*I do not own The Walking Dead. It belongs to its rightful owner.*

Chapter 6: Eruption

Daryl comes to me after things calm down.

Judging by the high-barred windows, it's about nightfall when he steps into my cell that he refers to as a cage. Carol informed him about the infirmary run Carl and I went on, I'm not surprised. And I wish I could treat the topic like it matters as Daryl explains to me why we don't go off alone anymore, scolding me without trying, but I just can't. Hershel was dying, we acted, and now he's alive. That should be enough.

It is not enough, though, not when you got the winter to look back on.

Not when I scared the hell out of Daryl – the others, me . . .

My argument? Well, I tell the man that I was careful; on guard. Didn't waste an arrow, stayed close to my partner, checked every nook and cranny, did what I was supposed to and taught – nothing more, nothing less. And he listens, Daryl does, and he always will. The whole conversation is calm and patient and careful.

In the end, I am in the wrong. I don't argue; no point. It's better to just accept it for what it is.

Daryl warns me that I'll get the bow taken away if I pull another stunt.

Yeah, right . . .

I ask how long, he says however long it needs to be or until he feels like giving my weapon back.

But it was Carl's idea – whatever.

It's morning and that talk seems irrelevant now. Irrelevant. That word was in one of my books a few weeks back. I asked Carol about it, she told me, and the definition stuck. Living seems irrelevant most of the time.

I sit on the steps with Carl. He's tinkering with his silencer because apparently it is jammed. Rick, Daryl, T-dog, Carol, Glenn, and Maggie went out to move the cars. Lori and Beth left to look around for some crutches and it's okay if they leave to do something because they're older. I wonder when this kid shit will ever stop; probably won't live to see the day. Hershel is in his cell, I haven't seen the crippled man since yesterday.

I left my bow in my cell and I miss it now. I need something to do. Shoving my hands in my jacket pockets, I look down at the floor. We cleaned up this morning, doesn't look so bad now. I guess this place could actually be something. It is just a little run-down . . . like us.

Carl continues to fool with the baseball bat he uses as a silencer because to find a real silencer is rare these days. A wave of annoyance passes over me. The metal noises are agitating, the no talking is agitating, Carl in the flesh is even agitating. I know how he feels.

Footfalls sound on the concrete floor, shadows appear, and I look up to see Beth and Lori. The second woman, Lori, is carrying something. I'll be damned . . . they actually found crutches, real ones, too. I've only ever needed crutches once because when I was eight I sprained my ankle playing tag at recess. I thought crutches were cool but in reality, they're just a pain in the ass. And then the year before that I broke my wrist because I fell out of a tree during an intense round of hide and go seek. I wasn't exactly careful when I was younger but after a few trips to the doctors, I learned to decline some of the dares Jake, Asher, or Isaac challenged me with. They were the reason I was in that tree in the first place. Payton never dared me to do anything, no, but she wasn't exactly a chicken either.

Beth smiles at both Carl and me. She's a sweet girl, hard for me to be mad at her.

They both disappear into Hershel's cell. Carl jumps up, I follow.

"Alright . . ." says Lori when I make it to the doorway. She sets the crutches down beside the older man's bedside. Hershel is lying down on the bottom bunk and he gazes up at us for a moment. Reaching up, he grabs the bars on the top bunk and pulls himself up with a grunt. Instead of two legs spilling off the side of the bed there is one. It is a bit strange looking at Hershel with his right pant leg half empty, but it will become a norm eventually. Just like dead people trying to eat you are.

Lori informs Hershel to take his time as he grips the crutches, still sitting on the bunk. His youngest daughter warns him not to push himself.

Hershel sighs, standing, "What else am I going to do?" Lori and Beth help him position himself on the crutches correctly, right under both armpits. "Can't stand looking at the bottom of that bunk any lon – " The old vet attempts to take a step forward, but he is very wobbly so he stumbles back instead.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa . . ."

There is a pause as the two women steady him. Hershel taps the bottom of the crutches a few times on the floor before he moves forward again, slowly – one step, two steps; he inches closer to Carl and me.

"You know," he announces, "I think I'm pretty steady."

Hershel clanks closer to the door. I back up a few steps to give him room.

There is a rare grin spread across Lori's lips as she looks down at his feet – foot. "That's a good start. Take a rest?"

"Rest?" He chuckles. "Let's go for a little stroll."

I'm glad I never let that arrow fly yesterday.

Stepping outside, the sun is warm on my skin and the air is fresh in my lungs. The vehicles are in the courtyard rather than down by the gate and they move in reverse a few yards away from us, tires crunching across the pavement. We help Hershel down the stairs and through the rusty gate, leaving it propped open. Steel bleachers are positioned to my left and basketball hoops stand tall around this space. They probably have not been used in a long while, though, suggesting by the grimy state they are in.

