Following Carl and Hershel into the prison, I nearly run into my dad. "Is he dead?" I ask him right off the bat. He holds my arms, looks me over like he always does after I've been away for over five seconds, and says no. I readjust the strap of my duffel bag. "You goin' after 'em?"
"Looks like it. We'll talk in a minute, 'kay?" He passes me, goes out the door, to get some of the bags from the vehicles so we all can move back in and fill this empty place up again. I scan the dining room, expecting some sort of good feeling to at least creep in on me, but I end up biting into my cheek. Because the Governor was in here. In my space. Where my uncle –
"No, he drew on us!"
Over to my right, Carl's standing with Hershel and Rick. I don't have to wonder about what they're discussing. I move closer as Rick takes Carl's shoulder and says, "I'm sorry you had to do that."
"It's what I was there for." Carl steps back. "I'm going with you."
To Woodbury? He must mean Woodbury. And now I find myself brushing past him. "Can I talk to you?" I mutter without stopping. But I was trying to mimic the tone my mother used to use when she was pretending to ask a question but really telling you to do something, and I must have done a good job, because I hear Carl following behind me as I walk away.
When I reach my cell, I don't waste time. I drop my bag and bow and arrows on the sad bare bed and turn right to Carl. I only have to look at him.
"I had to do it," he says simply.
"No. You didn't."
He looks annoyed. "He had a gun –"
"That he was handing over," I hiss, getting close to him, trying to get his attention without drawing anyone else's.
"He could've been dangerous."
"Don't bullshit me! I was there! The guy was scared as hell and you shot him down!"
His face says he thinks I'm crazy. His bag slides from his shoulder and thumps loudly on the floor. "I couldn't take the chance!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Ask Dale! Or Merle!"
I stare at him.
"Oh, wait, you can't. They're dead . . . Sydney, we didn't kill the walker we saw in the swamps, and it killed Dale."
Is he really . . . ? Don't do this, Carl. Please don't.
But he's stepping closer. "And Merle –"
"Don't –"
"My dad left the Governor alive, and he killed Merle –"
"Don't act like you give a damn about Merle! You never cared about him!"
"And you did? The last thing you said to him was that you wish he had died!"
It's like Carl's hit me in the gut. Or, how I imagine it would be. Only maybe worse. Yes, worse. I shuffle my feet back, watching him the way I would watch a copperhead in the woods. No, no. I wouldn't feel any disgust towards the copperhead. Carl's panting, like he was back in the forest, right before he gunned down the boy. He even has the same expression on, almost. Shocked, not sure what just happened was real. Only this time, this time I know I see a speck of sorry in there, right? I must.
But he doesn't say it.
I need to speak. I need to speak, I can't let him think he –
"You're not going to Woodbury."
"What?"
"You're not going to Woodbury."
He blinks. "That's-that's not your call."
I breeze past him now. As I go, I whisper, "I'll make it mine."
I find Rick outside, next to the truck, and he's looking up at the catwalk. I come up beside him and follow his eyes, but I don't see anything or anyone up there. When I check him again, he's watching the ground. So I talk.
"Rick?"
"Yeah?"
I shake my head. "You shouldn't let Carl go to Woodbury." But that's not good enough. I swallow. "Don't let him."
Rick turns his whole body towards me. I do the same with him, straightening my back, resting my hand inside my bow. "Hershel told you what happened? What Carl did?"
". . . Yeah. Yeah, he told me."
And I can tell by his face that Hershel said exactly what he should've. The truth, I mean. Rick's trying to hide it, how he feels about the whole thing, but I can see it, I can see what's clumping up in his chest right now. Maybe because I'm probably feeling close to the same thing. I duck my head, watch my boot scuff the asphalt. "Carl . . . Carl's my best friend. And I . . . Look, he's a good fighter." And can I say this? Can I say this to Rick? But now I'm thinking about Carl and how he looked back inside, what he said to me and why he said it, and I think I have to keep going. "His head's not where it should be. He's . . . he's . . ." Cold. Hard. Scaring me. I'm struggling, I know. "Rick, haven't you noticed something?" I finally say, a little desperately.
He doesn't answer for a long time. The lump in his throat, the Adam's apple, it moves around a lot. And then he says, "Yeah, Sydney, I have."
"So you agree with me?"
His eyes are on the catwalk again. Then they're not. He nods without meeting my gaze, little fast nods. "Carl won't go to Woodbury."
Relief floods through me. I almost say thank you, but it doesn't seem right. So I just return his nod.
. . . . .
