the short black prisoner, "Crazy."
"One guard looked out for us, locked us up in the cafeteria. Told us sit tight, threw me this piece right here—" the leader gestures to the handgun "—said he'd be right back."
"Yeah, that was two hundred ninety-two days ago," says the tall prisoner.
"Ninety-four, according—" the blonde starts, but is cut off when the leader barks, "Shut up!"
"Looks like that guard needs to look on his definition of 'right back,'" I say, noticing how the blonde looks down, as if he's used to this type of thing. The blonde prisoner glances up at me, and gives me a small grin that quickly disappears when Daryl gives him the infamous Dixon death glare.
The southern prisoner tells us, "We kept thinking that the Army or the National Guard should be showing up any day now."
"There is no Army," says Rick, his voice gravely.
"What do you mean?"
"There's no government, no hospitals, no police. It's all gone."
"For real?" the blonde prisoner asks. He has a strong Georgia accent.
"Serious," says Rick.
"What about my moms?" the tall prisoner asks.
"My kids? And my old lady?" the prisoner from the South says. "Yo, you got a cell phone or something that we can call our families?"
"You just don't get it, do you?" Daryl asks.
"No phones, no computers," I say.
"As far as we can see, at least half the population has been wiped out," Rick says. "Probably more."
"I had to guess, I'd say somewhere around eighty-percent, maybe?" I say, and Rick looks over at me. "Come on, we ain't seen that many survivors. A lot more than half has been wiped out, Rick. You know that."
Shock registers on all of prisoners faces. "Ain't no way," says the leader.
"See for yourself," T-Dog says. The leader lowers his gun, putting it in a pocket in his prison jumpsuit. We lead them to the caged in stairwell, and the southern survivor walks out first. Rick, Daryl, T-Dog, and I follow them.
"Man, this sun feels good," says the southern survivor. He ignores all the walker bodies, but the blonde prisoner doesn't.
"Good Lord," he says, "They're all dead."
"Never thought I'd be so happy to see these fences," the leader says, also ignoring the walker bodies.
The short prisoner looks at Daryl and I. "You never said, how'd you get in this prison in the first place?"
"You never told us your names," I say. "And you know three of ours. Names can be dangerous things."
"I'll tell you my name if you tell us how you got it."
"Cut a hole in that fence over by that guard tower," Daryl says, pointing to the tower where he shot walkers from.
"Andrew," says the short prisoner.
"Clary, but y'all already know that."
"True."
"Daryl," my brother says. "Don't mess with her, or I'll stomp your ass."
My brother walks away, towards the leader. Andrew stands next to me. "He your big brother?"
"How'd ya guess?" I says sarcastically. We catch up with Daryl.
"So, it's that easy, huh?" Andrew asks.
"Where there's a will, there's a way," Daryl says.
"Easy for you to say."
The tall prisoner pokes at a dead walker with a stick. "So what is this, like a disease?"
"Yeah," T-Dog says, "and we're all infected."
The blonde prisoner looks at him. "What do ya mean infected? Like AIDS or something?"
"Let me give you an example, uh what's your name?" I say.
"Axel."
"Let me give you an example, Axel. If was to kill you, shoot an arrow in your chest, well—"
"—You'd come back as one of these things," Daryl finishes.
The blonde survivor, Axel, looks at my brother and I. "You serious?"
"It's gonna happen to all of us when we die," Daryl says.
"Ain't no way these Robin Hood cats killed all of these freaks," says the leader.
"Must be fifty bodies out here," Andrew says.
"Where'd you come from?" the leader asks.
"Atlanta," Rick says, looking at the leader.
"Where ya headed?"
"At the moment, nowhere."
I can sense the tension between the two leaders. Daryl must sense it, too, because he takes a few steps so he's standing next to me. The leader points at a spot at the corner of the field. "Guess you could take that area down by the water right there. Should be comfortable."
"No, we were here first," I object.
"We're using that field for crops," Rick says.
"We'll help you move your gear out," he offers.
