A long corridor stretched before them, with doors every ten feet or so on either side. What this area had been used for, she could only imagine. As they passed an open door, she could see that the rooms were small, without windows or adornments. Probably store rooms or maybe even small offices before the Turn, she surmised. But why would there be multiple storerooms—at least twenty by her estimation—in one hallway? And who would want to use a windowless room with a cement floor and cement walls as their office? This place was creepy as hell. But then, what place wasn't anymore?

Daryl stopped outside one of the rooms and drew in a deep breath. The door hung open, but he didn't enter. He looked to Carol as though he might vomit.

"You okay?" She asked.

He nodded somberly.

"This was where they kept you," Ezekiel said quietly.

"Mm hmm."

"How long?"

"Eight days."

What?! Daryl had been imprisoned by the Saviors? How did she not know this? What else didn't she know? She shuddered to imagine.

"I didn't know," she said softly.

The archer shrugged absently in response.

She stepped into the cell, envisioning what it must feel like to be trapped in there.

As if reading her thoughts, Daryl spoke up "Wasn't all the time. After a few days, they had me out workin.' It was okay."

He spoke with the same hesitation and tone he'd used when he told her that everyone was all right and a deal had been reached with the Saviors. She wasn't buying it. There clearly was nothing okay about any of it. Had Sasha, Gabriel and Eugene been tossed in here as well? She tried not to imagine the vibrant young woman spending her last hours in this dark cell.

Daryl nodded toward the corridor. They followed him again, around the corner and up the stairs. So far, so good. No walkers anywhere. They paused briefly each landing, making sure that path remained clear ahead of them. Weapons remained at the ready at all times.

Reaching the top, Carol and Ezekiel positioned themselves to provide cover as Daryl carefully swung open the door of Negan's apartment. No bogeymen, just a scent of pine forest wafting out of the air freshener on the wall.

The difference between this apartment and the rest of the building was stark. It was elegant and well-appointed. Comfort abounded. A king-sized bed with a pillow top mattress was definitely preferable to the rows of cots they'd passed in the workers' quarters.

They opened every closet and every cabinet in search of usable goods. The kitchenette yielded some dry goods, pasta and the like. It wasn't much, but it was certainly better than what they had. Every little bit would help. Carol figured with the right vegetables and a little meat, she could make that pasta go a long way.

The search turned up nothing else but a stack of Polaroids Carol picked up from the file cabinet.

Each depicted a different man lying dead on the ground, his head obliterated. Jesus, what was wrong with this man? Why would anyone take pictures of this?

She must have gasped aloud, because Daryl rushed over and took the photos from her hand.

"You don't wanna see that," he warned. He'd forgotten that she hadn't gone into the outpost that night, and therefore hadn't seen the photos taped to the wall. And there were likely to be a couple of new ones in the stack, anyway.

"I've seen bodies, Daryl," she reminded him. Despite her objection, however, she couldn't help but appreciate his protectiveness.

"Not those."

"Man's inhumanity to man never ceases to amaze," Ezekiel shook his head sadly. "A reminder of what we fought for."

"Ain't much here," Daryl changed the subject. "Let's hope Rosita and Eugene are havin' more luck."

Daryl led the trio back down the stairs and through the cafeteria where he'd once been forced to clean up after witnessing Negan burn a man's face with an iron. He couldn't help but notice how closely the "king" stuck to Carol. He identified the emotion it stirred in him as "jealousy", but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He knew he loved her, but he also knew that she saw him as a friend. There was no future for them. If Ezekiel could make her happy, then he should get one hundred percent behind that. Otherwise, he was just a selfish ass, right?

He wished like hell she hadn't seen those photos. It would have torn her up if she somehow recognized Glenn's among them. He didn't quite get why he was being so protective—Carol didn't need protection from him or anybody else. She was strong and smart, a survivor through and through. Still, though, she had a vulnerability that she hid from most people. He supposed he should feel honored that she'd been willing to drop her guard in front of him that evening in her house. She'd seemed so broken, so fragile in those moments. It frightened him and he renewed his resolve to do whatever he could do to ensure she never had to hurt like that again.

They continued their silent march through the building, careful not to draw the attention of any walkers that may be lurking nearby. They were all seasoned walker-killers, but Carl had been as well. His loss was, among other things, a horrific reminder to them not be complacent about the dangers of the walking dead. Sophia, Dale, T-Dog, Andrea, Bob, Tyreese, Noah, Deanna now Carl—no way in hell was anyone else going to die that way, not if Daryl had anything to say about it.

He hadn't seen the basement during his time here, so they relied on their memories of Eugene's map to find the correct stairwell. Unless Daryl missed his guess, it should be right through the next door on the left.

"The entry should be found through that door," Ezekiel whispered, confirming Daryl's guess.

He nodded, and raised his knife over his right shoulder as he slowly opened the heavy steel door. Immediately, they heard the telltale snarl of the undead. One well-placed stab brought it down with a sad thud. Carol shone her flashlight around the stairwell. Seeing nothing further, they proceeded down the stairs to the basement.

