A few days later, Daryl shrugged on his token leather vest as he eyed the clock precariously propped against the corner. Bella constantly nagged him to hang it up, but he saw no reason why it should be a priority. A sliver of the morning sun peeked through the curtains and highlighted the number seven. Most of the prison should still be asleep, but Daryl was never the one to wake up late. He had heard someone – probably Rick – also shuffle out earlier.
He'd get breakfast, he supposed. Check out the pantry – maybe find an apple to spare.
Crack
Daryl froze, one hand hovering over his shoulder.
Crack
Crack
Like a horse slapped on his hide, Daryl lunged for his crossbow, heart in his throat. He was out of his cell in a heartbeat, and he rushed passed Bella and June's cell. He could hear frantic movements inside, and he passed several people in various states as they similarly were gathering their weapons and clothes. The gunshots were far off – not here – so Daryl didn't waste time checking on the people here.
He could hear people stumbling after him as he ran out of the cell block. Glancing around he saw it was Sasha, Tyreese, and a few others behind him – all in various states of undress. Wearing pajamas and wielding assorted weapons, they were quite a sight. The metal steps beneath him rattled as he stormed down.
Agitated shouting met his ears, and he saw Rick and Glenn already outside rushing towards cell block D. Rick was like a thunderstorm as he boomed out, "What about C?"
"Clear," shouted back Daryl. "It ain't a breach."
Sasha sped past him wearing bunny pajama pants as she yelled out, "We follow the plan!"
He heard the screams before even entering the cell block. Running in, he barely made sense of the chaos. All he saw were the bodies along the floors, bright red blood making it slick and slippery.
First thing was to grab the gun from Simon. While Simon may have saved a few people with it, Daryl knew that the man wasn't the best to trust with a gun. Also, if they all heard the gunshots all the way from cell block C, walkers must already be trudging there way over.
He shoved the gun in Rick's hands as he sped to the back. "Get in the cells," Daryl bellowed. He grabbed a screaming kid – Max – and shoved him into Karen's arms. "Get in!"
A walker – strange how Daryl automatically doesn't think of it as Brian anymore – lunged towards him, but a familiar white arrow embedded itself in the walker's skull. Daryl didn't need to turn around to know that Bella had also arrived. Instead, he pushed on in, dispatching walkers with his crossbow and shoving people into cells as he went.
He saw Carol grab Lizzie and Mikka and made sure they made it to a cell safely. Briefly scanning around, he saw a flash of Bella's wild dark hair up the stairs. Glenn and Sasha were hitting the stragglers. Rick's voice boomed across. "Check all of 'em - every cell!
Not a minute later, there was noticeably less people on the floor. They were either huddled in the cells or escorted out of the block. "Are we clear down here?" shouted Rick.
Daryl called out, "Clear," the same time he heard Bella's voice from above. "Up here!"
Immediately, Daryl rushed up the stairs, his crossbow in one hand. He tried not to look at the face of a prone body that greeted him. Josie,he thought but quickly shoved it in the back of his mind. He saw Bella at the end where she was assessing the cells. Daryl let out a breath that felt like he had been holding ever since he heard the first gunshot. Taking a deep inhale, he headed down the other end.
But a loud, metallic bang met his ears. He whirled around, crossbow at the ready, as he saw Bella being shoved against the wall by a walker. It was snapping at her inches away from her face and had her pinned down, causing her to be unable to grab any of her weapons. He hardly thought as he shouted, "Get down."
The walker fell gracelessly as Bella slid down. He scanned her quickly for any injuries as he immediately grabbed her hand and pulled her up. She was out of breath and her hair was sticking out all over the place. Wearing only a large t-shirt and combat boots, it was clear she had simply thrown on shoes on her way over. Besides some streaks of dirt on her bare legs and flecks of blood on her face, she appeared otherwise unharmed.
"Thanks," she wheezed out, unnecessarily.
Rick brushed passed them. The three looked down at the walker Daryl just shot.
Even with blood covering most of his young face, he was instantly recognizable. Daryl sighed as he scanned over the cell block. "Man. It's Patrick. It's all of them."
Bella also glanced over the railing, her expression already stoic. Daryl could see the crease on her forehead. "It's clear down below," she called out. "Someone get Hershel, Dr. S, and anybody else on the med team."
Without further prompting, Bella began heading down the cells, embedding her knife in the bodies' heads with a detachment. Rick and Daryl joined her, the three of them silent.
Soon there were only two cells left. Rick glanced inside one of them before looking back at Daryl with a heaviness that could only mean there was a body in there. Daryl nodded back at Rick, knowing this was something the man needed to do. With a weight on his shoulders, Rick entered the cell.
Daryl bent down as he cocked his crossbow, feeling the heavy resistance in the string as he snapped it in place. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up, seeing Bella, her face pale and solemn.
He sighed, but then his eyes strayed toward her arm. Frowning, he put a hand on top of hers, grabbing it as he stood up. Daryl flipped her arm over, revealing flecks of red and purple already blooming all over the inside of her forearm.
She answered his unspoken question, her eyes methodical as they scanned her arm. She spoke quietly. "Didn't have time to grab my arm guard."
Rick then emerged from the cell, his blade glistening red. He flicked it, causing the blood to splatter against the ground garishly.
A loud bang interrupted the heavy silence that filled the cell block.
The three looked behind Rick at the remaining cell, where a walker was snarling and reaching for them futilely through the bars.