"That won't be necessary," Rick says. "We took out these walkers. This prison is ours."
"Slow down, cowboy."
"You snatched the locks off our doors," Andrew says, going to stand next to his leader. Daryl moves closer to Rick, and T-Dog and I follow. We stand next to our leader, facing the threat.
"We'll give you new locks, if that's how you want it," Rick says.
"This is our prison. We were here first," their leader says. Axel, the southern survivor, and the tall prisoner, stand off to the side, watching the exchange.
"Locked in a broom closet?" Rick snorts. "We took it, set you free. It's ours. We spilled blood."
"We're moving back into our cell block," their leader says, referring to Cell Block C.
"You'll have to get your own, puto," I say.
"It is my, perra. I still got personal artifacts in there. That's about as mine as it gets," the leader says, pulling his gun.
Axel rushes in, stopping any bloodshed that might have occurred. "Whoa whoa whoa. Maybe—let's try to work this out so everybody wins."
"I don't see that happening," the prison leader says.
"Neither do I," Rick says, after a second's pause.
"I ain't going back in that cafeteria for one more minute."
"There are other cell blocks, Tomas," Axel says.
"You could leave," Daryl hisses, glancing at me. "Try your luck out on the road."
The tension in the air is even stronger now. Tomas and Rick stare at each other, leader versus leader. Tomas glances at all of us. "These four pussies can do all this, the least we can do is take out another cell block. And hell, one of them's twelve."
"I'm fifteen!" I object.
"With what?" asks the tall prisoner, ignoring me.
"Atlanta here will spot us some real weapons," says Tomas. "Won't you, boss?"
"How stocked is that cafeteria?" Rick asks. "It must have plenty of food. Five guys lasting almost a year?"
"It sure don't look like anyone's be starving," Daryl says.
"There's only a little left," says Tomas.
"We'll take half," Rick says. "In exchange, we'll help clear out a cell block."
"Didn't you hear him?" Andrew says, as the others crowd behind Tomas. "There's only a little left."
"Bet you got more food than you got choices," Daryl says.
"You pay, we'll play," I say. "We'll clear out a block for you, then you keep to it."
Tomas is quiet for a moment, considering it. "All right."
"But let's be clear, if we see you out here, anywhere near our people, if I so much as even catch a whiff of your scent," Rick threatens. "I will kill you."
Tomas and Rick's faces are a few inches apart, locked in a heated staring contest. Tomas glances down, then back up at Rick. "Deal."
"Pantry's back here," Tomas tells us, glancing over his shoulder as we enter the cafeteria.
T-Dog looks around. "You never tried to break outta here?"
The Southern prisoner, who introduced himself as Oscar on the way here, turns to look at us. "Yeah, we tried to take the doors off. But if you make one peep in here, those freaks will be lined up outside the doors, growling, trying to get in."
"What about the windows?" I ask, standing next to T-Dog. I hold my crossbow in front of me, ready to use it if I need to.
"Windows got bars on 'em that He-Man couldn't get through."
"Bigger than a five by eight," Axel says, crossing his arms.
"You won't find me complaining," says the tall prisoner. "Doing fifteen. My left leg can barely fit on one of those bunks."
"Yeah, they don't call him Big Tiny for nothing," Oscar says.
"Y'all done?" Tomas inquires, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Sick of waiting back here."
Tomas turns and walks away, back to the pantry. I notice Rick's hand moves to the grip of his revolver, and he follows the prisoners. I fall in behind Daryl, with T-Dog next to me. We walk into the pantry, and it's almost fully stocked. My brother walks forward, shining his flashlight on some of the food.
"This is what you call a little bit of food?" Daryl asks, standing right in front of Tomas.
"Goes fast," he says.
"Mm-hmm." Daryl walks around the prison leader, looking at the other food. I finally get over my shock at all the food, and manage, "Christ. I ain't seen this much food in months."
