XXXXI.

They were running back to Alexandria like whole hell was on their heels. They'd met up with Tobin's group five minutes later deeper in the woods and earned themselves almost a quarter of an hour running ahead of the breaking herd.

Half of the herd—half of the herd had broken off, following the damn horn still blasting in the air. Their first response was to flight and put some distance between themselves and walkers—and Rick knew soon they had to stop and think and decide what to do next.

Rick shook his head, running at his fastest speed, ahead of his whole team, Michonne and Glenn at his back as they kept the front line safe and secure for the rest of them, killing astray walkers that popped out at their way. The horn in his ear was like a nail through his temples, cutting his head in two. The damn thing—the damn thing was killing him, couldn't let him think straight. And he had to. He had to stop and goddamn think! He just couldn't—not before they got between themselves and the herd at least a whole fifteen minutes.

They just didn't have time yet.

Someone from the back of their line tripped over some root at the ground and fell. They stopped and with a silent hiss, Rick stopped, too. Fools! Just fools! They couldn't even manage to run without tripping over their feet! He rushed to the man, Adam or something, and grabbed his arm. "Up—" he pulled the man up roughly, "We need to move!"

The man struggled at his feet, and let out a scream, "Ahh!"

"You brought us here," one of his friends told him, walking on in him, his voice accusing much like the words, "You brought us to die!"

Rick lifted his head, staring at the guy but before he could snap out, Carter cut it off, "We got no choice. We had to do it—" he said, and then turned to Rick, "What are we going to do now?"

What were they going to do now? What he was going to do now? He brought his hand to the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the pain… if only that damn noise would snuff out. He'd thought many scenarios for what he could do if the herd broke off—Amanda had demanded that they should have some contingency plans for such an event, but in none of those scenarios, the threat was coming from Alexandria, was coming from home.

Rick felt torn. If it'd been anything else, he would've turned back to the intersection and picked up the RV and moved the breaking off herd back toward Daryl again. That was the plan B. But he had to go back. They needed him back at Alexandria. The blasted horn was still honking and if something happened to his family, if something happened to Carl, Judith or Amanda while he was out here—no—he could never forgive himself. But going back to Alexandria meant letting the half of the herd wander off toward the town too, a fact he knew for sure.

The rest he didn't know. He didn't know what was happening in the town. Then at that moment, Rick knew what he should do, what he was supposed to do…and the acceptance brought no joy to him, as if he'd accepted his own death sentence—yet he also accepted it. He could not let that those walkers end up outside the walls.

They could protect themselves. They had watch points, they had guns. They would fight. Amanda would've never gone without fighting—yet she had a miscarriage… Rick wanted to lift his head up and yell with fury for all the things that kept happening to them, he wanted to drop on his knees and cry, he wanted to rip off those rotten dead bodies with his hands—he wanted to—

Not what he wanted wouldn't matter, never did. He had to do what he must—he had to do what he must do to protect them. The half of the herd was moving to Alexandria and Rick had to stop them before it happened. He waved his people over to him, "Okay, listen up, here is the plan," he started as they circled around him, "Y'all go back to Alexandria. I'm going back to pick up the RV from the barricade and will circle around the Redding and get there ahead of them, then lead them back toward Daryl again."

Glenn shook his head, "You can't do it alone. I'm coming with you!"

Rick shook his head, "No. You need to get them back," he told the younger man, then his eyes moved, wandering at each of them, pointedly, "You need to get back. All of you—No hiding, no waiting, just keep going. Get back," he stressed out each word, "We don't know what happened, but they might need you back there." His eyes skipped over them again, "Prepare to fight your way through."

Not all of them was going to make this out alive, Rick had already known it, but he was hoping a good number of them at least would go back. His eyes skipped over them again, weighing them. One of them had already hurt his ankle, and that he was going to pull back the group now, slowing their paces, and Rick also knew he wasn't going to be the last one, either. They were lucky if half of them got back. He was about to warn Glenn but before he could Carter stepped forward an inch. "He's right," the man said, motioning Glenn with his head, "You can't do this alone. I'll come with you."

Surprised, Rick turned to the other man. "You?" he asked.

Carter nodded. "This is how it's being outside, right?" the man asked back, "You need help."

