Dale
"Dale?" The whisper made Dale move his head up slightly off the cold metal slab that was the town's prison cell. He and the rest of the men were packed into one, trying to catch some sleep. Well, he and the rest of the white men. T-Dog and Glenn had been taken somewhere else. He had no idea where. He had no idea if they were even alive. The woman had been taken to the houses by the invaders. He had a sinking feeling he knew what for. The children, Miao and Morgan hadn't been seen. He hoped that Morgan had taken them and hidden them somewhere. He squinted into the dark.
"Dale, you awake?" The shadow at the bars shifted a little into the light and Andreas pale face was highlighted in the moonlight, a fresh bruise blooming on her cheek. Dale glanced over at Rick and Daryl. Rick, Ben and Craig were asleep, their heavy breathing clear. As for Daryl, he sat perched on the end of the bed. His eyes were still open, red rimmed and watery, his knees drawn up to his chest, his hand to his mouth, chewing on a hangnail. He'd been in the same position since they'd thrown them into the cell, since he'd been able to recover enough from the punch to his solar plexus to breathe without wincing. Even if he was awake, he didn't see anything. Dale moved to his feet slowly and moved to the bars, grasping Andreas hand tightly. She clasped it in both her hands and kissed it repeatedly.
"Are you ok? They haven't hurt you have they?" She trailed off. Dale placed a hand on the bruise Merle Dixon had laid on her when she had tried to pull him off T-Dog.
"I'm fine. Rick's ok. Daryl's..." he paused. "I don't know."
"Oh Dale!" Andrea's cheek suddenly became damp, and Dale knew she was crying. "They're all pig drunk, passed out in the bar. They made us serve them beer after beer, after whiskey. They grabbed us and told us to put up with it or they'd...they'd kill you." She was shaking now, and Dale could feel the anger radiating off her. "Dale they've got the keys to this cell and to the house T-Dog and Glenn are in. Merle's going crazy, talking about burning T-Dog at the stake, saying he's turned Daryl against him. Frank's got him permanently high up on something and he's just crazy. I don't know what to do Dale. What do I do?"
Dale reached through the bar and stroked Andrea's hair. "We just need to keep a level head ok. We'll figure something out. For now, you just keep your head down. Don't do anything stupid. Don't be rash. And don't tell them about the children or Miao and Morgan. Do you think you can get the message to T-Dog? I know he must be crazy with worry, but their best bet is to stay hidden." He paused, trying to think.
"Dale?" Andrea's hand tightened on his. "I tried to find the key to the cell, but...I don't know which of those bastards has it. They kept switching it around. I can try to get it off them whilst they're passed out..."
"No!" Dale spoke louder than he intended and he saw Daryl twitch slightly out of the corner of his eye. Composing himself, he lowered his voice again. "You do not take risks. You saw what they did to Glenn. You saw how they dealt with T-Dog and Daryl. We need to play this carefully. Same way we did the Governor and the prison." Andrea shook her head.
"We didn't play that Dale. Walkers came. And they're getting close to here as well. We need to move, we need to do something..."
A noise from outside the jail made them both start. Dale kissed Andreas hand and let go, pushing her hands through the bar.
"Go, go. You've got to go now." Andrea moved away from the bars, and to the door, never taking her eyes off him. She slipped through the door and was gone. Dale stood up stiffly and made his way back to the bed. Daryl was still sat in the same position, and the others were still asleep. He sat himself down by Daryl and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Daryl? Son?" Daryl didn't respond. He kept on staring unblinking. "Daryl. You need to sleep. You'll think better when you're rested." It was like talking to a statue. He tried to think of something, anything, to get a response. "Maybe, maybe she's not dead. You can't give up on her. She's a tough one. She could still be out there. Maybe she's..."
"Did you see the blood?" Daryl interrupted, his voice flat and monotone. Dale shook his head. "Fuckin' blood ev'ywhere old man. On th' floor, on th' walls. Ai knew it was hers. Soon as ai walked into the town. An when Merle come walking in, covered in blood, ai knew he done it." He placed his head in his hands and breathed deeply. "Ya don't die from a gut wound. Ya die from blood loss." He fell silent, but Dale knew what he meant. Georgie had lost a lot of blood inside the walls. Merle had dragged her out to the woods, still heavily bleeding. He had come back with blood covering him almost from head to toe. Georgie had lost a substantial amount of blood. The implication was clear. Dale didn't know what to say. He shook his head and tried to clear his mind, to think of something that would snap Daryl out of it, clear his mind just for the moment, just whilst they needed every man that was available, just until they were safe. But nothing came. He knew Daryl was right, and he couldn't begrudge him his grief. He just wished he could postpone it a little. He lay himself down and tried to get some sort of sleep.