T-Dog chuckles softly, patting my shoulder. I glance up at him, then down, smiling softly. T's always been real good to me. Always trying to get me to eat a bit of his share, which I always refused and told him to eat. Still, he kept trying. When I was separated from Daryl and Merle back in the early days, it was T-Dog and Glenn that took care of me, making sure I had food if I hadn't hunted for the camp for a day or two. I took care of the camp by going on hunts and runs, and T-Dog, Glenn, Lori, and Carol took the job of taking care of me.
I snap back to when I hear Tomas saying, "You can have a bag of corn, some tuna fish—"
"We said half. That the deal," Rick says, cutting him off. He looks over his shoulder at the walk in freezer, inquiring, "What's in there?"
Oscar warns, "Don't open that."
Rick ignores him, opening it and then immediately shutting it, coughing at the stench. The prisoners chuckle, and Tomas shrugs, saying, "He wanted to know."
"Yeah, can't argue there," I say with a sigh. "C'mon, let's get this back to the others."
We load up, T-Dog leading the way back to the cell block. "Food's here," he announces.
Carl appears at the second set of doors, keys in hand. He unlocks it, and we carry the food into the cell block. "What do you have?" Glenn asks, joining us.
"Canned corn, canned beef, canned cans," T-Dog says, two boxes of canned goods balanced in his arms.
"Shit ton of canned shit," I translate, following him with a bag of oatmeal thrown over my shoulder and a box of assorted cereals in my arm. Rick follows behind me, two bags of corn in his arms. "Hell of a lot more where this came from."
I follow T-Dog to one of the back cells while Rick stops to get updated on Hershel's condition, and we sit the food down. Carl follows us, taking the box from my hands and setting it on the bed. I put the bag down beside T-Dog's two boxes. Carl takes my arm, asking, "Hey, got a minute?"
I glance over at T-Dog, and ask, "Need any help carrying?"
"Go," he replies, and I give him a small smile. Carl pulls me out of the cell, standing on the side of the stairs opposite the cells. "What's going on?" he asks, grabbing a bottle of water. "All my dad said is that there's prisoners."
He reaches around me, grabbing the bandana out of my back pocket. "Jesus," I say, jumping a bit.
Carl grins. "Sorry," he replies, looking down to poor water on it. "You have walker blood on your face."
"It's not all walker," I reply.
Carl's silent as he reaches up. He hesitates, then inquires, "Can I?"
I turn my head slightly so he's facing the part that has more blood, and he gently wipes it off my cheek and neck as I give him the rundown of the prisoner situation. Carl shakes his head as I finish the briefing, and I ask, "What?"
"I just don't like it," he says.
"Like what? Why?"
"You being around them. Beth, Carol, Maggie. We don't know what they're in here for. I don't like you being near them."
"Are you suggesting they're rapists or somethin'?"
"That's exactly what I'm suggesting."
"One of them, I don't think he'd hurt anyone. The others, I don't have too good a read on them, but the leader's dangerous. Shane-level dangerous." I freeze, realizing what I said about the man that Carl used to look up to. "Shit, I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's okay. He tried to kill my best friend too many times." Carl puts down the water bottle and bandana, taking my hands in his. "Please, Clary. Listen to me. I trust your judgement, I really do, but I still don't trust them. At all. So, please, watch them. Stay close to your brother. Be safe, Clary." He leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Please. I couldn't live with something happening to you."
"You know," I say after Carl pulls back. "I can't deny that I'm impressed by the boldness, Grimes. Not many boys would grab a bandana out of a girl's back pocket."
"I wasn't really thinking," he replies, glancing down.
"Are you blushing?" I ask, taking a second look at his pink cheeks.
"No!"
"You are!"
"Shut up, Dixon!"
"What? There somethin' you ain't tellin' me, Carl Grimes?"
He holds up his hand, his thumb and index finger barely an inch apart. "I was this close to touching your ass! If I told you, you'd slap me. If Daryl knew, he's shoot me!"
I chuckle softly at his outburst that he managed to keep a whisper. "Yeah, I'd slap you," I agree, then wink at him. "I'm not specifying where."
