A/N: So now I'm out of school forever basically (yay) and I can ACTUALLY update REGULARLY. I have two stories I am toggling between, both of which are satiating my writing itch now that I graduate. I'll try to pop a new chapter up once or twice a week now that I have no 45 page thesis papers due.

Chapter 10: Bound Together

Maggie ran from the house, she broke into a sprint when she made it to the road. Glen was only a few paces behind her, the strong limp in his leg slowing him down by a few paces. She heard the strangled shout of a man behind them and took the chance to look over her shoulder, worried for a moment Lyal had stumbled and fell. Lyal had stopped, but it was to rip the shaft of an arrow out of his thigh. The man with the bow was running right for him, Maggie remembered what he had said and did not go back for him.

"You run. You run as fast as you can and you get back to Athens, don't even for a second stop and turn around for anything," Lyal said in a harsh whisper. He knew. Maggie could see it in his face that he knew something was going to happen.

She considered for a moment if Lyal had seen the man with the bow in the trees, but decided quickly he had not. He was not that kind of person to knowingly let Glen take an arrow to the calf.

Come to think of it, Maggie thought, I don't really know what kind of man Lyal is.

They had taken off immediately after the door had opened. Lyal had instructed them to keep to the road and run straight. At the junction, make a left and it would run them right to the front gates.

Nobody had seen or heard the man in the brush from what Glen and Maggie could tell. All Glen heard was the hiss and thud of an arrow in the dirt behind him and he forced himself to move faster. There was a long groan behind him and Glen glanced backwards. All he could make out in the darkness was Lyal limping aggressively and clutching his thigh, seeing the shaft jutting out of the muscle took a second longer. Glen opened his mouth to shout something, but Lyal waved them on and slowed down. He slipped off the path, taking advantage of the just-after-midnight blackness, and lunged at the bowman when he came into view.

One last arrow hissed with a gentle twang of bowstring and landed with a sickening thump in Glen's calf just before he hit the asphalt. Glen gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached and tried to push out the searing pain that ripped through him with every step. He grabbed his leg and pushed it forwards, forcing it to keep up with the rest of his body. He had the brief thought that if this had been two years ago, he would have screamed bloody murder and been on the ground in tears. But this was not two years ago, this was two years into hell on earth and an arrow through the calf was a blessing compared to a hundred other things.

Lyal's hands were around the throat of the anonymous man, flailing and hitting wildly beneath him. Lyal was heavy, thick and roped with muscle from two years of survival, and he used that to his advantage. Asking questions would have been nice, but he felt no need. He knew who had sent the man, he knew who was in the woods, and he knew who had given his route up. Now two of his friends were dead and two others had risked their lives to come recover him. Lyal felt the tide of rage wash over him, surge in his throat like acid, until it replaced the blood in his veins. Adrenaline-fueled strength brought one hand off the man's throat and down to the arrow in his thigh. He tore the shaft free in one motion and brought it down again, violently thrusting it into the bowman's windpipe and standing up in one swift motion. Lyal resolved to ignore the pain in his thigh and broke into a run after Glen and Maggie. Against his orders, they had paused to wait for him. Part of him was grateful, the other annoyed that they had disobeyed him.

Maggie waited until Lyal was close enough and then turned to keep running. None of them knew how they had the strength or the endurance to run for as long as they already had, none of them cared. All that mattered was that they were moving and could make out the fail glow of the city behind the wall already.

After two hours, Rick had shaken Gwen awake and moved back to give her space. People woke up violently, sometimes maiming others. That was the price of surviving, nobody remembered what a good night's sleep felt like anymore. Gwen rustled and sat up, rubbing one of her eyes, and took a deep breath. She felt rested, but never really felt like she slept. Something in her kept her alert of her surroundings even when she was fading from exhaustion. She had heard Rick move around, hush Evan and dismiss him, heard him raise a rifle scope to his eye and peruse the woods, and heard his anxious sigh when he set it down again. All of this, and she still felt rested.

"Your turn," Rick said after a few moments.

Gwen nodded and got to her feet. She handed him back his jacked and placed a hand on his shoulder with a tired pat. They traded space and Gwen fixed herself to the edge of the railing, feeling only slightly more secure when she swung the loaded rifle over her shoulder. She said nothing to him, just turned her back and stared at the forest.

