"BETH!" I hear Daryl yell, as he comes flying out the backdoor, running towards me. He's got his crossbow in one hand, a knife in the other.
I scurry backwards on the ground, out of reach of the walker, of Mica, who's still half-buried and struggling to get out of her grave. In my shock, I drop my knife. But it doesn't matter. There is no way I can use it against Mica. Not right now at least. If I had seen her get bitten, seen her turn, had time to process it, I would've been able to do what's necessary. But this was the last thing I was expecting.
"Beth!" Daryl calls again, looking around. Spotting me, he comes running. At first, he doesn't even see her, just sees me. He grabs my arm and pulls me further back.
"Mica! Mica!" I scream over and over again. "Oh god, Daryl, it's Mica!" I'm sobbing uncontrollably.
Daryl stops short. "What?" For once, he seems genuinely shocked and taken aback. He looks from me, to the walker, and in that moment he realizes what I'm saying. "Oh shit." he says, lowering himself onto the ground beside me.
For a minute, the only sounds heard is my sobbing and the snarls coming from Mica, as she continues to slowly claw herself forward and out of the grave.
"Beth," Daryl says quietly, not taking his eyes off of Mica. "Beth, we have to stop her."
It feels like his voice is coming from far away. "I- I know." I hiccup. "Damnit Daryl, I know, it's just- it's Mica! Where's Lizzie? Is that Lizzie?" I say, pointing to the other new grave. "Is it Carl? Michonne? Tyreese? Glenn?" I grab Daryl's shirt and turn him to face me. "Is it Maggie? How did this happen? Someone was here. People survived and they were here and then something happened and now Mica is dead and who knows-!" I'm getting hysterical.
Daryl pulls me in close, pressing my face against his chest. "I know." he says quietly. "And we'll find them. If people survived, we'll find them. They were here, which means we can track them. We'll figure this out. But right now," he pulls away to look at me, "right now, we need to take care of Mica."
Gulping, I nod. I know we have to do what's right, even if it's hard. Oftentimes, the best things to do are the hardest. Wiping my eyes, I nod again. "Okay."
By this point, Mica is mostly free from the ground. The only thing holding her back are her feet and ankles. We have to stop her before she gets loose completely and can actually come after us. Daryl looks at me, and I nod, letting him know to just go and do it. Taking a deep breath, he grabs Mica by the hair. Snarling, she wants to get at him, but she can't. She's still trapped in her grave, partially buried, clawing pathetically at the air. She snaps her jaws at Daryl, but he's got a firm hold on her, won't let her get near him. I want to look away, and as I do, I catch the look in Daryl's eyes. The sadness and regret. I don't know what he's thinking, but in that moment, I know he feels deeper than anyone from the prison could have ever imagined.
"Wait!" I cry out. "Let me do it."
Daryl pauses, holding his breath, not making a sound. Then he slowly exhales and asks "You sure?"
No, I don't want to do this at all. But I know I have to. For Daryl. Tears streaming down my face, I nod. "Yes. I have to." Daryl looks up at me, wary. "For Mica." I add. "I owe it to that little girl."
Nodding, Daryl holds out his knife to me. Still gripping Mica's hair, he moves aside as I crawl forward. I look down at Mica, or rather at the walker that was once Mica, and I pause for a moment as I think of the bright little girl I remember seeing running around the prison, and taking part in Carol's storytime hour. For a split second, my vision blurs with tears, and it's not Mica I'm seeing, but myself, the little girl I once was. But just as this walker is no longer the little girl I remember, neither am I. With a swift motion, I plunge the knife into Mica's head. The deed done, I bury my head in my hands and sob, crying for a little girl who never got to grow up, and a little girl who had to grow up too fast. There are so many things that Mica will never have the chance to do. But I'm still here.
Daryl removes the knife from Mica's head. As Daryl lets Mica's body drop to the ground, I swear I hear him mutter "sorry".
He then picks me up off the ground, but before he can carry me away, I grab him and pull him into a tight hug. For a moment, we're just standing there, leaning on each other, while I sob. I'm sure Daryl's crying too, but I'll never know. I bury my face into his shoulder and give him the privacy he needs. I reflect on how much things have changed, not just since before and after the walkers, but even before and after the incident at the prison. How far Daryl and I have come together. As we walk back towards the house, I realize that Daryl is depending on me for support just as much as I'm depending on him. For all my assertion that I am stronger and more grown-up and independent than people give me credit for, I sometimes never truly believe it myself. It's times like these that I know, I know, that it's true. And as I let Daryl lead me to the couch and get me settled against the cushions, it's not because of my own weakness; it's because it's what Daryl needs.
Because I know what Daryl needs now and when. I know when he needs me to be optimistic and hopeful; when he needs me to chatter on incessantly, not letting him fall too deep within himself and his thoughts; when he needs to be left alone to feel; and when he needs to feel stronger than me.
So I let Daryl take care of me. Not because I'm not strong enough, but because I am stronger than anyone will ever know.