Rick killed it automatically. They walked over, revealing Charlie. Bella opened the cell door, looking down at the trails of blood that were streaking down Charlie's face. His cloudy grey eyes clashed against the ruby red.
Hershel and Dr. S joined the three as they analyzed his body.
"No wounds. No bites." Rick glanced up from where he was squatting besides Charlie. "I think he just died."
"Pleurisy aspiration," answered Dr. S, voice quiet.
"Choked to death on his own blood," explained Hershel at Bella's inquiring look. The two of them were leaning against the cell's door way while the other three were over the body.
"I've seen them on walkers outside the gates," mused Rick.
Daryl added, "They were on Patrick."
"They're from internal lung pressure," explained Dr. S. "Like shaking a soda can and popping the top. Except imagine instead it's your eyes, nose, and throat. This is most likely an aggressive flu strain."
Daryl grimaced. "Hell, Charlie was just eatin' barbeque yesterday. How can somebody die in a day from a cold?"
"I had a pig that died quick," offered Rick. "And I saw a boar in the woods."
Dr S. sighed as he stood up. "Maybe these two cases are it."
"Disease thrives in small spaces." Daryl looked towards Bella, who was frowning at the body, concern lacing her voice. "These cells are as small as it gets."
Hershel then spoke, voice heavy with meaning. "All of us here – we've all been exposed."
"This sickness is lethal, and we don't know how this sickness spreads." Hershel looked at all of them, his eyes solemn. "Is there anyone else that we know of who is showing symptoms?"
The council consisted of Hershel, Glenn, Sasha, Carol, Bella, and Daryl. It was established not long after Woodbury joined when it was clear some sort of leadership was necessary, especially after Rick stepped down. Daryl would've never thought he'd be leading a community, but it was almost natural. Before the council was even thought of, he was always up at the front giving orders and input.
It was different – not having Rick call the shots. Before, there was no question about Rick's commands. He said the word, and everybody would do it. But now, the need for quick, on-the-spot demands weren't necessary in the prison. They were now able to just sit and collaborate.
It was different, but it worked.
"We can't just wait," interjected Carol. Carol's position in the council didn't happen immediately. Initially, she just offered advice, but then her capability and natural instincts soon became clear. "There's children. It's not only the illness. When people die, they become a threat."
"We still need a place for them to go. Cell block D is too dangerous right now," responded Bella. She was leaning against the wall, farther away from the group. Daryl tried not to stare. If he was being honest, he's never seen her this bare before. He wasn't being a teenage boy about it. It's just that what kept catching his eye were her tattoos. He's only ever really seen the ones on her arms – the spiraling vines that began at her bicep and curled up to her shoulder and the thin, black bands on her forearm. But now he could see the flowers that were blooming on her thigh.
It was mostly covered by her black t-shirt – the council meeting had started as soon as they left the cell block, so Bella and Sasha were still wearing their respective sleepwear. So, he could only see the ends of the thin, black lines that marked her outer thigh. The lines were so thin that they didn't catch the eye right away. Subtle, yet graceful.
He forced himself to look away.
"Cell block A?" offered Carol.
"I'll help Caleb set it up," sighed Hershel.
Coughing interrupted the conversation. Immediately, everyone tensed as the coughing echoed down the steel halls.
Without a word, they all stood up and headed out of the makeshift council room.
Daryl saw that Tyreese was gently guiding Karen down the hall towards cell block D. When the whole council came out, Tyreese looked up, surprise evident.
"You alright, Karen?" asked Carol. "You don't sound so good."
"She's alright," shrugged Tyreese, his arm protectively around her. "Just takin' her back to my cell to get some rest. Why?"
The group hesitated. Bella was the one who responded gently, "We think there's a flu going around. That's how Patrick died."
Hershel stepped up when the alarm on the couple's faces became visible. "Don't panic. We're going to figure this out, but we should keep you two separated. Dr. S. can take a look at you, and I'll look at the meds."
Karen had her arms crossed, and she was shifting anxiously. But her voice was steady when she said, "David has also been coughing."
Sasha, Glenn, and Carol left to set up Cell Block A, taking Karen with them.
"I'll start burying the dead," sighed Bella. She tugged on her hair, twisting a strand around a finger.
"I'll come with you," said Daryl, hoisting his crossbow over his shoulder.
"Wear masks," ordered Hershel. "We don't want you two catching whatever this is."
When it was just the two of them left in the hall, Bella sighed. "I'm gonna go get dressed first."
Daryl nodded. "Alright. Meet you out there." He scanned her face. She was tapping her arm, as if she was playing the piano. "You good?"
"Yeah," she sighed. "Just gotta tell June." She looked up at him, her green eyes meeting his. "Are you alright?"
He shrugged halfheartedly, briefly allowing his exhaustion to seep through. "Gotta be."
Bella walked slowly back to cell block C, her fingertips trailing the cool, steel walls. This whole thing was fucked, she thought. Everything they fought for and every measure that they took here was to prevent whatever happened today. It seemed as if everything they tried to lock out had found its way in. It had been good – even great.The original group had made so much progress. No more constant fear or hunger to greet them every morning. She could wake up knowing June was there, and she could go to sleep that night knowing they'd all be safe.
The fear and hunger had been replaced with joy and peace. But now here they were, with at least a dozen – and maybe more – gone.
When she reached a familiar gate, she gripped the bars as she called out, "June!"