Rick shook his head, "You'd slow me down," he told him plainly. The man opened his mouth to argue, but Rick cut him off. "I'm faster alone." He was still surprised though for the man's proposition, and somehow pleased too to hear it, too, so he added, "They need you back there," he said again, "Go."

He turned and started running back to the intersection without waiting his answer. He needed to do this now. A few feet later, his radio cracked, and he heard Daryl's voice, "Rick—?"

He brought the radio over his mouth, "I'm here—" he breathed out, still running.

"What's goin' on back there?" Daryl asked, "The back of the herd broke off—"

"Yeah—half of them—" Rick answered and jumped over a tree log, "They're slipping off."

"Why?"

The question momentarily stopped his feet. If he told Daryl what had happened, he knew Daryl would've turned back—Daryl would never listen to him to keep going, not while Beth was back at Alexandria too, and he needed Daryl to keep going. They could never keep the rest of the herd on the track with only one car without Daryl. "It's nothing, we're handling it," he answered, "You keep on."

"Rick?" Daryl questioned further with only mention of his name.

Rick shook his head. "We need to do this, Daryl. For them. We need to. Keep going." He cut the radio and continued running.

They had to. He thought of Carl, Judith, Amanda again… his chest tightening, but shaking his head again as he ran, Rick steeled his mind. He had to do what he must. If he stopped now, it would've been for himself, because he was afraid, and he was so afraid, afraid of not knowing, afraid of losing them. But he had to do this. They needed him to do this for them. Always for them. For the rest, he needed to trust them.

# # #

Of course, it had to be one of them who found her at the end.

Amanda was still laying down on the ground, staring at the sky, the damn horn blasting in her ears, tears running over her cheeks. She knew she should get up—do something—every moment the damn thing went on shrieking in the air, was fucking up Rick's plan, she just knew it—yet her limbs weren't listening to her will. It hurt—everything hurt—blood still oozing out of her… She wondered how much blood she'd lost—and her chest tightened, then at that moment her eyes caught a slight movement to her left, a figure in tatters, black and grey and dirt. Amanda turned at her head and looked at the man. His face was covered with a bandana over his hoodie, only clear stone blue eyes staring at her.

The eyes gave her a shiver. They could just not let her lay there, pity herself in pain, feeling miserable. Of course not. That would've been too much to ask. She evened out a sharp breath, groaning loudly, a bitterness inside her, and turned on her side, and started crawling toward her knife on the ground, one arm holding her below stomach.

Luckily this time, the man looked about her own built—so maybe—maybe—if she just could reach back her knife, it would be easy. When the man found her, she'd just grabbed the knife, and bracing herself for the pain, Amanda pulled herself up on wobbly, trembling feet, getting into a defensive position, and raised her arm with the knife, the other still holding her stomach, her shoulders sagging as she bent down a bit.

The man closed on in her. Amanda readied herself for a clean throw at his throat, quick. She had to deal with this quickly before she collapsed down at the ground. Even standing up was such a hard job, she could not do fighting again, she simply couldn't. But the man stopped an inch away from her before he'd entered in her reach, then pulled down his bandana—and Amanda stared…

"Carol?" she muttered out, her legs suddenly giving in with relief. Carol got quick reflexes. With a quick move, the older woman rushed forward and caught her before she dropped on her knees.

"What happened?" Carol asked back, her eyes at her crotch, eyeing the blood.

Amanda gestured with her head the dead body on the ground, leaning on her for support, "Had to fight. Didn't go well."

Carol gave a look at the man below their feet, and turned her head at her, taking Amanda's arm over her shoulder as her arm also held Amanda at the waist tightly at the back before she fell again. Amanda was still holding her own arm across her stomach, too, so she felt she was closed up in the weirdest embrace. God, she couldn't even stand on her own. "Where is your gun?" Carol asked her.

Amanda let out a sigh. "Gave it to Enid. She's with Judith with Carl."

Her eyes narrowing at Amanda, Carol studied her, "That was stupid."

She knew. With her gun, she could've killed the damn man at the first second, but Judith… no, she couldn't have risked it. She shook her head. "We need to stop this damn thing," she told the older woman instead, ignoring the look Carol was giving her as she started moving them towards the gate, "Beth and Maggie returned, Rick—they—they're doing it now."