Hershel swings himself forward as we venture into the courtyard some more, the crutches clanking with every step. He seems to be getting the hang of it.

Lori settles her hand on his shoulder; the older man takes in the surroundings. "You cleared all those bodies out," he observes, "It's startin' to look like a place we could really live in."

We did a lot of housekeeping this morning and perhaps Hershel is correct, we could really live here for a long time; longer than other places before.

Lori is focused on Hershel's leg. She's overdue for her baby, I can tell by the baby bump, and she holds her back as we walk. "Hey, you watch your step." she cautions Hershel. "Last thing we need is you fallin'."

That would be bad.

"Alright, Hershel!"

I snap my head up to see Glenn down by the far fence, hands cupped around his mouth. Rick and Daryl are with him, too, firewood at their feet. I keep my green eyes locked on the three of them for a little longer and watch as Daryl's mouth moves, he points to some walkers ambling from beyond the fence, near the tree line.

They always figure out a way to mess everything up . . .

The five of us have trekked though most of the courtyard by now, and we're almost to a stopping point. Beth informs her dad that he is doing great and he is, really, he truly is.

"Ready to race, Hershel?" Carl asks.

I add, "I'm in on this one."

"Give me another day . . ." he breathes. "I'll take you both on."

Carl laughs, grinning at me. I smile back – telling myself to be nice – but it turns out a lot less forced than intentioned.

I can't be mad . . . not at him, nor at Beth. If he likes her, so be it. Perhaps it's the way it is supposed to be.

Over to my far right Carol climbs out of the red station wagon. She says something to T-dog, beaming. Maggie is with them as well.

We stop walking, stand in a line instead. We're facing the three down at the fence and I go to grab my quiver strap, but it's not there – left both that and my bow in my cell. Darn.

I make eye contact with Daryl. We nod at each other from a far.

Scratch yesterday – today will be a good day.

"Walkers!"

Too bad reality won't allow it.

The courtyard erupts into chaos.

Carl was the one who sounded the alarm and my head whips to him. He's facing the other direction, looking at something; staring. Whirling around, my eyes lay upon a few of many, many walkers that are pouring out from around the corner. This place was supposed to be secure, a home, and – and now there is too many danger hazards to count staring me down in the face. There was a breach, had to have been, but how? When?

When doesn't matter, though, now does.

The drooling freaks are stumbling closer and I jump up on a set of bleachers with Carl. My bow is gone, abandoned in my own cell, and I am panicking. Arrows would do little to help us out here but it is my backup, plan B. Crap, crap, crap!

Taking out my handgun, I check the bullets. There is not a whole lot left but a decent amount. I snap the chamber back into place; click the safety off. Everything is happening so quickly.

We're gonna run out of ammo.

The gunshots pierce the air like a choir – boom, boom, boom. I join in, killing a biter here and there, and our once clean courtyard becomes a battlefield again.

"No!" Rick is screaming. I allow myself to sneak a peek for a split second while my partner has my back to see him, Daryl, and Glenn sprinting down the fenced walkway. "Get out of there! Now!"

The things are getting too close for comfort, won't stop coming, and I abandon the bleachers, yanking Carl with me.

We manage to get split up, however, after he goes left and I head right to dodge some walkers. Beth and Hershel retreat to a caged area that looks safe enough, T-dog says something about a gate, my arms are stinging, ears are ringing, and I know – oh, I know – my bullets are limited. Make them count.

After more running and screaming and gunshots Maggie, Lori, and Carl disappear. I catch a glimpse of the three of them getting smothered by the cell block's darkness as the door closes and my mind figures that home is the only other option at this point.

T-dog is at the gate in the far corner, which is where they are coming from, and I get why he talked about the object earlier. I venture closer, weaving in and out of walkers. Carol is to my right – just went around a pillar – and that is when I notice a scrawny walker advancing on T-dog as he locks the gate into place.

"T!" I shout, hoping there is still enough time.

There isn't.

The walker growls, grabs T-dog's shoulder, and clamps down.

I act – no hesitating this time.

The man with a now gaping hole in his right shoulder yells in pain as the geek clings to him. He manages to push the thing down off of him and I empty three rounds into its head. Carol screams no.

And then I'm all out of bullets.

Carol runs to a red door, says to hurry. Before I can move, however, T-dog grabs one of my arms.

"Listen," he swallows, the hand not gripping me covering his shoulder. The blood has started to seep through his shirt. "Me and Carol will take this way, but you have to go back with the others. We'll meet you in the cell block."