Almost immediately, she heard light footsteps from cell block C. Bella stood at the doorway that led to the common space, which in turn led to the cell block. When she saw June appear at the other gate she immediately ordered, "June, stop. Don't come here."
The younger girl looked at her perplexed, the relief that was on her face slowly morphing into worry. June warily stepped forward, her hand also gripping a bar. Concern tinged her voice "How come? Are you alright?"
"I'm alright," she promised. She squinted at her daughter from all the way across the room. June had let her curls loose today. "We think that a flu is going around. Everyone who's been in Cell Block D has been exposed, and we need to separate those who have."
"Oh." June was quiet for a moment. "When can y'all come back?"
Her directness and lack of visible concern amused Bella. She always assumes June will be frantic or worried. And while she may be, June has a control over her emotion that shows her growing maturity. She used to beg Bella not to leave her – at the water tower, at the farm, and even before when Bella had to leave her with a babysitter to head to her late-night shift. But now, June takes it in stride with a bravery that makes Bella proud. And a little bit sad.
"Not sure," replied Bella. "Whenever this blows over – soon, hopefully. If this gets worse, we might need to go on a run for any meds we can find." That meant their situation would be precarious – something Bella knew June was well aware of. Bella tended to be honest about the council's day-to-day concerns. One of which was the fact that they had already scavenged every nearby pharmacy.
What should've been a ten-minute conversation – a quick update and clothing retrieval – ended up lasting for the better of an hour. They both had ended up sitting down, separated by gated doors and a huge room. The conversation moved onto preparations for the quarantine, to Carl and Judith, to how June's newest hobby – painting – was going.
It comforted Bella to just simply talk to her, even if they could barely see one another.
She leaned her head against the cool, steel rod during a lull in the conversation. June had recently placed some clothes in the middle of the room, which Bella in turn had grabbed. She had the clothes in her lap, and she knew she had to leave soon.
June sensed that. She interrupted the silence, as she hesitatingly said, "Don't get sick on me, okay?"
"I'll be fine," Bella promised. "I'll see you soon."
Bella really did mean that promise. She meant it when she fell asleep restlessly that night. She still meant it when she woke up the next day with a tender ache in her temple – stress, most likely, she thought. She meant it when that small ache spread to the rest of the body until she felt her muscles groan with discomfort with every movement.
But when the council reconvened at noon, that ache laid way to a new and telltale symptom that she couldn't ignore – a small, slowly growing tickle in her throat.
It was small, something that she could swallow down for now. But as she heard Hershel and Daryl plan the day's run to a veterinary college over fifty miles away, she knew she couldn't ignore it. Her denial would be deadly to them.
Within a day, she remembered.
By the end of the meeting, where Daryl and Michonne agreed to lead the run, the pain in her head had evolved into dizziness. The lights streaming through the windows were a bit too bright, and everything moved a bit too slow.
As the group trickled out at the end of the meeting, she slowed to a stop in the hallway as the whole world slanted.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she propped herself up against the wall with one arm.
But of course, Daryl had stuck around to wait for her. She hadn't said anything for most of the meeting, so he probably assumed she would be going with him and Michonne.
"Bella?" The alarm in his voice was palpable. "Hey, look at me."
She saw him reach for her. Bella flinched, as if he was the one that caught a lethal infection. "Don't touch," she admonished.
He hesitated, his hand lowered but still slightly outreached. Still, he didn't move back even though it was clear what was ailing her.
As if to make it more explicit, the cough that she had been holding back burst out of her. And man, did it hurt like a bitch. It was as if her lungs were made of sandpaper, and with every cough or breath, she could feel them grating against each other.
The racking that was coursing through her and her lightheadedness brought her to her knees. As if tied together, Daryl moved down also, till she was sitting with her head between her knees and he was squatting a yard away from her.
"Go away," she muttered as they pain faded once more into a full ache. She turned her head, so that it still rested on her knees, but she was now able to see him. His head was cocked as he analyzed her, his hand brought up to his mouth as he anxiously rubbed his jaw.
"Let me get you to Doc," he insisted, already leaning forward.
She snorted lightly, gracing him with a weak smile. She could see his concern, and although it was well-intended, it was not what either of them needed. "Piss off."
He grimaced, and she interrupted him before he could protest. "I can get there myself. You still have a more important job to do."
The light was shining in, causing everything to be hues of yellows and oranges. It was a calming effect, but it did little to comfort Daryl. "Y'take care of yourself. I'll be back soon, alright?"
Bella pushed herself up, grateful that her sudden vertigo had temporarily been abated. But her body still ached like hell.
She looked towards Daryl, who had stood up beside her. She smiled up at him, the corners of her mouth lifting up subtly. It was strange. She didn't feel worried or remotely stressed about this. Because Daryl will be back, and everything will be okay.
He clearly didn't share her faith. The way he was frowning, and how his fist was clenched beside him, as if he wanted to physically fight off her symptoms. It didn't worry her – quite the opposite, in fact.
"I'll be fine," she promised, once again.
Daryl couldn't will Bella to be okay. He couldn't make her symptoms magically disappear. But he could do something about it. Channeling his worry into something more productive, he focused on the job.
The drive to the college gave him time to calm down. He was supposed to lead this thing, so he will. He wasn't going to let his doubts and worries get the better of him – not with Bella and the others' lives on the line.
Still, his hand was still gripping the wheel a bit too hard, and he may have been driving a bit too fast.
But a scratchy, static noise suddenly filled up the beat-up car. He and Michonne shared a startled glance.
