MILTON

"You're lost, aren't you?" said Michonne, and she didn't trouble to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice.

"I thought that I would have Merle with me on the way back," Milton admitted.

"That sort of thinking is gonna get you killed," said Michonne. "You always have to be prepared when you leave your campsite because there's never the assurance that you'll be walking back with the same people, especially where Merle's concerned. You can't even remember a single thing about where this cave is?"

"It was that way," said Milton, pointing forward, away from the sun.

"That way? What direction is that, genius?"

"Michonne…" said Andrea weakly and Milton stopped to take in her appearance. After only twenty minutes of staggering through the woods, the color in her face had significantly lessened and she looked like she might be sick all over the ground at any moment. Milton pressed his knuckles to her sweaty forehead, but her skin was cold.

"She needs water," said Michonne in concern.

Struck by a sudden idea, Milton knelt down, squinting at the ground to locate his and Merle's footprints where they had come out of the river. Their tracks were certain to be deeper and darker, and would lead Milton straight back to the river, which would then hopefully point him in the direction of the cave. He crawled on all fours, searching and searching until finally he spotted his own prints in the mud side by side with Merle's larger ones. Pointing this out excitedly to the women, he led them straight back to the river and was feeling rather proud of himself when Andrea vomited.

"Shit," said Milton, running back to her and helping Michonne lower her down. Michonne ripped off a pocket on her coat and Milton dipped it in the river, trickling the water onto Andrea's neck and mopping away the vomit around her lips. Only when he dabbed the last of it away did he realize that some of it was blood. Her entire side was doused in blood from the wound and her eyes were rolling around aimlessly.

"Stay alert, Andrea," said Milton loudly. "You need to stay awake until I get you back to Hershel."

"Oh, shut up," said Michonne. "With you leading us, we'll never find Hershel and Andrea will die as we wander around in these woods trying to outrun humans and walkers alike."

"I'll get her back to Hershel," said Milton again, this time with force which he directed at Michonne. "Merle and I only walked about half an hour away from the cave and it was always in one direction because the sun was always on our right shoulders. If you help me look for tracks, I can get us back. You might not be able to pick out Merle's because he only walks heavily when he's in hurry, but mine should stand out clearly. Look for broken twigs, disturbed mud, anything. I'm a klutz."

"Okay, okay, shut up already."

"Let's fill the bottle and then get moving," Milton suggested.

With three canteens full of water that needed to be boiled before drinking, they set out, slowly, but surely as they followed a boot print here or there. Sometimes they had to double back, other times they went at least a few dozen yards without finding one, but Milton had never been so happy with his clumsiness as now when his heavy footfalls were giving them a trail to lead them back. Michonne tried to keep Andrea awake by talking to her, asking her details about their time together on the run, but Andrea's responses were growing fainter and fainter each time until Milton called off the interrogation session to let Andrea conserve any energy she might have left. He brought them to a hill which he remembered from the first ten minutes or so of his and Merle's trek and with his heart pumping madly, thinking that he might actually be able to salvage the setback of having to leave the others behind, he scaled the hill first to get a vantage point.

Only, there was someone waiting for him at the top.

"You've been busy today, haven't you, Milton?"

Phillip stood at the crest, his remaining weapon at rest in his hand. A small piece of his ear was missing and he had tied a tourniquet around his thigh where the bullet from the previous night had gone through. He looked dead-beaten, drained, hungry, and slightly mad, but at the same time, he was smiling. Milton immediately thought of Hershel and the others not far from the hill and if Phillip had found them before coming out to wait for Milton and Merle to return. On the pretense of asking Phillip what he had done to the others, Milton swallowed his question and instead raised his handgun. The fact that Phillip didn't react unnerved him.

"Now, we both know you aren't gonna shoot me, Milton. In the heat of battle last night with Merle at your side, you mighta felt indestructible, but the fact remains that you are still soft-hearted to a fault and you don't got it in you to kill nobody."

"That was before you took off most of that boy's hand," said Milton.

"I warned him not to move. He didn't listen. You've seen what happens to people who don't listen, Milton. Merle didn't listen and he got cast out. Andrea didn't listen and she's not lookin' too good at the moment. Michonne didn't listen and now she's gonna pay for it. As for you; I'll let you slide this one time. Take Andrea if you want and get movin', but leave me Michonne. You owe me that after all I've done for you."

Michonne probably had sense enough to keep her mouth shut at this moment, which was why Milton hadn't heard anything from her, but he still wanted to know that she was behind him, that she had his back.

"Michonne, start taking Andrea around," he called over his shoulder.

"No, she stays right there where I can see her. She's mine, Milton, and if you value Andrea's life, you'll let me have her." Phillip moved a step closer and Milton put his gun up even higher, causing Phillip to laugh. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Milton, just step outta the way."

