Chapter 21: Wretched

Shane sat crouched in the corner of his cell, his knees pulled up to his shoulders and his hands cradling his head. The walls seemed to pulsate around him, coming ever closer.

"I'm sorry, brother," he whispered over and over again as he done for the past few days. It seemed that Rick's face was the only thing he could see sometimes, his voice in his mind, his accusing and betrayed eyes flashing in the darkness. "I'm so sorry, brother. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The little flap at the door lifted and a plate with a smattering of food on it was pressed through the gap. He scrabbled toward it, the brief hint of daylight flickering through his only moment of relief and salvation before he was cast back into hell. He collapsed next to the food, eating only a portion of it. They only gave him one plate per day. Either as punishment or just in an effort to conserve. He pressed himself to the floor and closed his eyes, sleeping again. It was all he could do. An endless cycle of fitful sleep and restless moments awake then those brief seconds of light through that slot in his door. "I'm so sorry," his mouth worked in his sleep. "I'm sorry."

"Baby?" Lori shuffled toward her boy, her arms outstretched. She was just about to pull him in close when a small shape darted around her, burying a blade hilt deep in her son's head.

"Carl!" she shrieked.

The small figure came toward her and pressed a bloodied hand to her mouth. "Be quiet, mom! You're gonna bring more."

Lori felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, then suddenly she knew no more.

Rick couldn't bring himself to look at the little girl napping in her crib in the corner of Lori's cell, so instead he focused on Hershel applying a cool towel to his wife's forehead. She looked like a corpse, all bones and stretched skin. She'd always been delicate, but he'd never expected her to break.

"What the hell are we gonna do with her?" He ground out. "If she's lost her mind, we can't trust her with her baby. Hell, she probably woulda fed it to that walker if she'd had it with her."

Hershal combed a hand through his beard as he stood to face the younger man. "I've got a suggestion, but you might not like it."

Rick shrugged one shoulder. "Shoot."

Hershel looked over his shoulder at the woman in question, then back at Rick. "She needs to be taken care of and Shane is just rotting away in that cell."

Dark brows lowered stormily over blue eyes. "What the hell are you suggesting?"

Michonne laid a hand on his arm to keep him calm, then tilted her head for Hershel to continue.

"Maybe we can put them off in a cell by themselves in another block. Shane can take care of her and nurse her back to health and who knows, maybe they'll both be just a little bit saner if they have each other."

"We can't trust-"

Hershel held up his hands. "I'm not saying we give Shane any kind of free reign or anything. Someone else will still be in charge of the keys for his cell, but there's on sense in wasting any of our strength taking care of Lori when there's someone who wouldn't hesitate to do the job. Carl doesn't need this kinda burden on himself and the rest of us need to be working on other parts of this prison. Cleaning it up. Growing plants and whatnot."

Michonne saw that Rick was thinking about it so didn't offer in her opinion, knowing he would only feel right about his decision if he came to it himself, weighing it from each angle.

He didn't have any plans for Shane other than letting him rot in solitary for as long as they could feed him and he had no plans of going back to Lori. He could've asked Carol or Maggie to take care of her, but he'd be taking their expert shooting from the walls if he did that. No. It was a good plan. Lock them both up together then maybe he'd at least have two more strong people in his group should Woodbury choose to attack. He sighed, his shoulders sagging, hoping this wouldn't turn out poorly for everyone involved and gave the go ahead.

"The baby?" Michonne asked. "Will she be in there with 'em too?"

Rick thought it over for a while, then nodded. "She belongs to them. And no matter how crazy Shane gets, I don't think he would hurt a child."

There was a little doubt in Hershel's eyes, but he kept the words back.

"What do you think they're going to do to us?" Conroy asked Sasha as she helped him move his wife's body to a corner of the room they were all trapped in.

She glared through the bars where she could see Daryl lighting up a cigarette at the end of the hallway. "They haven't killed us yet, so that's something at least," she growled, angry about being cooped up in one spot for more than two days and forced to use a communal piss bucket. "And they fed us, so I really don't think they're gonna kill us now."

"Then what?" Conroy asked. "Why are we still locked up if they're not going to kill us? Maybe they're just fattening us up."

Tyrese's face reflected his shock and horror at the thought they might be in a Hansel and Gretel kind of situation. He hadn't signed on for that. He would rather be shot through the bars right now than have to worry about his bones being picked clean by a bunch of cannibals.

"Let's fuckin' hope not," he hissed. "I ain't got time to be nobody's eight piece meal."