"K-Keep…. Alive."
Bob, who sat in the back, leaned forward. His shock was audible as he exclaimed, "Is that somebody?"
"Keep Alive….. T- … -inus."
Daryl didn't bother with a response. Instead, with his free hand, he toggled with the radio's knob as he tried to gain a clearer signal.
"Terminus."
The car suddenly jolted as it ran headlong into an equally unsuspecting walker. It flew off toward the side, revealing more walkers lumbering around the road.
Daryl swore as he jerked the steering wheel to the left. "Hold on," he shouted as he straightened the wheel back, narrowly avoiding completely flying off the road.
Not that the road was any better. A small herd completely blocked off the route, and he barely managed to stomp on the brakes in time. He immediately put the car in reverse, but the dreaded noise of a car stuck on a pile of flesh and bodies met their ears. It wasn't long before the thuds of walkers hitting the side of the car joined.
"We have to go," ordered Michonne, as she kicked the passenger door open with her katana already halfway out.
Bob and Daryl didn't protest. Daryl lunged for his crossbow on the passenger floor while he heard the sharp twang of Michonne's blade and the loud pops of Bob's gun.
He shoved against the car's sunroof, popping it off as he immediately stood up, a bolt hitting its mark on a walker that was closing in on Michonne. He hopped over the car's roof, feel000ing the hot metal underneath his hand. Heart pumping and skin tingling, he chucked his knife at a walker that reached too close for his liking. Sliding down onto the car's hood, he yanked his knife out of its skull while kicking another one away.
He quickly fought his way through, every motion violent and brutal. He didn't hold back when he rammed his crossbow or stabbed his knife into a walker's skull. He didn't hesitate, and he survived.000
Within a minute, he had made his way to the edge of the forest till he was beside Michonne. The walkers were now more focused on Tyreese and Bob, who were still fighting their way over.
With Michonne and Daryl's help, Bob managed to fight his way through the hoard. But the three could only watch as Tyreese fought like a madman against the rest of the walkers.
It was as if Tyreese was goading for them to come, the way he shouted and pummeled them down like a madman and how he wasn't pushing his way forward towards the rest of them. "Go," he roared, "Go."
It was Daryl who pushed the other two into the forest. Their mission went beyond the four of them. He thought about the Bella and the prison waiting – relying – on them bringing back the medicine. The thought of them not surviving because of him made him feel like he was suffocating.
So, he left Tyreese behind, honestly believing that he wouldn't see him again.
It was a relief to be proved wrong when Tyreese stumbled through the treeline after them, covered in guts but alive.
Bella rested her head on the railing, taking small comfort in the cool metal pressing against her hot skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed, emphasizing every cough and moan that echoed throughout death row. She could hear Hershel's 0steady cadence from down below as he assisted another patient. That brave, reckless man was truly something to behold.
Shuffling, tired steps interrupted her thoughts, followed by the sound of someone heavily sitting down beside her. Her head rocked to the side, still on the rail as she looked back at an equally shitty-looking Glenn.
She simply just raised her eyebrows, not bothering going through the effort of saying anything. He understood and just gave a weak, one-armed shrug that reminded her a bit of someone else.
After a bit, she asked, "How's Hershel holding up?"
Glenn snorted. His face had a sheen of sweat. "He's gonna outlive us all."
Gallows humor did not suit Glenn one bit. Glenn continued hesitatingly, saying what Bella was thinking of just before he came, "They were supposed to be back tonight."
Bella bit her lip. It was midnight, and the darkness laid heavy over the block. It reminded her of those old films that took place during a time when the world ran on coal. Suffocating and blinding.
Bella felt like she could practically feel - smell – the sickness. She supposed she was thankful for the cold that radiated from the metal walls. She couldn't help but think that the cold was somehow preventing the disease from festering. It numbed her.
"They'll be back," assured Bella. "Nothing will stop them." Nothing would stop Daryl.
"I don't doubt they will," spoke Glenn after a coughing fit, which sounded both dry and wet. "But I don't know if we'll be strong enough to be here for them."
The frustration in Daryl slowly grew with every hour. It was like an itch in his chest that needed release. From the moment the group realized they didn't have a car, when they realized that they would have to stop for the night – a whole fucking night, and when they realized that before they could do anything, they first had to find a goddamn car.
Through this, he hardly acted on his mounting anger. His self-control has grown remarkably these past few months alone. Ever since people started relying on him to bring them back home safe and alive, it became less about him. It didn't matter whatever the hell he thought as long as he got the people home. Instead of fussing about it, he directed all his focus on the problem at hand. Currently, that was trekking to the nearest town in hopes of finding a car. But what nearly set him over the edge was Tyreese's heated and blunt declaration.
"We lost a night," he had grunted. "Glenn, Bella – everyone who got sick are long gone."
Daryl's fist had clenched, and Michonne glanced at him warily. The two had walked on up ahead towards the town when Tyreese spoke. He inhaled deeply, refusing to glance back at the man who had recently lost so much.
So, he kept walking without a backward glance. Instead, his eye caught a flash of color along the ground.
Squatting down, he grabbed the object – no bigger than his thumb – and held it up to the sun. A light, pale blue with a jade-green tinge, the stone seemed to be glowing from the sun's rays.
"Is that jasper?" Asked Michonne, a small smile appearing.
He grunted in confirmation as he stood up while running away some of the dirt off of its surface.