Carl's pouting over on the bleachers later, when the second part of my who-goes-to-Woodbury plan hits me. I swear I didn't give it any thought until Glenn said he and Maggie would stay at the prison. But now it seems like the only thing that makes sense.
"We don't know where the Governor is," Glenn's explaining to Rick, who's just returned to the truck after talking to Carl, while my mind starts whirring. "If he comes back, we'll hold him off."
"Just the three of us?" Dad says. He means him and Rick and Michonne. Three. Only three.
And then my dad's putting a gun over his back and saying alright like this is no big deal when my thoughts hit my tongue and I say, "I should go."
Dad freezes. "No," he says at the same time as Rick. Then he starts to move again, as if that's that. But it ain't.
"Listen to me."
Which is not the kind of thing I often say to my dad. Gets him to stop moving, though, gets him to meet my eyes. I take a deep breath. "Three people goin' after the Governor and his people is crazy. I'm a good shot with a bow, Dad, you know I am. An extra person could make a difference."
"Sydney, you're eleven."
"And you told me you didn't want Carl to go," says Rick, sounding almost accusing. My eyes go to him.
"Yeah. And you know why. I still don't think we should bring him. But it makes sense to bring me." I feel oddly calm, which is good, I guess. I'm making an argument my mother would be proud of, I think. "I have a level head, I've seen the inside of Woodbury . . ." I turn to my dad. "And I'm a good hunter."
Several long seconds go by, the only sound coming from the walkers on the other side of the fence and a heavy exhale from Rick, which is followed by, "Daryl, it's your call."
Dad, he hasn't looked away from me once. I feel like his eyes might actually burn a hole through my body before long. But now he's jerking his head to his right. "Let's talk for a minute."
I follow him around the truck, over to the motorcycle, where he crouches down and eyes the thing for a minute before looking at me. I'm still short, but when he's lowered down like this, I'm way above his eye level. I really am growing, I guess.
"Sydney," he says, and then he stops for a long time. His eyes keep going back to the motorcycle even as mine do their best to avoid it. When he talks again, he has that same tight voice he had in Woodbury when he got me back. The voice he had when he told me how my uncle died. "Baby girl, everything you said made sense, I'll give ya that. But I can't let you come."
"Dad –"
"Where you think I'd be if somethin' happened to you? Huh? Especially now –" He clears his throat, looks past me, and my dad's eyes are red again and now mine are getting blurry but no, I can't do this right now.
"Dad," I say. Steadily. "Somethin' could happen to me every day."
"Don't mean you should go chargin' after a psychopath!"
"It's not like I'll be alone." My throat hurts. Damn, damn, damn . . . I need to get through this though, I need to. And I'm going to have to talk about it, I think. I think it might be the only way Dad'll let me go. And I need to go to Woodbury. "Dad," I force out, "You heard what I said to him."
He doesn't have to ask who I mean. He looks at the sky, teeth tight together. "Sydney –"
"I told him he shoulda died."
"In Atlanta!"
"It don't matter!" I look at him right in the eye, as hard as he was looking at me a minute ago. "I can't take it back. And I can't make it right, neither." And that's the first time I've admitted that to anyone, myself included, and it's like getting hit in the gut for a second time but I clench my fists and go on. "But I can help put the Governor down. That's what I can do. Dad . . . I gotta do this."
I almost add please but don't. I'm not begging. I'm convincing.
Dad, he rubs his eyes. Or wipes them. I'm not sure. He leaves his fingers digging into his sockets for a long time. Then he says okay.
"Okay?"
He looks up. He grabs my arms and pulls me to him, takes my head in his hands. "Nothin' happens to you. You hear me?"
"I'll be careful, Dad."
He clasps the side of my face and we stay like that for a moment before he hugs me, quickly but tightly, almost painfully. And then he lets me go. "C'mon," he says, clearing his throat again. "You're ridin' with me."
And so, as Dad calls out to Rick and Michonne, I hook my bow on the back of the motorcycle. The motorcycle, the motorcycle. I climb onto it after Dad and try to remember how much I used to love riding the thing, but that just hurts, and so I stop that. Michonne and Rick get in the truck and Carol and Beth start taking out walkers near the gate for us. Carol sees me and her lips thin up and her eyes get all worried but she doesn't say anything. And as Maggie and Glenn open the gate itself, and just before the motorcycle gets us out of here, I have to glance over at Carl, I have to. He's gotten up from the bleachers. He's watching me and me alone. His mouth is wide open. And even from here, and even with him wearing his hat, I can see the hurt on his face.
And the anger.
Then the motorcycle revs and we're heading to Woodbury.