I turn and walk off, knowing that he's blushing even more than before. I almost call back, "Enjoy the view!" but I barely manage to restrain myself. I think I embarrassed him enough for one day.
I find Daryl in the common room, getting ready to go back to the cafeteria. "Hey," I say.
He turns at the sound of my voice. "Hey. Coming?"
I give a nod, following him to the cafeteria. We come back with more cans, much to T-Dog's amusement when we carry it into the cell. My brother and I are about ready to go get more when Rick calls, "Dixon!"
We turn at our last name. Over the winter, when Rick needed to get our attention in a short amount of time, he'd call out our last name, as if referred to both of us. "Yeah?" Daryl replies.
"We're gonna clear the other block now," our leader informs us. "You coming?"
"Yeah, we're coming," I say. We go to walk off with Rick, and Carl follows us. Daryl and I go out into the lounge, and see the prisoners there. We set various weapons on a table, but not any guns or knives. We set crowbars and baseball bats on the table. Rick comes out, with T-Dog instead of Carl. "Where's Carl?" I ask.
"He didn't want to come," Rick says, but I know he's lying. I heard the two talking; Carl wanted to come, but Rick wouldn't let him.
Tomas picks up a crowbar. "Why do I have to use this, when I can use—" he takes out his gun "—this?"
"You don't fire guns, not unless your back's up against a wall," I say. Oscar holds an axe, Andrew holds a baseball bat, Axel a lead pipe, and Big Tiny holds a wrench. Over the winter, who the hell started collecting the pieces to Clue?
"Yeah, noise attracts 'em," Daryl says. "Really riles 'em up."
"We'll go in two by two," Rick says, then remembers I'm there. "Except for Clary. She'll run point with Daryl and T. Tomas and I'll bring up the rear. They rest of y'all, pair up. Stay tight, don't break formation, no matter how close the walkers get. Anyone breaks rank, we'll all go down. Anyone runs off, they could get mistaken for a walker, end up with an axe to the head."
"And that's where you aim," Daryl says. "These things only go down with a headshot."
"You ain't gotta tell us how to take out a man," Tomas says, looking at Andrew.
"They ain't men. They're something else," T-Dog says.
"Just remember," I say. "Go for the brain."
~Daryl~
I lead the way around a corner, checking to make sure it's clear before motioning the others to follow me. Clary falls into step right beside me, T-Dog a step or two behind us, flashlight raised. "Man, it's too dark in here," Oscar says.
"Gotta hold it up high in front of you," Clary tells him, gesturing to his axe. "You're gonna hear 'em before you see 'em."
Up ahead, there's a faint clanging signaling an approaching walker. "It's coming," Axel announces, rather loudly.
"Shh," Rick hisses. I hold up a hand, telling the others to stop. They do, and two walkers come around the corner. I hold up a hand, counting to three. I never get to it, because the prisoners charge the walkers, yelling. They hack away at the walkers, but they don't kill them. They stab their stomachs and hearts, but they still don't kill them. You have to get them in the brain, that's the only way you can kill them. They yell insults at the walkers, and I raise my eyebrows. Clary, Rick, T-Dog and I stand side by side, staring at the prisoners. "You've got to be shitting me," I sigh.
T-Dog shakes his head, Rick facepalms, and Clary rolls her eyes. "Hey, dumbasses," Clary says. They stop and stare at her, and she continues, "Let 'em go, stand back, and watch and learn."
They do as she says, and stand against the wall, watching her. She shoots the walker that was starting to get up, then starts forward, drawing her knife. The remaining walker stumbles towards her, and she drives her knife into its skull. It crumples to the ground, and she pulls her knife out. As she holsters her knife, she declares, "That is how it's done."
Clary takes her crossbow bolt, reloading it. "Let's go," I say once she finishes.
T-Dog and I walk up to meet her, taking the lead as we walks through the corridors. I round another corner as a walker stumbles out from a doorway. "It's gotta be the brain," I tell the prisoners, aiming my crossbow. I fire, and the walker goes down. "Not the stomach, not the heart."