"It brings out your eyes," she teased. "Bella will love it."
Daryl didn't glance at her, confirming the stone's meaning. Bella's small rock collection was hardly a secret now, and Michonne was more than observant enough. Instead of replying, he simply gave her a reproachful look as he pocketed the stone.
She simply smiled cheekily. Her shoulders back and head up high, her posture matched the confidence in her voice. "We'll get back and treat them. Bella and Glenn are strong. They'll be there."
A flash of irritation broke through. "I know," he scoffed. Michonne grinned wider. "But not if we just standin' and chattin' all day."
Bella wondered if this cell block was meant to be one of the patients' last punishments on this Earth. It didn't have windows, and she honestly couldn't even tell whether it was day or night. It has been getting harder and harder for her to focus, and time has been escaping her notice. Every minute felt like an hour, but every hour was getting harder to remember.
While Glenn's breathing had become more and more strained and forced – causing Hershel and her to keep a cautious eye on the man – Bella's head felt like a balloon. Like air was being pumped in and sucked out. Sometimes it felt like someone was squeezing hard and trying to get it to pop. The room would spin, and lights would flash across the dark room. She'd do the breathing exercises Hershel taught her and wait for the vertigo spell to end.
This was worse than the concussion, she sulked.
She glanced up pathetically at Hershel when he squatted beside her. He pressed a cold pack to her head, as he tutted, "Why won't you rest on the bed instead of the floor? We can give you some blankets to rest for an hour or so. No need to exert yourself."
How could she say she didn't want to because she was paranoid that if she went into one of those cells, she'd never come out?
Instead, she lightly snorted. "You're one to talk. I haven't seen you get a wink of sleep since you've been here, Hershel." She pushed the cold pack towards him. "Take a nap at least," she insisted. "Everyone's stable for the most part right now, and I can do quick rounds."
He chuckled as he sat down beside her. His eyes were drawn, and his movement were still, but his smile was still there. "Your daughter came up not an hour ago saying the same thing." Seeing Bella's eyes widen at the mention of June, he assured, "I told her you were getting some rest. I think Carl was the one who told her in the first place."
She scowled. No doubt Rick had been the one to tell Carl in the first place. When Bella first started showing symptoms, she figured it would be okay. No need to worry June, so she decided not to tell her. Let June think she was off with Daryl on the run rather than wallowing away in death row.
Now that June knows, part of Bella wanted to go see her. She wanted to talk to her just a little bit, knowing it would instantly make her feel better. But it would alarm June, seeing Bella like this.
"This is a real shitshow," muttered Bella, her voice drawling out tiredly. She glanced up at Hershel, a crease between her eyes. "I don't know how long we can go on. I don't know how long you can go on."
It may have been insulting to say that, but it stemmed from concern and hey, sue her – her filter is gone.
But Hershel wasn't swayed. In fact, he chuckled before saying, "I'm at the prime of my life, Bella. Never felt better."
She smiled, but that quickly transformed into a flinch. Hershel picked up on her grimace and asked, "Getting worse?"
Bella rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, managing out, "It's getting harder to focus." Her voice trailed off a bit before continuing, "Seeing flashes of light and so on."
Hershel considered her, taking care not to react outwardly. "Make sure you're drinking. Dehydration won't help you. And please lie down. Your head seems to be more susceptible to this infection rather than your lungs – maybe from your past concussion. Let me know if you begin to see things – hallucination or disorientation."
Too late, she thought. But she just nodded, too tired to say anything else.
It took them a day to get to this damn veterinary college, but less than an hour to get the meds. Daryl squinted at the last shelf of meds, narrowed eyes quickly scanning the white labels. He was on the edge of his feet. Ready to head back to the prison, he forced himself to read every bottle. This would be all for shit if they didn't bring back something vital for the patients' health all because of carelessness.
Satisfied with his findings, he strode back into the other room where the rest were searching. Hershel was right to assume people wouldn't come here for meds. Most of the shelves were untouched, and the black lab tables were clear and coated with a fine layer of dust. But this place was a college, which meant a lot of people must've been here during the turn. Which meant a whole lot of walkers that they haven't found yet.
"Got everythin'?" he asked.
"Everything," confirmed Tyreese. "Meds, clamps, tubes, and everything else."
"Right. Let's get on outta here, then."
The group left the lab into the dark, empty halls. They did their best to move quiet and carefully. The soft clinks of glass and plastic jangling in their bags echoed down the halls. They were very attentive on preventing any of the instruments they've scavenged from breaking.
He led the group using his flashlight to guide the way. But they approached a door that was hanging precariously on its hinges. He vaguely heard shuffling. Putting his hand up, signaling the rest to freeze. Daryl shined his light through the door's window, revealing a makeshift camp with about a dozen walkers inside.
At his beckoning, the group immediately sped forward past the door, doing their best to keep quiet at hopes of not catching any other bystanders' attentions. Still, the bottles and glass clinked. It made him anxious and well aware of the fragility of their findings.
But not as anxious as the groanings and snarlings that had begun to echo down the hall behind them.
"Did you see them," called out Bob, as their hopes of leaving the college quietly flew out of the window. "They sick as well. Gettin' their blood on us, breathin' them in – they can get us sick."
"We don't fight 'em," shouted Daryl as he turned a corner. "Keep an eye for a way out. Need to get downstairs."
But every stairwell or double doors they passed seemed to be filled to the brim. Most of them were chained off by whoever lived here before, but some managed to stumble out, joining the growing herd behind them.