"What?"

"Yeah," Amanda breathed out, dragging her feet beside Carol, "That truck fell. They're doing it now," she repeated, "That thing had to stop."

Carol lifted her head up and looked at the north. "I was going to the armory."

"So was I," Amanda said back, "But something hit at the wall from outside," she forced out, "Spencer got a shot, I think. I don't know. I heard it." She grimaced another surge of pain hit at her again, "Beth and Maggie were going to the armory, too. They will protect it. We need to stop that damn thing."

Carol nodded but caught her again as she slipped off the woman's shoulder for a second, the said, "We need to get you to the infirmary first—" She stopped momentarily, "You're bleeding."

"It's okay, I'm fine," Amanda lied, "We need to do this first."

Carol gave her a look, "I'm fine," Amanda repeated, pulling herself straight to make her point, and got hit with another spasm. She wasn't fine, she was far from being fine, but it didn't matter. She just had to suck it up now, the rest she was going to deal with it later. She was going to cry later. "With that horn, we're pulling walkers towards us. We gotta stop it."

Carol nodded. "Okay."

The fires were at everywhere now, houses getting burned with Molotov cocktails, and the smoke and smell were burning her eyes and throat. But the yard in front of the gates was clean. There was no one around. She looked around, her eyes wandering, feeling…disturbed—

"They're all going to north," Carol said, still supporting her weight on her shoulder as they walked—wobbled toward the gate, feeling the same unease Amanda felt, "I don't understand…it's like—it's like they know where everything is—" At north, there was the pantry—the armory.

Amanda forced out a snicker. "They know," she said back, "They found Nicholas."

Faltering at her steps, Carol gave her a look, twisting her neck aside, "Nicholas?" she asked back.

Amanda nodded, "Yeah." Momentarily, she wondered how Rick was going to take this, and what it was going to do the fragile trust Deanne and Rick had managed to build. This—this was just the thing Rick had been afraid of, the thing he'd been trying to warn the older woman, and once again Rick was right. For this time, Amanda wished he hadn't. "He possibly told them everything," she continued, "We got attacked just as the same day Rick and others left. It wasn't a coincidence."

"You think they were watching us?"

Amanda tried to shrug with one shoulder, and almost tripped over her feet. Carol's grip over her waist tightened as she yanked Amanda up against her side closer. "Possibly," Amanda hissed out with pain. It still hurt so badly… she started trembling again, "Th-they knew we got the numbers and got guns. They must have waited outside, looking for an opportunity. When they saw Rick and others leaving, they possibly decided to attack. I—I don't know." She breathed out laboriously, tilting her head backward, "He wasn't much of a conversationalist. He just said they were going to set us free."

Carol gave her another look, "What that means?"

She shook her head, "I've got no idea." She didn't, and she didn't care, either, not at the moment. "We gotta stop that damn thing," she repeated what mattered, lifting her head up at the sky— Every moment it kept blaring in the air, they were really fucking up Rick's plan—she thought what he might do right now—was he turning back to them—or was trying to deal with walkers gone off astray—

Amanda didn't know… though she hoped he was dealing with walkers. They could not deal with two bad at the same time. If walkers came at here, it was going to be only worse.

She really wondered how Deanne felt now…

She didn't need to wonder a lot though, close to the gate, where Amanda had left her, she'd seen the older woman, under the platform. She almost let out another snicker but held it back. She'd told her to hide. Still, there was that—bitterness inside her again, cutting her in half—rising between her legs toward her heart— "Amanda!" the older woman gasped, seeing at her.

"I'm fine," she bit off, stopping Deanne before she could say anything else, "Where is Spencer?" she asked.

Spencer had made the shot, she had to talk with him. Before they went outside and dealt with it, they had to know what had happened first.

"He went out," Deanne said, "He—he'd seen a truck coming at the wall and shot at the driver." Deanne paused, "I told him to stop the horn."