Rick did not lay down immediately, he stared at the back of her head and took in her now messy post-nap braid and the shadow of muscle around the side of her neck. She was rigid like a stone sentry, poised to take action at a moment's notice. Despite all that he had seen and endured, a woman like Gwen still surprised him. He knew it was sexist, but that was what the rural south did to someone before the outbreak.

He lowered himself down and propped his back against one of the mismatches posts, reaching out to tuck her jacket behind his head. Rick inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He thought he could smell jasmine, which was strange since it was out of season. He opened his eyes for a moment and readjusted Gwen's jacket, then he felt the scent hit him again. He realized right before he slipped into the limbo of almost sleep that it was Gwen who must have smelled that way.

In his dream, Rick was standing in a field. The whole field was illuminated by a sun he could not see, a wind he could not feel moved the low stalks of wheat that stretched for miles and miles. Behind him, there was a forest dense and dark. Clouds seemed to swirl over the forest sky, but still the field remained sunny and bright. Something in the dark between the trees was growling, loud and wolfish, and it made him take a step backwards. He felt his foot slip and he tumbled back, but never fell. Instead, something stopped his fall and pushed Rick back to standing. He turned slowly and saw Lori, standing in her wedding dress. But it was not her wedding dress, it was her purple plaid shirt and jeans. Her hair was whipping around her face, it gave her an aura of wildness that seemed to pull him closer to her. Lori stared at Rick for a moment, face sullen, but her eyes seemed alight with love or sympathy or sadness. In dreams, nothing was ever plain.

The growling came again from the forest, louder and more violent. Lori took a few steps around Rick towards the dark trees, but he reached out and stopped her, "Wait."

His voice echoed in his own ears. Lori's hand, cold and warm at the same time, moved his fingers off of her arm, "You can't stop it, Rick. It's coming."

"What's coming?" he asked. Rick knew subconsciously he should be crying, desperately trying to keep that image of Lori in his mind, but in his dream it felt like she had never died. He felt like she had always been there.

"What's next is coming," she said, her lips never moved but her voice was in his mind clear as day, "What's coming is next."

Again, the vicious growling came from the woods. It made Rick shiver deep into his bones, a guttural shiver of true and utter fear. He turned to face the dark, looming forest and realized the stormy clouds had gathered over the field now. Lori stood beside Rick, not close enough to touch, neither of them speaking. Someone was running out of the woods now, a figure that seemed to move in sharp, magnifying motions with a sense of desperation and terror.

It took Rick a moment longer to realize it was Gwen running away from the woods towards them. It was not Gwen as he knew her, it was Gwen in a ball gown such a pale pink it was almost white. She had gathered the voluminous, flowing skirts so she could run away from the trees, her long hair carefully curled and seeming to float behind her as she ran. A small tiara glittered on her head, but he had no idea why he knew it was there. Rick looked at Lori, Lori looked at Rick. She smiled gently and motioned to Gwen with a long, elaborate sweep of her arm. Now she was wearing it, the long white satin dress he had always pictured her in.

"You know what to do," Lori said calmly.

And Rick did know what to do. Gwen was running for him, her hands were on his shoulders and she shook him violently. She was not in the ball gown now, she was in the shirt and jeans he had seen her in at the watchtower, a long braid draped over her shoulder. Gwen's voice was strange, like it was hitting him from all directions when she spoke. She shook him again and opened her mouth. He had been hearing her voice, but did not hear any words. Finally, Gwen's desperate expression seemed to focus all of her voices into one and it hit him sharply, like a slap.

"Wake up!"

Rick lurched forward with a terrible gasp and realized Gwen had actually been shaking him. She jumped backwards and then ran to the edge of the watchtower, "Open the gates! Open the gates!"

Rick was disoriented, he looked around wildly and it took a moment for his surroundings to set in. He recalled the night in images, but he could not remember his dream. He knew something was important about it, but had no idea what it had been. Gwen was beside him again and hauling him to his feet.

"They got him. Maggie and Glen are coming in now. They've got Lyal," her voice was trailing off as she ran down the stairs, leaping over the railings again.