Daryl ran hard, hearing the others close behind him. But soon they reached the end of the hall. Michonne jangled the door leading to the stairwell, but the sounds of several walkers throwing themselves at the locked door met their ears.
"There's no way out," shouted Bob as the walkers' groans became deafening the more they closed in.
Daryl looked around wildly, his crossbow clenched in his hand. His eyes fell on a narrow window above them. "Then we make one."
He jumped up on top of the window sill as he scanned its edges for any means of opening it.
Hearing Tyreese roar, "Get down," he didn't think twice about it.
Glass shattered beside him as Tyreese chucked a fire extinguisher through the window. Yanking Michonne up, he scanned outside, relieved to see that the walkway below them had a roof. "Jump down to the walkway," he ordered.
After Michonne, he jumped ahead. Bob was the last to make it over. But the man fell hard on his side, causing his bag to precariously hang over to the hungry walkers that were grabbing up at them. Bob was fighting hard to hold on to it, yanking on his bag's straps desperately. The way the walkers were yanking, it looked as if Bob was about to go over with it.
"Just let it go, man," ordered Daryl, as he stepped forward – hands outstretched to yank Bob from over the side.
But with admirable strength, Bob managed to yank his pack over to the walkway's roof, where it clattered to the ground just in front of Daryl with a heavy clang.
A glint in the light emitting from Bob's pack caught Daryl's eyes. He squinted at it, frown deepening as he made out the slender shape of a bottle.
Not believing his eyes – because it had to be some kind of chemical or medicine that they needed – he squatted down and wrapped his hand around the bottle's neck. It was cool to the touch, and the liquor label glared obscenely bright in its red letters.
The calm that settled on Daryl was frightening. The walkers' cacophonous snarls seemed to have faded away as all of the frustration he had stifled away for the sake of the mission coalesced into something more extreme. With the rage he felt towards the man in front of him, Daryl managed to contain some semblance of control.
Looking up at Bob, who had the audacity to look back at him with shame in his eyes, Daryl spoke, voice unnervingly low. "You should've kept walkin' that day."
He still felt the instinctual tick in his hand and the heat in his blood that made him want to lunge forward and hit the man. His breathing became louder as nobody dared say a word. Not a year ago, he would've beaten Bob for this. His lack of control he had back in the day – hell, back in Hershel's farm – lingered in his mind, begging to be released.
But, Daryl didn't just jump instinctively into anything anymore – not when every choice he made had an impact on someone other than him. In this case – like most cases – it was the green-eyed woman who needed the medicine in his pack to live.
Instead of chucking the bottle at the man himself, he turned abruptly, swinging his arm back as he prepared to launch it over the side.
"Wait."
Now, Daryl was already pissed that Bob had prevented him from unleashing his rage in the only way that he can. But the fact that Bob had the fucking audacity to put his hand on the gun that Daryl gave himfor his shitty liquor is what really set him off.
Michonne and Tyreese watched in wary silence as Daryl stormed up to Bob, putting his face just inches away from Bob's. He glared at the man, body as taut as a bow's string as if he was only seconds away from pouncing on Bob.
He breathed out harshly, daring Bob to raise that gun at him – daring him to get a further rise out of Daryl. But Bob just looked down, the shame on his face visible to everyone.
It irritated Daryl further, but brought him down a level. He wasn't going to fight this man, weak as he is.
Instead, he shoved the bottle into Bob's chest, as he growled out, "If you take a single sip before anyone gets these meds, I will pummel you to the ground."
Daryl gave him one last look of disgust before striding past Michonne and Tyreese without another word.
The group – silent with a new heaviness – made their way back with Daryl in the lead. He refused to glance or address Bob, and instead spoke shortly and abruptly to the others when giving out orders.
He yanked the passenger door open of the shitty van and threw himself down into the seat. Eyes straight ahead as he heard the low voices of the other three who were trying to find the quickest and safest way back.
"That herd we ran into takes out the best route," muttered Michonne, a hand on her katana's hilt. "The other options will take at least double the time."
He attempted to drown them out as his frustration – which still hadn't had its time to be released – began to grow. He glared at the little clock on the car's dashboard.
Eighteen hours. At least twelve fucking hours longer than this shitshow of a run should've taken. Patrick had died in less than a day, so every hour now is critical.
Michonne's voice drifted towards Daryl. "Going down here will be at least seven hours."
Pulling out the small, pale green-blue stone from his vest's pocket, he rubbed his thumb against the smooth surface, watching the specks of dirt slowly give way. In the sunlight streaming in, the stone appeared opaque, as if it was softly glowing. The cleaner it got, the brighter it shined. He closed his eyes, settling his head back against the headrest as he felt his heartrate slow down. He felt the stone in his hand slowly warm up as his mind slowly wandered.
Inevitably, he saw Bella in his head from when he last saw her. Pale and dizzy, yet calm and sure. He remembered how she smiled at him. A soft, closed smile but with an upturned corner that comes across as almost teasing – the same way she does every night, right before when they'll see each other again in the morning.
He heard Michonne enter the car, followed by a dull thud of the door closing. It was quiet before she said, "We'll get there in time."
Daryl grunted in response but didn't open his eyes, refusing to let the image fade.
Bella briefly stumbled up the stairs, using both hands on the rails to guide her up. Every step felt jarring and caused the whole world to tremble. Her muscles protested angrily, refusing to give way and making every movement look stiff and uncomfortable – not unlike the walkers. A constant grimace on her face, her eyes were barely open as she put all of her energy and focus into getting up these goddamn stairs.