As if on a cue, just at that moment, the horn stopped. Amanda gave the older woman a look. Deanne, even in hiding, had managed to do the thing she should've done while Amanda just had gone and found herself a fight—possibly losing her chance for another pregnancy in the meanwhile—she stopped the rest of her thoughts, feeling her eyes watering, sobs coming out of her. No. She wasn't going to cry. She couldn't cry. Not now. She'd done what she had to. She didn't find the fight, she didn't look for trouble, trouble had found her. And there were still things they had to. Alexandria wasn't still safe. Carl and Judith weren't still safe. They had to secure the town, deal with these monsters… She didn't get to cry yet. Not yet.

Spencer appeared at the gate a second later as she straightened back from the platform's leg where she had leaned against for support, her legs starting trembling again. "You're bleeding," Deanne told her the obvious as if the older woman had just realized her crotch was all over painted red.

Amanda shook her head, "We need to secure the armory," she said, then turning to Carol then stopped, seeing who was behind Spencer entering through the gate. "Glenn!" she cried out.

Michonne followed him, as the others followed them, and Amanda almost dropped on her knees and started crying—this time for relief. They'd come back. They were bloodied, dirt, sweat and blood covering their faces and clothes, but they were alive. But they were so few…fewer than what they'd left Alexandria. Her eyes searched through the crowd to spot the familiar blue ones—Rick—Rick had to come first… It wasn't his style to take the back—it was not… He was the leader…

"What happened here?" Glenn questioned, looking at them.

Her eyes still searching, Amanda didn't answer. Where was he? Panic was starting to blossom out inside her, fear gripping her chest tightly… No. No. No… The ground swept off her feet, and she rested her back against the log again not to fall—her eyes watering… "Where's Rick?" she asked to Glenn.

# # #

They were sitting at the infirmary's porch, looking at the direction of the gate. The scene felt oddly familiar to her, as the night they'd waiting Rick and Daryl to turn back from looking for Glenn. This time Glenn was here, but Rick and Daryl weren't. It wasn't still the night, either, so Amanda tried to take a little bit comfort from it, knowing they had at least time until the sunset. Beth had come out to her ten minutes ago to check on her after Glenn and others had left to deal with the dead before they started reanimating.

"They'll come back," Beth told her decisively over the screams back in the infirmary after a moment, "They will."

Amanda only nodded, ignoring the screams in the same manner, "You should get in, too," Beth then told her, "Denise needs to look at you."

"Denise's hands are full," Amanda slowly muttered, refusing, shaking her head, "I'm fine."

Her bleeding was continuing, but she was much better than people inside the infirmary, people whose screams of pain were coming to them even outside the porch. It still hurt, but it was awful to bemoan about it where there were people in there with their guts cut open. The Wolves—they'd made them regret to ever put a step inside the walls at the end, but the maniacs had left their own scares too.

They'd butchered ten of them and wounded four people before Glenn and others had come back. And Denise now was trying to deal with that four people inside, feeling out of her depths, Rosita, Maggie, Beth all trying to help her. It could've been worse. Amanda knew. If Maggie and Beth hadn't been here—hadn't protected the pantry, consequently the armory it could've been a lot of worse. Half of the pantry was also gone, set up on fire to pull out Beth and Maggie, and Amanda could still smell smoke on the younger woman, her cheeks covered with soot. Some of the bastards had even managed to escape with guns, but the rest they had managed to sweep off clean. Not that Amanda had managed to do much of cleaning, they'd just brought her back to infirmary after she had fallen on the ground, realizing Rick had stayed behind in the woods, and since then Amanda had been waiting.

It could've been worse, she repeated at herself for the millionth times. Carl and Judith were okay, safely back at the house. They had no place in this carnage, had no place in this bloody turmoil. She wanted them to be away from all of this, away from all these mutilated bodies, broken limbs. She'd sent them back at the house after seeing them at the infirmary when it was barely safe outside again and told them to wait for her. Funny enough, Carl had listened. Amanda had stayed—not because she wanted to stay in the infirmary but because their houses were at the back of the other side of the town, without any clear sight of the main gate whereas the infirmary had a clear vintage point so she sat at the steps, looking out—waiting… It could've been worse, she told herself again, bowing her head—and looked at her crotch, screams in her ears.

They'd lost good people today, had sacrificed a lot… to keep this place, their loved ones safe. They still were. Rick was still out there—

"Amanda—" Beth said, but Amanda cut her off.

"I'm fine," she repeated, not letting her thoughts go further away, "You should get back. Denise needs you." She paused, "Just get me a painkiller if you can."