At the bottom of the stairs was a door standing slightly ajar. They entered cautiously, slowly. The room was cavernous, but broken up by floor to ceiling shelves, giving the appearance of multiple smaller rooms. They made their way into the largest area toward the far end. From the right and somewhat behind them, from behind a shelf of canned goods, a walker emerged. Daryl reflexively fired a bolt through its head.

Carol went back to retrieve the bolt. Daryl turned to watch, crossbow at the ready, when suddenly he was knocked off his feet by a tremendous boom. The walls seemed to cave around him and everything went black.

Carol felt as if everything froze in time. The explosion was deafening. A volcano of debris rained down around her and the dusty smoke billowed. A flame sparked and grew from the broken pipe on what remained of the wall. She shone the flashlight desperately about her. There it was, just ten feet away. She ran over and shut off the gas valve and, just in case, the power main. With the butt of the flashlight, she smashed the glass over the fire extinguisher. Growling and snarling alerted her to the presence of walkers coming down the stairs.

Pull, aim, squeeze, sweep. Who would have known that those mind-numbingly boring mandatory education drills her company had forced on her would actually come in handy someday? She pulled the pin and fired the foam at the base of the fire, knocking it out quickly.

Almost too late, she became acutely aware of the walker's teeth closing in on her shoulder. With a spin, she smashed its skull with the fire extinguisher. The force of the spray from the extinguisher was enough to push the others back into the stairwell and she slammed the door shut.

Catching her breath, she assessed the situation.

She was trapped. Walls on two sides, a door protecting her from walkers on another side and a wall of cement debris on the fourth. Where were Daryl and Zeke? Were they okay? What if they were injured? What if they had a fire on their side, too, and she had the extinguisher? Was there even enough oxygen in the small space if they were somehow alive?

It was irrational, she knew, but she couldn't resist the urge to kick the walker impaled by Daryl's arrow; after all, if not for its presence, she'd be with him right now. Even if his situation were worse than her current one, it would be easier to be with him than standing here worried out of her mind. But here is where she was, and she had to just deal with it. Play the hand that your dealt, right? The corpse before her was newly-turned. It was a once pretty woman in a cliched "little black dress." Carol remembered the days when she used to be able to wear things like that. They were, of course, the days before she met Ed.

She purposely never thought of walkers as men or women. To acknowledge that they were once people, once mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, soulmates or whatever, people with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams only served to humanize them. As far as she was concerned, they had ceased to be human the moment their brains had died. Their bodies were then claimed by some unknown force that even the best scientists in the world hadn't been able to definitively identify. Dr. Jenner's video of Test Subject 19 had illustrated the horrors perfectly. She was his wife before she died, but he wouldn't refer to her zombie by her name, only as "TS-19."

She clanked the flashlight against the debris. "Daryl? Daryl? Can you hear me?"

She was met by only silence.

"Ezekiel? Daryl?!"

This time, she did hear something. But it came from behind her. There was some sort of commotion in the stairwell. Several loud thuds were followed by the slow and deliberate opening of the door. The beam of light shining in her eyes through the crack in the entry nearly blinded her. Her arm went up to shield them.

"Carol?" Rosita's voice rang. "You okay?"

"Still here," she sighed. She pointed to the pile of debris. "Daryl…Ezekiel…"

"Shit," the brunette rushed over, "this looks pretty solid. Have you heard them?"

"No."

"We're gonna need help." Rosita aimed her light at Eugene.

He shifted his weight from foot to door. "Preliminary analysis says you and I should begin careful excavation while Carol goes to sound the alarm. "

"I'm not leaving," Carol protested.

"We need physical strength to move this crap," Rosita said. Unfortunately, she knew, what they needed for this job was Abraham and Daryl. "Eugene and I'll stay. You should go to Hilltop and tell Rick what's going on."

"No, you go. I'm not leaving him," Carol insisted. If anyone noticed her use of a singular pronoun, they didn't comment.

Rosita knew there was no use in further debate. "All right. I'll go. I'll be back with the others as soon as I can."

She vanished into the darkness as she headed up the stairs.

"I don't where to start," Carol admitted. "If we move the wrong piece at the wrong time, it could cause further collapse, right?"

"All things bein' equal, we don't really have a choice," the scientist replied. "Start with the ones that we can lift without disturbing any that are supporting others."

They worked largely in silence, painstakingly removing rubble and placing it out of their way. With each fragment they dislodged, Carol braved herself against seeing something she dreaded. All she could do was simply keep working, and hope that the men would be found alive.

It felt like twelve hours, but in actuality it was one before the cavalry arrived. The room began to glow with lanterns and filled with people.

"You all right?" Rick asked her.

She nodded glumly.

"What caused the explosion?"

"I don't know. I shut the gas off, though."

"Good. We don't need an encore." He placed his hands in his hips and looked in the direction of the blockage. "Anything?"

"No."

Jerry appeared and pulled Carol into a bear hug. "We'll find them. We'll get them out."

TBC