David, Conroy's son, was pale as a sheet at the thought. He hadn't spoken much since his mother had turned then been killed. "Do you think they're gonna send us back out there?" he whispered, thinking about how hard of a time they'd had running through the woods to get away from walkers and other threats. He'd honestly rather be a prisoner. At least he knew where he stood as a prisoner. Knew where the danger came from. Out there, he could barely close his eyes without worrying that the breeze against his skin was the rasping breath of an undead creature preparing to take a bite out of him.

Sasha pinched her lips tight. "I really hope not. Especially not if they're gonna keep our weapons." Her eyes shot to Tyrese at this. She still blamed him for the loss of their guns and knives even though they'd really had no choice. They'd been surrounded, boxed in, and outgunned.

"Maybe we can ask that Carol woman the next time we see her," Conroy suggested.

"Or you could ask me."

Sasha's head shot up at the gravely voice she'd never heard before. She cursed under her breath. Shit. How many people actually lived here. She'd seen about four and now someone else with a dark woman at his side.

"And who the hell are you?" She asked, injecting as much bravado into her voice as she could, willing it not to shake. She suspected she was finally being introduced to the leader of this little gang.

"Rick Grimes," he said with something close to a smile. The woman at his side just stood with her hands on her hips, looking bored. "I took care of one or two things today so figured I should finish up a few other…chores." His eyes shifted around the tattered looking people trapped behind the bars as he uttered the words.

Conroy shuddered, hoping that by 'took care' this Rick Grmes character meant something like passing out foot massages and not what he associated with Al Capone and a few zoot suits.

"Where're you taking me?" Shane demanded, his voice low. He couldn't seem to make it louder. "Ya'll gon' kill me? Is that it?"

Daryl shook him hard, wanting him to shut up. T-Dogg stood at their backs with a gun. They'd been careful to cuff Shane up before they dragged him out of solitary, blind folding him and putting away their weapons so they were out of reach should he decide to try and attack them.

"Why'd ya'll keep me locked up so long if you were just gonna kill me?" his voice broke. He wished it hadn't but it did. "Can I see Rick before…can I…my daughter?"

He was thrown forward, his knees slamming hard into the floor. He felt the cuffs clicked off his wrist and another cell door was shut behind him.

Shane pounded his fists against his head as he listened to them walk away. He wanted to die. Had they just moved him to another cell to mess with his mind. Had they-

His frenzied thoughts cutt off when he heard a sharp intake of breath, then they high pitched cry of a child. He stumbled up to his feet, ripping the blindfold from his eyes and nearly collapsed right back down to the floor. He blinked around at the cell, light from a window about ten feet away stabbing right into his soul. He took hesitant steps forward, afraid that his mind had finally broke in that dark pit called solitary.

The crib shone like a white beacon against the dreary, gray concrete floor of the prison cell.

"What the hell do you mean by this, brother?" he asked, almost afraid to touch the child. "After what I did to you, what the hell?"

Rick dug a furrow in the ground, hoping to have it ready for some corn seeds Daryl had found. He heard her before he saw her.

"Hey, woman," he said, standing up with a little grin when he caught the annoyed expression on her face.

"You'll call me Michonne or nothin' at all if you want to keep all your little man bits," she spat with a sharp little smirk to soften the blow. "I was about to take Carl out for some more shootin' lessons if you want to come."

He shook his head. "Nah, you're not so bad a shot that you always need me around."

She glared and threw something at him. She always seemed to have something on hand to chuck at him if she wasn't close enough to hit him.

"I'm sure he'll learn to shoot within at least a foot o' the target," he teased.

Their banter was interrupted by Carol appearing from the direction of the rain collection barrels. Her lips were thinned in a grim line, but she always seemed to look that way after the death of her daughter. Unless Axel was around, of course. He seemed to get under her skin in a way no one else could.

"I really hope you're doing the right thing," she muttered, looking to the fence where Conroy and Tyrese had taken up some of the work of keeping the interested walkers at bay. "With them and with Shane. I find it hard to trust any of 'em."

"Well, I trust them a whole lot more than I trust Shane," Rick said, gesturing to the new members of their group. "At least none of them has tried to kill me yet."

Michonne barked an amused laugh and Carol shook her head.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"I've had a bad feeling about everythang since I woke up from my coma and found the dead didn't stay quite so dead anymore," Rick said. "If we just go around killin' everybody we don't trust, what exactly are we even livin' for?"

The women on each side of him shook their heads and shrugged, neither having an answer for him.

He sighed, running a hand through his brown hair. "I really hope I'm doin' the right thang too."