Chapter 20: Just a Kid

"They stayed here?" Daryl asked, eyeing the fire-blackened walls of the prison. The chain link fences were down, and hundreds of walkers roamed through the tall grass and weeds and through what looked like the start of what was meant to be a sustainable garden. A few walkers had gotten caught up in the razor wire, effectively mangling their rotting flesh and leaving them crawling through the dirt.

"For a while, looks like," Merle considered. "When The Governor had us roll up on 'em, they had livestock, some crops." Merle winced in the passenger's seat. Daryl looked at him. "Been sittin' too long."

"Need somethin'?" Daryl kept the bottle of pain pills in his pocket, but so far that day, Merle hadn't requested one.

"Nah. Just wanna get outta here. Why we still here, anyway? If any of your people got left behind, they're dead now." Daryl knew his brother was right, and he wanted to get back to Carol and Lydia desperately. The longer he was away from them, the more he regretted going. Still, he just didn't feel right about not looking for the rest of the group. Maybe what Merle had said was true. Maybe Rick wouldn't have done the same for him. Maybe he really hadn't looked at all. But that wasn't who Daryl was.

Merle opened the truck door and leaned over, spitting on the pavement. He got out, and Daryl looked around for any sign of a walker.

"Where you going?"

"Gotta piss." He stepped off to the side of the road, and Daryl shook his head before looking back to the prison. But, now that it was on his mind, he realized he had to go. So, he stepped out of the truck and walked over to the other side of the road. As he stood there, he kept his attention fixed on his surroundings, and then something sticking out of a pile of leaves caught his attention.

He finished his business and zipped his pants back up, and then he stepped into the ditch.

"The hell you doin'?" Merle asked, sliding back into the truck. Daryl said nothing. He crouched down and picked up the item in the leaves, and as he lifted it and the leaves fell away, his stomach dropped. It was Rick's hat, the one he'd given to Carl back at the farm. It was damp and dirty from the leaves, and there was a small, dried spatter of blood on the underside of the brim.

Daryl stood then, looking back at the truck, and Merle narrowed his eyes at him. Again, Daryl said nothing. He came out of the ditch and tossed the hat onto the dash of the truck, and just as he was about to slide into his seat, a growl from somewhere in the trees caught his ear. He turned then, just in time to see a walker stumble out, not too far from where he'd found the hat. It's torn, bloodied clothing was familiar, but Daryl couldn't place it. It wasn't until he saw the brown boots and the blonde ponytail with dried blood streaked through it that he realized who it was.

He stood there, watching her come toward him, eyes pale and lifeless but focused on him, unflinching. She reached out toward him with one hand, the other arm hanging by tendons limply at her side.

"The hell you doin', boy?" Merle got out of the truck, just as Daryl grabbed his crossbow and aimed it at the walker's head. "You know her?"

"She was just a kid," he choked out. She was just sixteen. Just four years older than Sophia. And she'd died, maybe out there in the woods, and nobody had been there to end it for her.

"This one of Rick's people?"

"Yeah," Daryl murmured. "Name was Beth. She was…" The walker stepped closer, and Merle stepped forward, pushing the sharp blade on his prosthetic up through the bottom of her jaw until it came out of the top of her head. Her legs buckled under her, and when Merle pulled his arm down and back, she fell to the ground, still.

"Just a kid. I know." He wiped the blood from the blade with a rag from his pocket and looked at his brother, who stared down at the girl. "Let's get the hell outta here."

...

Much like Merle's first night at the house, Carol made sure that Dog slept upstairs in the hall near Lydia's bedroom door. When she returned downstairs, Negan was putting a cool cloth on his wife's forehead, and he was checking the bandage on her arm. Carol winced when he pulled back the bloodied rag to reveal the crudely cut and sewn stump.

"Did you put anything on it?" she asked, stepping into the room with the first aid kit and some rags she'd made out of old t-shirts.

"Didn't have much."

"It looks infected," she said softly. "Here." She handed him the first aid kit. There was a small bottle of peroxide, and he quickly opened the cap and poured some over the wound. Lucy groaned in pain and looked away, not wanting to see the horrific wound. It bubbled, and Negan grimaced as he wrapped the stump with fresh bandages. When Lucy went limp, he gently touched her face, turning it toward him. She'd passed out.

"She wanted this. She wanted this."

"What?" Carol asked softly, as she sat down on the edge of Lucy's bed and took her hand. She placed her fingers against Lucy's wrist to check her pulse.

"She wanted this so bad. This baby. I never thought much about having a kid 'til I married her."

"I'm sorry," Carol said softly. Negan flinched.

"Don't say sorry. Don't say sorry like you think she's dying. She's not. She'll be ok. She has to be. We're…we're having a kid. Shit. Don't come in here if you're gonna talk like that." He caught himself, and he hung his head. "Sorry. You're letting us stay. I don't know what I'm…it's been a long day."

"How far along is she?" Carol asked, changing the subject.

"Seven…no. Eight months, I think. It's early right? Too early."

"It's a little early. The shock of the bite probably started labor."

"It might stop, right? It could?"

"Has she…has her water broken?"

"What? Uh…yeah. In the car. It was…hours ago."

"It won't stop. The baby's coming."

"It's gonna die, isn't it?" He held his head in his hands. "She got bit. It's gonna kill the baby, right?"

"I don't know. I've never seen a pregnant woman with a bite before. How…how long after the bite did you take the arm?"

"Right…right after? Less than a minute. She begged me to. I didn't want…" He looked away. "I did what I had to do."

"You might have saved her life."

"Might," Negan huffed. Carol reached out and placed her hand on Lucy's belly. "We were traveling with some people at the start of this shit. One guy? He, uh, he got bit on the hand. We didn't know what the hell we were doing. Took us an hour to realize we could try cutting his hand off. He lived. Next guy? He got bit on the leg. We hacked it off as soon as we put down the skinbag that bit him. He died three hours later. Another guy we couldn't get to for nearly two hours. Took his whole arm. He died. Buddy of mine was bit just above the wrist. Took his arm just below the elbow right away. He lived. Guess that shit doesn't matter now. They're all dead now."

"I'm so sorry," Carol murmured. "I wish I knew how it worked. I think everyone's different." She cleared her throat. "You know, before we left Atlanta, we took shelter at the CDC. There was one scientist left there, and he told us all he knew about it. It could take minutes for some. Hours for others. Nobody knows why."

"She's still alive. No fever yet. That's a good sign, I think." He felt the baby move beneath his hand, and he gently rubbed that spot on Lucy's belly. Carol felt a lump in her throat as she remembered lying in the RV the night Sophia walked out of the barn. She'd lay there in bed with her hand on her stomach, remembering the joy she'd felt when she felt Sophia kick for the first time. The memory brought tears to her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away before the man could see.

"My daughter was almost a month early. She was healthy, and she was strong. There's no reason to think…"

"Don't." He looked up at her. "I don't need hope. I need my wife."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading guys! Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is so very much appreciated and inspiring!