Gwen had spotted them, faint at first, three faint points moving rapidly along the broken asphalt. She had lifted the rifle and stared down the scope. Two of them were limping, one of them was running fine. In her bones, she knew it was them without being able to make out their faces. She had woken Rick immediately and shouted into her radio to open the gates. The A Gate tower was manned by two other men with rifles, Carlos was winding the winch to open it, and a handful of men and women had made a line at the entrance, a few of them holding up rifles, some holding up handguns, and one with a large club.

Gwen did not consider that they were running for a reason, she was just excited to see them all. Finally, she came to her senses and slowed down her pace, realizing that something was coming in behind them if they were too slow. She kicked herself and sprang into action. Gwen shouted commands and broke up the line. Two groups, one on each side, each prepared to fight if they needed to. She had sent Rick's companion, the dark-skinned woman with the katana, to go back to their housing assignment and get everyone upstairs to the attic. A few other runners were sent to warn the residential areas and two or three of their guards returned to their towers with backup.

"All towers," she spoke into the radio, "Be on your guard, do not leave your post. Repeat, do not leave your post. Double up and stay alert, you shout as soon as you see something. Nothing is too small to report back, over."

"Roger." crackled voice after voice, twice as many as usual.

Rick was at the foot of the stairs by the time Gwen had thought about him. He was watching her send out orders and had missed the confirming not he gave Michonne when Gwen gave her an order. Michonne knew better than to be annoyed by it, it was not personal. Gwen had been running this stronghold for months, it never really occurred to her that she was not in control of every inhabitant.

Michonne jogged up the stairs of the surprisingly familiar craftsman home and opened the door quickly. She said nothing, but heard the scrape of chairs as everyone came to see who it was. Daryl met her eyes and nodded, having seen the jogging groups of guards in the window, and began herding everyone upstairs.

"Go on, get up there. Find someplace safe and stay quiet," he felt silly telling them what to do, but sometimes that was enough to reassure all of them that they were going to be okay.

Beth waited at the bottom until everyone had gone upstairs, bringing up the rear behind Tyreese and Judith. Daryl reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. Beth hesitated when she turned back. She could not recall ever really touching him. They had laid close together on the ground, had hugged, had always seemed to make contact in high emotional situations, but now this was not a touch out of heightened emotion. Daryl had grabbed her to convey worry, just for a moment, and then let her go and follow them upstairs.

"I'm going out there," Daryl said roughly to Michonne, "Rick ain't back yet."

"I'm going with you," Michonne followed him, "They're opening the gates, I think Maggie and Glen are back. Gwen sent double guards out to man the towers, though."

"That can't be good," he said, breaking into a jog when they hit the road.

The only sound that filled the basin of the city entrance was that horrible screeching that came with the gate. Daryl tried not to let it get under his skin, but it gave him goosebumps anyway. He hated that sound. He spotted Rick, tucked against a wall with his magnum drawn, and broke into a crouch until he reached him.

"Glen and Maggie back?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Rick replied, "Gwen said they're running from something though, says all this is a precaution."

"Everything is a precaution until it ain't a precaution no more," Daryl sighed and steadied his crossbow. He heard the familiar scrape of Michonne's katana, now nose down in the dirt and free of its sheath.

The air seemed to hang, still and suspended. There was no sound after the gate had clanged into place, fully open. Maggie had watched the mess of metal open like a beacon. Where it had looked like an angry maw when they left, now it looked every bit like the sanctuary it was. She felt her second wind and pushed her legs harder. Glen had found a rhythm with his limp, galloping fervently along the broken road. He felt it, too, that feeling of sanctuary where there was once apprehension and dread. Athens looked like a beacon waiting for them. He could make out the clusters of people off to the side, suddenly grateful for a large population in a confined space. They would be ready if anyone was still chasing them, but Glen was pretty certain nobody was anymore.

Lyal grunted and stumbled a few times, sporting the conscious consideration that he might in fact be too old for this world. Still, he forced himself to ignore the pain in his chest, the throbbing ache in his leg, and the sticky, stiff blood dried on his leg. Athens was there, Athens meant safety and guns. They would need both of these things if he had been correct. Still, Lyal felt something was wrong. It was nothing in the woods, nothing behind them or in front of them, but something in himself. He squeezed the wound on his leg and frowned, worried about what that feeling might be implying.