I – I don't understand . . . "But – "

Releasing my arm, T-dog aims his gun with his good arm, empties the chamber to kill the three walkers blocking the caged cell block steps. He slams the gun down on the pavement, pushing me forward. "Go, kid, go!" T-dog's teeth are clenched tight. He is enduring a lot of pain, I can tell. "Get out of here!"

I break into a sprint, only letting up to unlatch the cage door. Walkers begin to approach, but I have the door closed and am stumbling up the steps before they can even get close. My fingers latch onto the red door – the entrance to the cell block – and I glide it back to reveal only more walkers. The biter closest to me stretches its arms out, snarling, and I quickly lodge a knife into its head. Pushing the thing's lifeless body back, my actions give me time to slam the door closed.

Afterwards, I sink down to the cement, my back up against the door. Breathe.

One . . . two . . . three . . .

A couple walkers grab at the chain-link surrounding me, groaning and moaning and growling and snarling.

Four . . . five . . . six . . .

More gunshots. Someone is in the courtyard, for the booms are close.

Seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .

The biters invading my space fall down. I hear faint talking.

Ten.

Rick appears from the other side of my enclosure. His voice comes through, "Where's everyone else? Lori, Carl – "

"T was bit." that's all I can say.

He pauses, lowers his strong voice. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

A siren – an awful siren – choses that time to blare throughout the courtyard. It hurts my ears, sends my heart back into a panic. Rick glances back at two prisoners I've never seen in person before. I thought there were five . . . "Stay put!"

I bury my head into my knees as the screaming sirens wear on. The knife in my boot is the only weapon I have left and I can feel it digging into my leg. You can be as strong as you want to be, sure, but everyone still has panic attacks.

Quick and heavy footsteps thud towards me; I peer up to see Rick. He tells me to back up and I skid back into the far corner, still scrunched up in a ball. The man shoots the speaker from up above the cage and it flashes, cracks, some wires falling down in the process. The blaring lessens but it is still there. It's everywhere.

Our leader rushes back over to the prisoners that Daryl has his crossbow aimed at. Glenn is standing a few feet off. There's talking, nothing I catch, and then Daryl comes over.

Unlike Rick, he throws open the cage door and enters. Kneeling down to my level, he speaks lowly, "You're okay . . . you're okay . . ." Daryl carefully encircles his hand over my wrist – the same one I broke when I was seven – and I am starting to feel a little better, but just a little. We stand up together. "You bit, hurt – anythin'?"

I shake my head; we're walking down the steps. "No."

"Good."

"Good." I reply.

Daryl leads me over to the other side of the courtyard where Hershel and Beth are in their own cage. He turns to me. "You're gonna stay in here with them for a little while. We'll be back in a bit."

"Okay."

And after I am locked away with the other two for safety reason, Daryl, Glenn, Rick, and the two other prisoners run off.

This isn't the first time I have had one of my rare panic attacks when Daryl was around.

Eventually, the sirens are shut off, diminishing into nothing.

A few more minutes after eventually, the same five people that went in come out – no new faces.

T-dog and Carol are dead; they found what was left of them. So that's why T pushed me away . . . he knew.

That just makes it hurt all the more.

We get let out of the cage and Rick asks if anyone came out here, no one did.

Our leader says that we gotta keep looking; that –

Cell block C's door slides open. There are two figures – Maggie and Carl – no Lori. Maggie is holding something wrapped up in a jacket and there is a baby crying.

Oh no . . .

Tears run down Maggie's face as they stumble forward, Carl's head is bowed. Blood covers both of their hands and arms.

Rick approaches them, the hatchet he was carrying clanging down to the pavement. Maggie looks at him, lip quivering and red eyes.

Our leader paces. "Where – where is she? Where is she?" His voice wavers.

Maggie just sniffles, a breathy cry from the baby.

Carl doesn't move.

I feel horrible.

Rick attempts to walk past Maggie but she grabs his arm, gurgles, "No – Rick, no!"

He ignores her, dropping his gun as he reaches his son.

And Rick – well, he sobs.

Something I have never seen him do before.

Kneeling down to Carl who is still emotionless, his face crumbles, chest shaking. "Oh, no – no, no, no! No . . ."

Glenn goes to Maggie. The woman holds the baby close as she cries into his chest. Rick sputters, stammering words as he loses control, and falls down to the ground in a wailing heap.

Our leader has been teetering on the edge of a cliff for a while now. It was just the meaning of an eruption to happen for him to lose his balance.

And this is it.

Hey, guys, so I have a little announcement to make. Recently, I have been working on a little prequel to this series that contains some snapshots of what exactly happened over the time skip between seasons two and three.

If you want to check it out it is titled: "Winter".

Thanks. :)

~ Rainy