Beth shook her head, "You should at least go back to the house," Beth insisted, "Try to rest—"

Amanda let out a sigh, "Would you…?" she asked, as if she could sleep while she knew Rick was out there alone, doing some crazy shit all alone, "Would you rest knowing Daryl is out there?"

Beth stared at her, and shook her head, "No."

"Then don't tell me to rest, Beth. I can't."

Beth nodded, "Okay. But you'll stay here and won't do anything, okay?" she asked, "Promise me."

Defeated, Amanda nodded, "Okay."

Beth stood up, her hand brushing hers, "They'll come back," Beth told her again, and Amanda didn't answer again, "I'm gonna bring you your painkiller," Beth then said.

Amanda nodded again in silence over the screams.

A few minutes later after Beth had brought her a painkiller, Deanne came to find her, her face ashes and grey. Despite everything, Amanda felt bad. Reg—Reg was one of the ten, fallen in the attack. Deanne had lost her son and her husband in more than two weeks, a fact that almost made Amanda curl into a ball on the floor and cry her heart out, imagining how it would've been—she'd lost an unborn child—but what if—what if she lost Rick—no, she pushed the thought away—she was not going to think about that.

She was not going to cry. She was not going to think that.

Rick was going to come back. He was going to take her in his arms. He was going to tell her everything was going to be okay, then Amanda would cry. Not before then. Not before he walked inside that gate and took her in his embrace, she was not going to fall and cry.

She was not.

Deanne sat on the steps beside her. They sat in silence for a while, none of them trying to break it up. "He warned me—" Deanne remarked slowly then finally after a certain while with a voice barely audible, "He warned me if I was wrong—it was all of us who were going to suffer the consequences." With tears, the older woman bowed her head, "H—he was right." And she started to cry.

Turning her head aside, Amanda looked at her, and told her the only truth she felt, "I'm sorry you had to learn it in this way, Deanne."

Deanne shook her head, "I wanted to make it better," she whispered out, "but none of it makes it any better…" she said, as if she was finally accepting the world they lived in now, too.

A part of her wanted to clash the words, wanted to yell at her not to lose hope, wanted to say she couldn't know how things would turn out, wanted to say it wasn't her fault—but at the end, Amanda just stayed in silence.

After Deanne left, she turned her head to the gate again, watching it, waiting, but the infirmary was getting even more chaotic—even more in frenzy. Suddenly, she realized she shouldn't be here, but return to the house. She wanted to find Judith, hold her between her arms…breath her baby smell in her nostrils… She just wanted to be with her. She'd only been able to see her baby angel for less than a minute. She should be with them. She should hold them. She should tell them everything was going to be okay. She couldn't see the main gate from their house, but if Rick returned, there was no way she could miss it with the way things were now.

Slowly, she got up, even pain didn't feel that bad and started walking towards to the house. The part of the town where their houses were relativity calmer, and Amanda found Carl sitting at the steps of the porch Judith in her arms as well, Enid had already left. Carl looked at her, seeing her approaching, his eyes still at her bloodied crotch. Amanda realized she needed to change her trousers before Rick came back. She didn't want him to see her like this.

Carefully, she sat beside them at the steps, and twisting aside, she took Judith from him. She bowed her head in her hair and breathed deeply just like she had wanted— "Are you okay?" Carl asked, his tone…sounding worried.

She lifted her head from Judith, and put her hand on Carl's gently, "I'm now," she answered, and she meant it.

# # #

Rick ran, ran, and then ran a bit more. In one day, it felt he'd done all cardio he'd missed out since arriving to Alexandria. Sweat was dripping off his skin like a flood, his shirt clung at his body with it. Walkers were coming up at his way every now and then, and each time Rick dealt with them as quick as possible.

The horn stopped before Rick found the RV. He thought at least something was going right. Whatever had happened there at least they'd managed to silence that damn thing. They were fighting. Rick had known it. They wouldn't go without a fight. Amanda—Carol—Maggie—Beth… they would never let it go. And Glenn and Michonne would go back at any minute.

He found the RV fifteen minutes later, and circled the road getting ahead of the herd, closer to the Alexandria. It must be the place—it must be. "Glenn-?" he tried to call Glenn. He must be in the range, so if Glenn had made it back to the town he should answer.