Maggie half collapsed, half rolled through the gates. She fell to her knees, rolled over once or twice, and lay on her back. Her eyes were closed, her chest was heaving, her whole body was sweltering in the humid summer night and the impossibly long run she had just undertaken. She heard Glen fall to his knees in the dirst behind her and heave like he was going to be sick. Maggie tried to care that Glen might actually vomit on her, but she was too exhausted to care.

Lyal stumbled and fell against one of the guards that reached out for him. He turned his face up to the A Gate watchtower, "Close it!" was all he could manage.

Gwen's voice sounded from somewhere, "Close the gate! Close it now!"

The squealing was agonizing and seemed to take forever, but eventually there was a clang of metal on metal and they all knew it was shut. Maggie was not sure when Abraham had come over to her, but he had crouched and picked her up like a doll.

"Where's the damn hospital in this place?!" Abraham shouted. She could hear someone directing him, but was too frazzled and exhausted to think about it. All of a sudden, Maggie felt the familiar swaying feeling that came with behind carried.

Daryl reached down to help Glen to his feet and swung his friend's arm over his shoulder. Daryl moved with Glen and acted as a crutch, following Abraham and Maggie. Lyal was more difficult to move, someone had brought a stretcher and laid him down on it. Rick had picked up one end and Evan the other, they made up the end of the strain to the hospital.

Hospital was not the right word for it, though. It was a repurposed nurse's office at the University that extended into the weight room beside it. All of the equipment was cleared out and there were rows of run-down cots separated by old curtains strung up from the ceiling. They had a medical staff, though, much to Abraham's surprise that resembled a hospital enough to give the facility that name. Gwen had mentioned doctors and nurses, but he had never actually believed her.

Now, Abraham believed her. There were three general practitioners and one surgeon, plus a team of four nurses. The medical supplies were questionable and sometimes homemade out of old sheets or other scraps of fabric, but they had enough to more than care for two arrow wounds and a surprisingly exhausted runner.

Abraham laid Maggie down on one of the beds and let the nurse check her temperature and her pulse. She ran a quick survey over Maggie's body and pressed down on commonly injured areas. The woman was in her early twenties, probably a nursing student, and had a kind smile and a good bedside manner. She touched Abraham's hand gently when she wanted him to let go of Maggie's wrist.

"I've got her, you don't have to worry," her eyes sparkled calmly and Abraham found her voice soothing. She took Maggie's wrist and washed down the crook of her elbow with a scrap of cloth soaked in hot water. The woman slid an IV needle into her and attached it to a mounted bag of saline.

One doctor fussed over Glen, irrigating the wound with some cleaning solution that made him shout. It was the first time Glen had exhibited pain over his wound. The doctor was unconcerned with the cry of pain and continued on his way, inspecting the wound and cleaning it without regard for Glen's pain threshold.

"If I don't clean it, it'll get infected. We've got a lot of supplies, but not enough to handle a round of sepsis. I'm sorry this hurts, but it's gotta be done," the man said absently. Bedside manner mattered less to him, especially now. He threaded a needle with surgical thread and started stitching the wound once the bleeding had subsided.

Glen ignored the throbbing heat of the wound and looked up at one of the kindly nurses, "Maggie." Was all he could manage.

"She's fine, dehydrated, but she's fine. They're both fine," the nurse patted him gently.

Glen nodded and lay his head down on the pillow, feeling the pressure of a hand on his back. He opened his eyes again and looked up into Rick's face, "We went all in."

Rick crouched to meet his eyes and took Glen's face in his hands, "Yeah you did," He let Glen go and placed a hand on his shoulder, "We can talk about what happened tomorrow. You'll sleep here tonight."

Gwen shouted in protest as she was pushed out of the only sealed off room in the nurse's station, outraged and angry that she was being sent away from Lyal.

"Ma'am," the doctor with terrible bedside manner said coolly, "he got it worse than they did, we need to take care of it and I can't risk infection. You're carrying enough germs to kill an army if I let you in there. Let me do my job, you do yours."

Gwen seethed and roared in frustration, stomping to sit hard on the only available chair. She scowled at him and folded her arms, imitating a petulant child for a moment. She was terrified, more terrified now that the doctor had said what he did. Something twisted in her gut and, despite their return, she knew something was irrevocably wrong.