"The brain," Clary repeats, firing at a second walker that stumbles through the door.
"I hear you. The brain," Axel says. Another walker comes around the other corner, and Oscar quickly puts his axe in its head. Oscar pulls the axe out and backs up. "Like that?"
"Uh-huh," Clary says. Another walker comes, and Axel drives his metal pipe through its eye socket. He gets back in formation and a third walker comes through the doorframe. Rick buries his knife in its forehead, and backs up. "Stay in tight formation," he says as more walkers come through the doorway.
"No more prison riot crap," Clary orders. We start stabbing, or in Andrew's case, bashing, the walkers. Suddenly, Big Tiny screams. Two walkers are on him. Rick stabs one, and Tomas fires three shots, hitting the second walker. Rick glares at Tomas, who shrugs. Big Tiny wipes his shoulder, and his hand comes away bloody.
Rick checks out Big Tiny's shoulder; it's a long scratch. Big Tiny turns around. "I'm telling you, I don't feel anything. It's just a scratch."
"I'm sorry, man," Rick says.
"I can keep fighting!"
"You cut that old guy's leg off to save his life," Andrew says.
"Do you see where that bite is?" Rick says. "It's on his shoulder. Big Tiny, I'm sorry, but we can't do anything."
"Guys! I'm fine!" Big Tiny cries. "Just– I'm fine. Look at me, I'm not turning into one of those things."
"Look, man, there has to be something we can do," Oscar says. "We could just lock him up."
"Quarantine him," Axel suggests.
"We gotta do something. Why you just standing there?" says Andrew. "We gotta save him!"
"There's nothing we can do," Rick solemnly says.
"You son of a bitch," Andrew says.
"I'm all ri—" Big Tiny starts to say, but Tomas hits him in the back of the head with his crowbar. Big Tiny falls to the ground, and Tomas looks around at us. I step in front of Clary, blocking her view. I keep a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place, as I watch over my shoulder. I don't miss the look on his face when he stands, finished with brutally murdering one of his friends. I glance down at the stump that was once Big Tiny's head. He wasn't a bad guy, really. He had been nice enough. But then again, if you're nice, then there's a chance you're weak. And the weak get killed.
I release my hold on Clary, turning to face them. I share a look with Rick, and I can tell we're both thinking the same thing. Tomas is too dangerous to have around.
~Clary~
We switch places; T-Dog and Oscar take point, Axel and Andrew follow them, then Tomas, and Daryl, Rick, and I bring up the rear. "You see the look on his face?" Daryl quietly asks. "He makes one move, just give me a signal."
Rick nods once, and T-Dog opens a door up ahead. We follow him in, walking through the laundry room to make sure it's clear of the dead. At the opposite end of the room, there's a set of closed doors, walkers banging on them. We gather around it, getting ready. Daryl takes his keys off his belt, throwing them to the ground. They land at Tomas's feet. Tomas takes one look at them, then looks at Rick. "I ain't opening that."
"Yes you are," Rick says quickly. "If you want this cell block, you're gonna open that door. Just the one, not both of them. 'Cause we need to control this."
Tomas sighs and picks up the keys. It takes him a minute or two to find the right key, then unlocks the doors. He holds them shut so the walkers don't suddenly swarm us, and turns to us. "You bitches ready?"
He gives a tug on one of the doors, but it doesn't open. Must be stuck. Tomas tugs on it a second time, and when they still don't open, glances over his shoulder at us. "I got this," he tells us, then gives it a tug a third time.
Both doors open.
"I said one!" Rick barks as the dead stumble through.
"Shit happens!" Tomas replies. We begin taking them down, Daryl and I taking out any on the outside of the bunch or getting too close to anyone. T-Dog pushes them up against the wall with his riot shield, sticking his fireplace poker through their eye sockets. Tomas swings his crowbar, killing a walker, but narrowly missing Rick. Our leader leans back, then straightens up, glaring at the prison leader. Tomas looks at Rick, then back at a walker. He shoves it at Rick, who falls on his back, the walker on top of him. He struggles with it, and Daryl says, "T, mind the gap!"
