Chapter 20: Release
A/N: Thanks for reading, and reviewing. There's graphic violence in this chapter. This will be the last instalment for this arc of the story. I will be continuing it here, but there will be a little time jump when I resume.
The pointed blade lanced the soft skull of the walker; a sputter of blood covered Rick's hand as he withdrew his weapon and kept moving. He, T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie, Daryl and Andrea moved in a circular formation as they cleared the inner prison yard; they dispatched walkers effectively on all sides and were covering much ground as they inched towards the prison building. It was close combat, with blades as weapons to conserve ammunition. Each member of the group moved in time, with precision, and fully trusting the person at their back and to their side.
As the walkers continued to fall, the group were persistent in covering ground. Though Rick did not realize it at the time, the very act of dispatching the creatures was a sort of catharsis for him. He was not focussed on how empty he felt; he did not let the pain of loss encompass him; his sadness was pushed to the very bottom of his soul as he swung his blade and hit his target time and time again. With every walker that fell and every step he and his friends took forward, the melancholy was held at bay. Soon, however, when the yard would be cleared and they had safe refuge, his sadness would return, of this he was certain.
\m/o.o\m/
The trip away from Woodbury was quiet; Shane sat in the front passenger's seat as Sara drove. The trees that they sped past were a blurred mess of green and brown; their solid forms hazy and distorted, much like the thoughts of Shane and Sara. Both were still quite shaken from the ordeal as their minds worked in overtime trying to figure out how they would get back to Michonne and the children. Shumpert sat in the backseat, gun in hand, staring out the window at the world outside.
"You don't have to do this," said Shane as Shumpert looked at him. "I know you're probably thinkin' you have to kill us, but you don't."
The man said nothing and stared back out the window.
"Just let us go," Sara added. "We won't go back."
He remained silent. Shane had an inkling that Shumpert was not really going to kill them; not since he was driving them away that far from his community. He did, however, wonder why that would be. Granted, it would make Michonne malleable if she thought Philip Blake had spared her friends; but there was still the chance they would go back for her, just like they intended to. Maybe Shane's injury caused them to believe he would not return for Michonne and the children. Either way, he felt like everything was spinning out of control faster and faster; he had not even had the chance to mourn the apparent death of his best friend, Rick.
\m/o.o\m/
"Where are my children?" said Michonne as she squinted and shielded her eyes from the harsh light.
"They're safe," Milton said evenly.
"You have to let me go," she pleaded; the urgency in her voice evident, even though she kept it low.
"You saw what he did to Merle," he offered, slightly desperate. "I don't want the same thing to happen to me, or anyone else."
"But my children…" she said.
"I'm sorry," replied Milton. "I have to do what he says. You're not the only person he's holding something over. This is about survival. Now come on."
Once her eyes adjusted to the light streaming from the corridor, Michonne could see that Milton was holding a revolver aimed in her direction. He was well aware of her capabilities after he had witnessed her take down and disarm Martinez; he wanted no such trouble with her.
She stepped out of the cell and he instructed her to walk. "Don't try anything funny," he stated.
"Where are we going?" Michonne asked. "Are you taking me to my children?"
"No," said Milton. "I'm taking you to the Governor."
Michonne's nostrils flared as she felt ire rise in the pit of her stomach.
"You shouldn't do that," she spat. "Because I'm going to kill him."
\m/o.o\m/
"We'll stay in this section for now," said Hershel as he glanced around the room; the grotty, grey walls offering them protection from the horrors outside. "It's secure. We'll branch out and search the other parts tomorrow after we're rested."
People were already finding space in the cells to lay down their meagre possessions while others were making sure the fences were not damaged. They had lost daylight quickly after an arduous day of clearing the prison. Most were hungry and weary, yet thankful to have a place to rest. Rick watched as Carl took André to one of the cells; he was just about to follow when Glenn and T-Dog approached.
"We locked up the other sections," said Glenn. "There're a few walkers roaming the corridors we haven't cleared yet."
"We'll get 'em tomorrow when we have more light," T-Dog added.
"You got the keys?" asked Rick; Glenn nodded and held them up. Rick reached over and took the large keyring from the younger man before he nodded and turning away. He walked in the direction from which they had just come.
"Rick?" called out Glenn. "What're you doing?"
"I'll leave 'em at the door," said Rick, referring to the keys, as he continued on his way; the calls from his friends fading away as the hues of red saturated his vision.
…..
The blood that sprayed from the head of the walker felt cold on Rick's face. His skin burned with anger as tears made a clear path down his soiled cheek. His grunts of exertion echoed in the sparsely lit hallway as another corpse fell to the cold cement floor. He wiped his brow quickly and lunged forward at a different walker as he pinned it to the wall; his knife soon buried deep into its forehead.
