Carol's POV as she is trying to survive.
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2. Run, Carol, Run!
'What was that?'
My head snaps around by the sound of a soft bang. My whole body is on alert. I'm alone, in a dark prison, with countless of Walkers. What's worse… I'm out of bullets. I have no way of defending myself. Why didn't I have Daryl teach me how to shoot the bow? All that time at the farm and I never asked him. I should have asked him. He would have shown me.
'If I get out of here,' I promise myself.
Making plans for the future is helping me calm down. I can feel my breathing and heart rate slowing just slightly. Seeing T-Dog die the way he did; sacrificing himself for me. I understand why he did it. He could feel himself changing because of the bite but still… He saved my life and I will forever be eternally…
'What was that?'
I hold and listen, the scare once again running amok with my body. This time, there is no doubt. They are coming!
I run, not sure where I am going, but I run as fast as I can while checking each corner and every turn. Behind me, I can hear them heaving and moaning. It's what they do. Dead and rotting corpses forcing unnatural movement because of their lust for human flesh; they disgust me and I want to kill every single one of them. They took my beautiful daughter, turned her into one of them, and now she is forever gone. I hate them!
If only Daryl was here. He'd take care of them. It doesn't matter how many. Arrows, bullets, slash with his blade… he'd take care of them all. If he was here, he'd save me.
'But he is not here, Carol, so move!'
My subconscious and self-preservation is yelling at me to stop dreaming and act. Daryl can't help me. I have to help myself. I take a left turn and at the end of the hallway, there they are; more of them. There is always more of them.
I whip around and head down the hall way with Walkers at my back and Walkers coming at me to the right. I run for there is nothing else to do. Doesn't matter where, just run! My heart is pounding so loudly, I can hardly hear their eager moanings. It's a blessing for I detest the sounds they make. It was the last sound my daughter made before Rick put a bullet in her.
'Sophia… my beautiful Sophia… my little girl.'
Tears fall as I run, splashing against the floor and against the walls, yet I run, I run, for there is nothing else I can do. Up ahead, I see a closed gate into a cell floor.
'Please, God, let it be open.'
I am praying which I have not done in a long time. Doesn't seem to be any use since God as obviously deserted us. He let this happen, took away my daughter, allowed his creations to become walking dead…
Not slowing down in time, I slam hard against the gate and my body screams in protest. Ignoring it, ignoring the pain because survival comes before injury and ache, I reach up with trembling fingers and place them on the handle. As I pull, I pray once more to a God who has clearly deserted us.
The gate creaks and swings open. Shocked, not thinking it would, I stand frozen until their sounds of dragging movement and hunger alerts me to act. Despite shaking and trembling, I manage to close the gate and secure with a bungee cord. Daryl gave me the cord. He told me I might need it.
'How had he known?'
It must have been his survival instinct, his gut. Daryl is always thinking one or two or three… steps ahead. He hasn't said much but he had a tough childhood and was taught early to take care of himself. It has helped him survived, has helped us to survive, yet I feel for him. No child should have to raise themselves like he had to. I think he was beaten too. We have that in common, Daryl and I, getting beaten; Daryl by his pa and me by my husband.
'Bastard,' I say in my head as I think of my late pathetic excuse of a husband.
But, he got his; first by a Walker and then by me. I couldn't risk him turning. At least, that's what I told the others. Only Daryl saw; how I went at him and how I didn't just ensure he wasn't going to turn. Oh no, I finished him off good. Daryl never tried to stop me or judged me. Frankly, I believe from that day on, he saw me differently. It was the beginning for him and I.
I remove myself from the gate, hoping they might forget that I am here and move on. The cell block seems empty but I ain't taking no chances. On the second floor, with view of the gate, I shut myself inside a cell. I'll be able to see all from here; the Walkers and possible rescuers. He is coming for me… isn't he?
The unspoken question hangs in my head from an instance, threatening to create even more tears, until the answer comes to me like a gut feeling, an instinct, an absolute knowledge;
'Yes, he is coming! Bow high and arrow loaded; he is coming for me.'