What really crept up on her was the constant moaning that echoed around these steel walls. The patients of cell block A could hardly hold back their only way of relieving their pain. Their pitiful yet grating cries of pain made Bella cringe. As selfish as it was, she wished she had her music player to block them out.
She wished for many things, now that she's thinking about it. Full of self-pity, she thought about being able to move without groaning, to look at the window without her head feeling like it's going to explode, and to be able to breathe in fresh, clean air.
Bella found Glenn at the same spot where they met last time. For the past couple of hours, they've been helping Hershel tend to the patients and taking breaks in between. But the breaks have become more frequent and longer. It's been a while since she'd seen Glenn, so Hershel sent her to find him and rest.
She slumped next to him on the cold floor, her back against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. The dry, stale air felt like it was grating down her throat. Other than that, her lungs didn't feel that bad. It was only her head that made her feel like it was about to break open.
Glenn, however, was hacking into his arm, and the harsh, gravelly sound made her wince. He breathed in loudly as he desperately tried to gain back the air he had lost in his coughing fit. His skin was ashen and had a sheen of sweat, despite the fact that he was shivering violently.
Looking at him, Bella began to feel fear creeping up her throat. Her friend was dying.
She put a hand on his back, feeling helpless and exhausted as the wracking in his body slowly softened into trembles.
Sighing, she rested her head on his shoulder, and the two sat beside one another as one moan suddenly fell silent.
June paced up and down the dark hall, her light steps echoing until she couldn't tell if they were her steps or someone else's. This further added to the prickles on her neck, but she couldn't force herself to stop moving. One hand pulled on a curl, letting it go so it bounced back like a spring. The other hand rested on the hilt of her gun. Embedded with the smooth ivory of pearl, her gun was a birthday gift from her mother. She and Daryl had found it in a pawn shop a few months back.
Her and Carl agreed they'd take turns taking watch. The whole group were spread out thin at different blocks, so they figured they'd need someone to be alert in case something goes wrong. Maggie was out with Rick trying to handle the growing herds that were currently trying – and almost succeeding – to knock down the fences to have them for dinner. Just another life-threatening thing to be worried about.
She gave a small scream as she abruptly kicked a chunk of debris that littered the floor. This is absolute shit. As much as Bella unrightfully tried to keep June in the dark, June isn't dumb. Charlie died within a day from a cold, and it has been at least twenty hours since Bella has been sick. Wait, no. It's been at least twenty hours since June found out from Hershel. Bella could've been long sick before then – she just chose not to tell her.
This whole thing is bullshit, thought June sourly. Just being in this cold, dank hall was dampening her moods.
She missed being back at their cell block. It was surprising how it snuck up as home to all of them. With Lori and T-Dog dying, and Bella almostdying in those initial weeks, the prison was definitely unfavorable in June's eyes. But the longer they stayed, and the more memories and people grew, the cold, grey walls became plastered in photos or paint. The freezing floor became covered with fuzzy rugs and carpets. The stale, empty atmosphere became filled with sun and movement.
June could vaguely hear the sound of Judith's wails. It only aggravated her more, causing her to continue pacing. She reached up to twist a curl.
Crack
Her hand froze. "Carl," she shouted.
Crack
The younger boy slid across the floor to a stop as she ordered, "Stay here! Watch the halls – it's coming from A!"
June bolted forward without waiting for a response, gun already out. It was in the middle of the night, making the halls almost pitch black. But she knew this place like the back of her hand and turned corners instinctively and without pause. The bangs steadily grew louder and louder as she ran closer to the source.
She felt the echoes ricochet through her bones. Her heart was beating just as hard, but she didn't even hesitate when she reached the Cell Block door. She reached for its handle and yanked hard, but no matter how hard she tugged it wouldn't give way.
Meanwhile, she began to hear the screams.
She swore profusely, feeling tears of frustration beginning to prick her eyes. Scanning around desperately, she reached for an axe that was longer than her own forearm. But even that couldn't bring down the steel door.
"June!"
She turned around and saw Maggie sprinting towards her. "I can't get the door open!"
Maggie slowed down, her eyes just as wild as June's. Out of breath, Maggie gestured, "C'mon."
June followed Maggie as they ran to the visitor's room – it had a long plane of glass in the middle that allowed the past prisoners to see their visitors. It was where June had come earlier to talk to Hershel.
"You shouldn't be here," gasped out Maggie. "You could get sick."
"You're here." And that was the end of that.
They skittered into the room as they paused to scan around for anything they could use.
"Watch out," managed June as she raised her gun up towards Maggie. Maggie's eyes widened before she jumped out of the way. Hand steady, she pulled the trigger.
The glass shattered, and the two girls hopped over. The smell of sweat and disease grew stronger as they rushed in. June's never been to this side before, but the screams and gunshots were easy to follow.
Immediately, their eyes were drawn to Hershel, who appeared to have been suspended on a net with a walker.
"No," bellowed Hershel when he saw them raise their guns. He was pushing against the snarling walker with his arms. Its mouth was blocked off with what appeared to be a clear balloon attached to its face. "You could hit the pump – we need it for Glenn!"
"Go," ordered Maggie. Her hand was steady as she aimed. "Find the others."
June didn't hesitate. First running throughout the lower floor, she checked every cell as she called out, "Everyone alright?"