A trail of the dead lay behind him as Rick pushed forward; the corridor seemingly locked at both ends with a grieving man in the middle. The onslaught of walkers continued to advance and Rick cut them down; their dreadful moans almost drowning out the sharp, painful whimpers that he unwittingly made. He pictured Michonne's face and the piercing in his heart went deeper as the handle of his knife shattering a walker's skull. He remembered her smile and the lump in his throat would not allow him to scream as his blade penetrated the walker's temple. He remembered how Michonne looked lovingly at their children, Judith and Richie who were lost to him also, and his heart ripped in two as he stumbled and fell. Surrounded by the rotting corpses and the darkness, Rick kneeled on the concrete floor and let out a loud, agonizing scream as his knife slipped from his hands.
\m/o.o\m/
The room was filled with many decorative items; ornaments and books shared shelf space with decanters of whisky and framed artworks. Michonne stood in the doorway while she took in her surroundings. She took note of anything that looked like it could be used as a weapon or any exits that she could utilize. When Milton closed the door behind her, a gust of wind touched her shoulders and sent a chill up her spine; Philip then stood from his seat.
"Where are my children?" she asked, her thumb tucked into her belt.
"They're safe," said Philip.
"I don't believe you. Show me," Michonne demanded, unwavering in her assertion. Philip reached into his jacket and retrieved a walkie-talkie before speaking into it. A woman's voice at the other end responded before he held the device out to Michonne.
"Mommy?" said Judith's little voice through the crackling of the static.
Michonne felt relief overcome her as she blinked away a tear, "Baby. Are you okay? Where's Richie?"
"He's sleeping. Mommy, I'm scared," said Judith. "Where are you?"
"I'll be there soon, honey…" said Michonne before Philip snatched the walkie away from her; she felt her anger growing, so she took a deep breath.
"They're quite all right," he offered, placing the radio down on a small, round table.
Michonne straightened her stance, swallowed hard, stared Philip in the eyes, and then began to undo her belt buckle; she removed the strap and held it in her hand as he looked at her curiously.
"What are you doin'?" asked Philip.
"What I have to do. Let's just get this over and done with," replied Michonne as she stepped a little closer; he chortled, somewhat nervously before letting his eyes roam brazenly over her body.
"All in good time," he replied, clearing his throat. "Firstly, I wanted to show you something…"
Before he could finish his sentence, Michonne lunged forward with the sharpened end of her belt held high; she lodged it into his right eye and twisted it. The bloodcurdling scream that came from him was as sharp and piercing as her makeshift weapon. His hands both shielded his face as Michonne withdrew the offending implement. While his arms were slightly raised, she jabbed him in the side, just missing his ribcage. He swung his balled fist at her, but missed as his vision was impaired. Michonne's own fist connected with his jaw and Philip was brought down to one knee; blood streamed from his wound as Michonne kicked him in the stomach.
As he arched over in pain, his arms now folded over his abdomen, Michonne shifted so that she was standing behind him. She quickly wrapped her belt around his throat and fastened it tight. The action elicited a choking sound from the man as he fought to breathe. Michonne kicked him in the back and forced him to hunch forward with her knee planted firmly against his spine. She leaned her own weight on him and tightened the belt even more.
Philip tried to loosen her grip with his fingers, but could not as he had grown too weak; his breathing was shallow, almost impossible. As he slowly faded from consciousness and darkness enveloped him, he could just hear her question over and over, "Where are my children? Where are my children?"
…..
The corrugated iron of the tall fence was weather-worn and rusted in many places. Michonne had taken notice of the structure when under the watchful eye of The Governor's men. She had noticed a weakness in a section of wall behind one of the buildings. It would be a while before Philip's body would be found inside the burning building, and she had bound and gagged the woman who was keeping her children. They needed to leave and they needed to do so in that very moment while the residents were busy trying to douse the fire she had started with the malt whisky poured over oil paintings.
Michonne peered through the opening she had made by peeling the sheet of iron back; she glanced out quickly to ensure no walkers were near. She unsheathed her katana and looked down at Richie who was fastened safely to her front in a cloth sling she had fashioned from a bedsheet. She took hold of her daughter's hand and offered her a reassuring smile and then led her through the gap in the wall.
"Shii mucheche," whispered Michonne to Judith; the little girl nodded her head, placed her index finger to her lips, and held her mother's hand tighter.
End of Volume One
A/N: Shii mucheche meansHush, child in Shona.
There will be a time jump in the next volume (and yes, Richonne will be reunited).
Thanks for reading sticking with this story.