"Not this time, Phillip," said Milton, trembling where he stood with both hands clasped over his handgun. He knew Phillip would try to avoid shooting him if possible because of the friendship they once shared, but the Governor was not above putting a bullet through Milton's head to achieve his ends. Andrea made a muffled moan of pain behind him and for the first time, he felt strangely selfish in his predicament. Michonne meant close to nothing to him at this moment on account of neither he nor her speaking to each other—in fact, besides the earlier argument over Milton's lack of knowledge about cardinal directions, Michonne had never spoken to him. Andrea was in need of Hershel's help just now and if he let Phillip have Michonne, he could get Andrea that help all the quicker—but she would never forgive him if he stepped aside and allowed Phillip to torture and kill her friend. He, Milton, could not be selfish just now, no matter the cost.

He had to act first this time. The only reason Phillip had not fired yet was because he was waiting for Milton to give him a sign of surrender. Phillip expected Milton to back away like a kicked dog with what remained of his dignity because Phillip knew the exact reason that Milton left Woodbury. What he would not be expecting was for Milton to be on the offense. Milton was not a religious man by any means, but if there was a higher being, he prayed that just an inkling of luck would be with him as he took up a shooter's stance and fired two bullets at Phillip.

The first missed, but the second went right through the center of Phillip's hand, causing him to drop his weapon and shout, instinctively grabbing his wounded limb. Milton ran forward and rammed into Phillip, knocking him down with strength he didn't know he had. Phillip hit the sloped ground hard and began to roll uncontrollably down the hill. Milton snatched up Phillip's fallen rifle and then hurried back to the women, offering his shoulders as a support for Andrea.

"Okay, we're walking…"

"You should have finished him off," said Michonne distastefully.

"You may find it easy to kill people, but I'm not at that point yet, so you'll forgive me if I did what I needed to," said Milton, wishing his hands were free so that he could take out his paper bag and just take a breather, but Andrea was looking completely drained and whitewashed in her face, so he concentrated on leveling his breathing by returning to his counting method.

"Now where are we going?" asked Michonne.

"Same place, just a slight detour since there's the issue of having a governor between us and our destination."

"Andrea doesn't have time for detours," Michonne snapped.

"I am doing the best I can here for both of you, so please, will you just shut up?"

Michonne looked like Milton had just smacked her across the face but Andrea let out a weak chuckle that broke the tension. Taking that as a sign that she was going to hold out for a little bit longer, Milton quickened his pace, practically dragging the other two with him until at last, he saw the cave sticking out like a beacon in the late afternoon sun and standing right out front was Hans, weaponless apart from a wooden stave.

"Oh, no…"

"What now?" asked Michonne. "Who's he?"

"Wait here," Milton instructed. "If something happens—"

"Keep going until Andrea keels over and dies?"

"Don't be dramatic," said Milton, approaching Hans with his pistol out again, only this time he was not afraid to use it. Hans waved to him, but the happiness on his face was not an expression that looked genuine—though Milton couldn't be sure since he didn't read people very well anyway.

"Where's Merle?" asked Hans.

"No, you tell me where the others are first."

"Daryl wanted to go out looking for a better shelter, but was understandably reluctant to leave the boy and Hershel behind with me, since he'd never seen me," Hans explained. "He woke up in a fit of rage, demanding that someone tell him where his brother had gone, and once Hershel calmed him down, he spent a good hour trying to deal with his headache. In the end, Hershel scratched out a note and left it buried in the leaves inside the cave and we all set out in search of water first and foremost since you and Merle hadn't returned. But we did find a shelter; it's just a one-room cabin that had already been looted, but we set up there and Daryl sent me back here to bring you to it since I'm the only other one besides him in fit condition."

He's lying.

By default, Milton didn't trust anyone besides Andrea, but he had vouched for Hans last night, saved him, made sure that he wasn't thrown to the wolves, and he had once considered the man to be his friend. Surely, even if something had happened to the others, Hans wouldn't harm him?

"I know you don't have any reason to trust me, so you can come and search me for weapons if you need to. Do whatever it takes, but I promise you that I will lead you straight back to them. And by the looks of it, she could use some medical attention." Hans motioned at Andrea.

"Hands on your head."

Milton treaded carefully, stepping as close to Hans as he dared while still keeping a reasonable distance away until he was close enough to pat him down for concealed weapons. Upon finding none, he instructed Hans to lead the way and warned him that if he was playing them false, Milton would personally shoot him through the back of the head. He needn't have worried, though, for not twenty minutes later Milton saw a cabin standing at the top of a slope and on the porch were Hershel and Daryl.

"She's been shot," Michonne called and Hershel bade her take Andrea inside so that he could start operating immediately. Michonne took off her katana and passed it on to Milton to hold so she could go first through the narrow doorway with Andrea but before Michonne had even completely gotten through the entrance, Daryl put out his arm to separate Milton from the women. Milton stepped back, ushering Michonne inside so that Andrea could be tended to as Daryl confronted him, making him step down off of the porch.