If there was a scream, she went running. She'd dispatch whoever or whatever had turned and made sure every person went to their cells safe. Her aim was always true, and her fear never showed, just like her mother.
Speaking of who, was currently not visible. If shit went down, her mother was always first to jump into things. For once, not seeing Bella in the thick of things stressed June out. When the first floor became clear, she ignored the still bodies on the floor as she called out, "Mom?"
Maggie rushed passed her, managing out, "Glenn needs me."
Knowing that Glenn, who had gone into the cell block after Bella, was not doing so hot, June became more anxious. She ran up the steps after Maggie, as she looked wildly around. Hershel was over Glenn, already shoving the pump's tube down Glenn's throat – something that June never wanted to see again.
"Where's my mom?" June knew Glenn's life was on the line, but – Christ – she had to know.
Hershel began to press on the pump rhythmically, and wonderfully, Glenn began to breathe. Once Glenn was in the clear, Hershel looked around anxiously. His eyes were sunken in and flecks of old blood dotted his face. "She went to lie down half an hour ago. Check down these cells up here."
She didn't bother with a response. She headed towards where Hershel nodded.
June found Bella lying on one the lower cot in a cell. She panicked, afraid that she wasn't moving – wasn't breathing. June ran to her side and saw her chest rising.
Bella stirred when June grabbed her arm. A flash of green glinted as her eyes fluttered open briefly before shutting closed, as if drifting off into a nap. Her words came out slurred and breathless. "June?" Her voice trailed off before picking up again. "What's that noise? We have – have to go to school."
Her eyes opened again – wider this time. "Angel. The angel, honey."
June was so relieved, she hardly processed Bella's words. "Mom? Are you okay?"
"We have to go to school," Bella repeated, more insistent this time. June was still reeling over her words from before. Her head rolled over to her shoulder. "Your science fair project. We have to bring it."
The angel – June had no idea what that was about. But the bewilderment faded when June realized what science fair she was talking about.
At the ripe age of eight, June had spent an unholy amount of time trying to build the best ping-pong launcher. Hilariously insignificant now, it was the most important project eight-year-old June had ever done. The day of the fair, June had burst into tears when the launcher completely fell apart. They didn't have enough time to fix it, and if they attempted to, they would have been terribly late.
June had run back to her room and planned on lying there forever to mope, but Bella had insisted to still go to the science fair. Bella more or less forced her really, since June was very adamantly against going. Bella had scrambled up the pieces of June's project and all of the papers and doodled diagrams that June had made, plastered them on the back of a piece of cardboard that came from one of the boxes from her bar shift, and made a decent poster presenting all of the thought and process that went into making that crappy structure made of woods taped together.
Bella marched up to the elementary school with a miserable June in tow and proudly placed it on the table where the other equally-as-crappy launchers were. At the end of the night, June had only gotten a participatory ribbon and a clear sense of not wanting to be a scientist when she grew up.
But it was also the first time since she had lived with Bella that she had laughed. The whole time at the fair, Bella and June had sat eating cheap soft-serve ice cream. June wasn't saying much, but Bella proceeded to bash on every launcher. She insulted each one over silly things, like that one has too much wood, or that one looks too proud ("Wood can't look too proud," June would argue). Probably not the best parenting technique, but Bella was not just some parent. And it worked.
June hadn't thought about it in a while. But the older she got, the more she realized how frazzled Bella must've been. Her adopted child - who was still getting used to Bella and the loss of her birth mom - spent all of her energy and focus on some stupid project, only for it to completely fall apart. Bella would've only been twenty-two at the time and had to stress over her kid's science project instead of college or dating.
June blinked back tears. She wanted to respond, but Bella had drifted back off into unconsciousness. Her skin was ghastly pale and cold to touch, but a thin layer of sweat beaded her forehead. Her breathing was uneven, and when June checked her wrist, Bella's pulse was fluttering erratically.
It would be another hour before Daryl and Bob would come running through the cell block. Within that hour, Bella slowly became more unintelligible, muttering about an angel and the like until June couldn't even understand what she was saying. Her body would stiffen randomly, almost as if she was seizing. Every time that happened, June would burst into tears once more. It would be an hour before they'd find June curled up besides Bella, who was still alive but unresponsive.
Daryl had rushed in, blue eyes wild as he scanned the two on the cot. He had streaks of dirt across his arms and face, and he still had his crossbow sling around his back. Breathing heavily, he didn't saying anything as he got down on one knee to bend over Bella. He reached out hesitatingly, as if scared to touch her before resting his fingers against her neck.
She was so cold, but he felt her fluttering pulse is underneath his fingertips.
"The medicine?"
Daryl's spoke low and gritty, just like how he does when he's out there and it's up to him to lead them. "With Glenn. He'll be comin' in a bit." He pressed his palm against Bella's forehead. He could see her eyes flickering beneath her eyelids. "What's wrong with her?"
June's voice grew steadier the more she talked. "She's been seeing things – hallucinating, I think. She kept saying things, but she hasn't woken up in a while."
"Her breathin'?"
"It's uneven, but not as bad as Glenn's."
There was nothing to say after that. They sat by her side as Bob and Hershel tended to her. Daryl would come in and out as he still had council duties to attend to especially after losing almost half of their people.
When Bella first woke up the next day, he was passed out on the chair besides her. And she saw a small, oval jasper on the little table next to her, and the wings on his vest – just like that of an angel's.