Daryl runs over, driving his knife into the walker's skull. He pulls it off of Rick, then holds out a hand to pull Rick to his feet. I take down a walker that Tomas let slip past him, and it drops about a foot behind my brother. They turn, Rick stepping forward to face Tomas. "It was coming at me, bro," the prison survivor says.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I get it," Rick says. His machete shifts in his hand. "Shit happens."
Rick and Tomas are silent, staring at each other. Rick pulls his arm back, the machete in his hand. "No!" Andrew cries.
Rick sinks the edge of his machete into Tomas's head. The prison leader drops to his knees and Rick pushes his dead body to the ground. Andrew yells a battle cry, running forward to attack Rick. He kicks the prisoner back, and he falls over a walker's body.
Andrew gets up and runs off. Daryl holds his crossbow, aimed at Oscar. I aim mine at Axel, and T-Dog holds his gun to Axel's head. "I got him," Rick says, and chases Andrew.
"Man, get down on your knees," Daryl says, and the two prisoners listen to him.
"Drop your weapons," I say harshly. The two prisoners listen to me. Axel looks at me with wide eyes.
"We don't have no affiliation to what just happened," Axel says. "Tell him, Oscar."
"Shut up," I say bitterly. Axel glances at me, half scared. A minute later, Rick comes back. He holds his gun to Oscar's head. "We didn't have nothing to do with that," the prisoner says.
"You didn't know?" Rick says. "You knew. Daryl, let's end this now."
Rick whips around and his gun is at Axel's head. "Sir, sir," Axel says, pleading, "you gotta listen to me, please! It was them that was bad! It wasn't us!"
"Oh, that's convenient. Now shut up," I say.
"You saw what he did to Tiny. He was my friend. Please, we ain't like that. I like my pharmaceuticals, but I'm no killer. Oscar here, he's a B and E, and he ain't no good at it either. We—"
"I said shut up!"
"We ain't the violent kind, they were! Please, I swear to God! I wanna live!"
"Man, she said shut up!" Daryl yells.
Rick turns around and his gun is back to Oscar. "What about you?"
"I ain't never pleaded for my life," he says. "And I ain't about to start now. So you do what you gotta do."
"Rick," I say, and he turns. I give a nod. Let 'em live.
Daryl unlocks the door to Cell Block D, and Rick and T-Dog shove the prisoners in. My brother and I follow behind them, and I see that every cell is open. Dead bodies of walkers lay at each door, their hands zip tied behind their backs and a single bullet hole in each of their foreheads. Dried blood pools around their heads. "Oh man," Oscar says.
"I knew these guys," says Axel. "They were good men."
I stare at the walker bodies, and realize some of them were never walkers. Daryl's familiar hand slides into mine. "Let's go," Rick says.
"So you're just gonna leave us in here?" Oscar asks. "Man, this is sick."
"We're locking down this cell block. From now on, this part of the prison is yours. Take it or leave it. That was the deal."
Rick turns and walks out of the cell block. I stay next to Daryl, waiting for him. My brother shifts on his feet. "You think this is sick? You don't wanna know what's outside. C'mon, Clary."
"Consider yourselves the lucky ones," Rick says, standing just outside the door. He walks away, and Daryl looks over his shoulder for Rick. "Sorry 'bout your friends, man."
Daryl follows me out of the cell block. We wait for T-Dog outside of the cell. "A word of advice," he says. "Take those bodies outside and burn them."
T-Dog turns and follows us back to Cell Block C. Rick walks in first, over to where Hershel is. "Hershel stopped breathing," Carl says. "Mom saved him."
"It's true," Glenn says, looking at Rick. Our leader goes inside the cell, and I sit down, leaning against the wall where Carl and I were earlier. I pick up the cloth and a bloodied arrow. I start to clean it and feel someone stand next to me. Looking up, I see it's Carl.