And he did, he did answer, Rick heard the younger man's voice coming over the static, and something as heavy as mountains and as vast as oceans lifted off his heart. "Glenn."

From the other side the radio, a sigh came too, and he heard…screams at the background too, "Rick. We made it. The wolves—they'd attacked after we left." Glenn informed him, "We got it."

"Everyone is okay?" Rick asked fast, recalling the way those sons of bitches had left Noah's home, but only caring for this own people, for his own family, "Are y'all okay?"

"We—we lost people. Reg is dead, too. But—we—we're okay. We got a few burnt houses, and lost half of the pantry, too, but we all are okay."

Rick let out a deep breath, nodding slowly. He still knew there were still more stuff he needed to learn, like how those damn bastards had found them at the first place, but it had to wait. They were all okay. That was what mattered the most. They were alive. "I'm in position by my best guess," he told then Glenn, "I'm gonna lead them back to Daryl, then come back."

"Yeah, be careful," Glenn warned, "Some of them escaped. They'd be still out in the woods."

"Okay."

"See ya at the dinner, dumbass," Glenn shot back before he cut the line.

Rick let out a soft snicker, and called in Daryl too, "Daryl."

"Yeah, man?" Daryl answered as soon as he finished uttering his name, "What's happenin' over there?"

"The wolves—the wolves attacked," Rick then finally explained, "They dealt with it. Glenn and Michonne turned back. I just talked with Glenn—"

"And you tellin' me now!" Daryl shouted, "Fuck! I'm turning back!"

"No!" Rick quickly rasped out at the radio, "They're all okay. They are, Daryl. They handled it. We keep going on."

"You fucking didn't tell me, Rick!"

"We have to do it, Daryl—" Rick started but his words cut off as suddenly the door of the RV opened, and a man climbed up the steps and started shooting at him. Rick threw himself at the passenger seat as he heard over the radio Daryl's crying out his name.

The bullets hit at the dashboard, missing him, and in the sudden silence after the shots, Rick quickly arose behind the seat and threw himself at the man, knocking him down under him, tearing the gun away from him in the meanwhile.

Down at the ground, he saw the W mark at the man's forehead and understood he was one of those escapees Glenn had mentioned. Pulling himself back, he caught the man's throat with all the pent-up anger he had been building up in him—and started punching the man.

It was their fault! They'd cause the half of the herd moved to their home. They'd killed his people, they'd hurt them, had burned their homes, had made him to choose—forcing his hand—worry and fear… His knuckle started getting bloodied with each punch he hit at the man, but Rick didn't stop, he kept hitting him again and again until his face became unrecognizable with blood, and he actually started seeing his cheekbones…where his face had been now stood a ruin—Rick stopped, hands trembled and looked at the violent sight in front of him.

Slowly, he pulled himself back at his feet, knowing the man was already dead, and looked at his knuckles—he then pulled out his gun and shot at him at the head.

Fucking stupid son of a bitch— He turned around and started looking out for the radio, but when he called in, it didn't work again. With a sigh, Rick sat again at the driver seat and started wiping off the blood of his hand with a cloth at dashboard and leaning down he turned on the motor.

Nothing happened. He swore loudly, and tried again, his eyes checking the dashboard that had been hit with bullets. "No…no…" he muttered, trying again, "Shit!" and swore again, realizing the bullets instead of him hit at the motor.

"Shit!" he hissed again, looking outside—and saw walkers—getting out of the woods.

Many of them slowly was coming out the woods, finding their way…snarls, moans, gnarls filling in the silence—then Rick did what he could only do.

He shot up at his feet, rushed out of the RV, and started running again.

It'd become a habit.

Uh, so, walkers are coming up as well, of course! But I wanted to spice up Daryl and Rick interaction a bit, because why not? Heh. And I don't know-holding back information at the field while doing something seemed like to me a thing Rick would do for the-uh, great good.

The part with Deanne for was sad to write, and Amanda's answer "I'm sorry you had to learn it this way." was actually a shout out to Rick's famously awesome line from the first episode, "I'm sorry this happened to you."

Needlessly to say, like always, please do tell me what you think! Be seeing you...