Milton suspected what this was about, but he had hoped that Merle would be here, so he was in no way prepared for telling Daryl the truth.

"Where's my brother?" Daryl demanded.

"I don't know, he drew them off and we didn't wait to see—"

"You mean my brother got left behind again?" Daryl thundered.

"Now, son, think about what you're doin' before you do it," said Hershel warningly, but Daryl was having none of it and he stepped into Milton's danger zone, almost pressing his nose against Milton's as he breathed hot air like a winded bull.

"If he doesn't come back, it's gonna be on your head, Sunshine."

"Merle knew what he was doing when he led the biters away and the goal was to rescue the women anyway, so please back out of my face; it's making me nervous," said Milton in a small voice.

"I make you nervous or you're just nervous about lying to my face?"

"Daryl…"

"As I've already told you, Merle led the biters away—"

"Bullshit he did. That ain't like him, not yet. He wouldn't've risked his life for any of y'all if it meant he'd get left b'hind. If there ain't no one to punish 'im for actin' otherwise, Merle don't look out for no one but 'imself."

"I'm telling you what happened, but if you continue to doubt me, that's your choice. I am going to ask you one last time to step back from me."

"Swing, pretty boy."

Milton shoved Daryl in the chest, more to just get him a safe two feet away than to start a fight, but he should have known that his actions would cause Daryl to fly into a frenzy. Daryl punched Milton in the chest and Milton staggered back into Hershel who had come to break up the fight and who had to be made of strong material if he was able to stand on crutches and still push Milton back upright.

Wheezing, Milton shook his head hopelessly and said, "Okay, you don't want to listen to me, fine, you dumb prick."

"The fuck didjoo just call me?"

"Let me put this as delicately as I can—fuck you."

Daryl moved in, but Milton still had Michonne's sheathed katana in his hands. Milton smacked Daryl across the face with it and then, because he had seen—or rather felt—Merle do it, he wrapped his arms around Daryl's neck and held on.

"Milton, don't!"

The blood was pounding in his ears. His extremities were shaking and sweat was pouring from his body with the exertion of defending himself, but his life was in jeopardy unless he stood up for himself. This man whose neck he held intended to hurt him and Milton could not allow that to happen, not when he had the power to do something about it. He was only faintly aware of hands tugging at his arms to make him release, but none of them understood: he was defending himself.

"Let him go, Milton!"

Then, someone pressed against his nose with the flat of their hand so hard that he felt it might break. That person posed a bigger threat than the man who he was choking and so Milton let go of the first man to confront the second when those same hands that had just been hurting him now grabbed his chest and placed an arm across his throat, though not to the point of blocking off his air passage.

"Easy, son, easy. Calm down," said a gentle voice.

"You…son'va…bitch…"

"Daryl, please, he's a danger to himself. It's not his fault that he's like this and you knew better than to antagonize him. How'd you expect him to react to you threatenin' him and hittin' him?"

"That bastard left my brother."

"Your brother made Milton and the women run because Merle works better alone without inexperienced people like Milton in the way."

Milton saw Daryl glaring at him and swiped at him, but those firm hands pulled him right back and the calming voice spoke in his ear, just for him to hear. "You're safe, Milton. No one's gonna hurt you now. Keep calm and count to ten. Breathe. Breathe and know that everythin's alright."

Milton tried to push the hands off of him, but at the same time, he wanted to hold on and catch his breath in the comforting knowledge that someone was there to steady him. He grappled for the bag in his belt and the man helped him free it, flapping it open and bunching up the top before pressing it to Milton's mouth so that he could swallow the air inside.

"That's it, son, nice'n slow."

"You gotta be shittin' me, man," said Daryl. "He's dangerous! He's a tickin' time bomb'n that's the second time he tried t'kill me."

"Your brother's a tickin' time bomb too, but you don't see people tryin' t'kill him," said the voice of the man who held Milton and slowly, ever so slowly, it registered within his suffocating brain that it was Hershel.

"That's 'cause Merle knows how t'protect himself."

"Exactly, and Milton doesn't. He's not strong and he's not a fighter by any means, but he'n your brother are more in common than you think, Daryl. You need to give him a chance if you expect the rest of us to do the same for your brother. Now I have to operate on Andrea and I've already spent a great deal of energy tendin' to your head and Carl's hand. Now Milton may need some medical attention, so I'm askin' you to keep a level head, bring Milton inside, and help me while we wait for your brother to find us, which he will."

Daryl strode forward and when Milton saw him coming, he panicked, but Hershel put a gentle, soothing hand on Milton's head and whispered to him, "He's not gonna hurt you again, Milton. He's here to help. Stay calm. We're gonna lift you up now."

Whether or not they actually did, Milton didn't know, for at the touch of Hershel's hand, his exhaustion overwhelmed his body and he finally gave in.