"You mind if I sit?" Carl asks, and I shake my head. He sits down next to me and takes his hat off. He takes one look at me and chuckles.
"What?" I ask.
"You're covered in walker blood. Again. Stay here, I'll be right back." Carl gets up and walks off. He comes back a minute later with my bandana and the bottle of water. Pouring a little of the water on the bandana, he sits down again. He rubs the cool cloth on my cheek, and I study him. "You know," I say, "I can do this myself."
Carl pauses and looks at me. "Yeah, I know."
"Then why are you doing it?"
He ignores the question and goes back to rubbing the bandana. "How many walkers did you kill?"
"A few."
"Like, a few as in one or two, or a few as in a lot?"
"Second one."
"Thought so."
"I had to teach the prisoners how to kill the walkers. Scared half of them."
"Prisoners scared of a fifteen year old girl. That's new."
"I am a Dixon."
"That's true." He moves the bandana to my other cheek.
"What happened here?" I ask.
"Hershel stopped breathing, and my mom saved him."
I notice Carol isn't in the cell block. "Where's Carol?"
"She needed Glenn's help with something. She's still outside."
I nod, and Carl finishes wiping the walker blood off of me. He sits next to me and I go back to cleaning my arrows and knives. "I miss my friends," Carl suddenly says, breaking the silence.
I started to look up when he started speaking, but I look away at the mention of friends. I had just one; a sweet guy named Sam. "I didn't have many, only one. Damn walkers took 'im from me," I finally say, a hint of hostility against the walkers in my voice.
"Who?" Carl inquires.
I bite my lip to keep from crying over my friend before I answer. "Sam Widmore. Sam had been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Outbreak started, and I wanted to go back for him. Daryl was against it, and Sammy'd still be 'live if I lis'ened to Daryl." I look away from the spot on the wall I was staring at, and look up at Carl. "He'd still be alive if it weren't for me. Like Sophia. Guess I've always had a weight on my shoulders, huh?"
Carl gives me a sad smile, but when he speaks, there's jealously in his voice. "You and Sammy ever date?"
I glare at him. "I'm the only one that calls him 'Sammy,' like I'm the only one that calls Glenn 'Short Round.' And hell no. Be like dating Glenn—too weird. Guy's like a brother to me." After a moment, I correct myself. "Was. He was like a brother to me."
I think about my past with Sam. He asked me out once, but I told him that he's like a brother to me and it'd just be weird. Besides, you know I don't date, I think, remembering the words I told him. I involuntarily start to move my hand towards the ring on my necklace, but stop, realizing that I am. It was Sam's; he gave it to me the day he died, said that he wanted me to hold on to it. Yeah, I've been holding on to it, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'll come back, but I know he won't. The sounds of his screams are still fresh in my mind as if it was yesterday, the sound of the walkers eating him alive in my ears. C'mon, Clars, we gotta go. Ain't nothing we can do for him now, I think, remembering the words Daryl had said after I watched Sam go down under a pile of walkers. He saved my life seconds before, and it cost him his.
"Why didn't you have many friends?" Carl asks, knocking me out of my reverie.
"Dixon."
Carl looks at me, his eyebrows raised. "What?"
"I'm a Dixon. Where I come from, we stick out like a sore thumb. Rumors that my brothers helped my dad kill our mom, and then there were others. I was always the odd one out. I was the one that had the overprotective big brother. The one—" I stop, and look down.
"The one what?"
The one with the scars. I hesitate, then realize that not saying it is silly. Carl knows. He's seen them before. Still, I don't say it. I look up at him. "The one that had the skills with any weapon, and could use anything as a weapon. Other kids found it a little scary."
Carl grins. "I wasn't scared. I'm still not. I've seen you take out walkers with anything you can get your hands on. You've been lowered into a well as live bait for a walker. That takes guts. I'm still not scared of you."
I put my weapons down next to me and look up at him. He smiles down at me, and I smile up at him. I think I feel something deeper than friendship beginning to form between us, and I think he feels it too.