EPISODE 22 – Killer Within – Part II

"Ya okay, Red?" Daryl throws me an anxious look.

Everyone spent their day glancing at me like I'm a ticking time-bomb. We made it into the yard. The plan was both simple and genius, and we made it in unscathed. Though I couldn't help scanning every single walker we killed, trying to find Connor's spiky hair, Murphy's beauty mark, or their Virgin Mary neck tattoos. Nor stare into the distance trying to decipher the shape of a little girl out there.

Before we went in, I'd taken Rick aside:

"I've got to be honest. If I find myself in front of either of them… I won't be able to-… I don't know how I'll react."

And, despite our disagreements, I heard the compassion in his answer: "I know. You'll stay back. Stay with your daughter. I know that, if anything else, you'll protect her at all cost."

Now, we're camping inside of the huge fences. The incessant growls of walkers are making us all nervous, but we're safe.

I squeeze Daryl's arm and answer him with a sad smile. "No, I'm not…"

He's still holding onto his crossbow, unable to rest. But for the first time, I feel his arm encircle my shoulders, and he hugs me. With just one arm, tentatively, but it's still a hug, and I brush my nose on the crook of his neck while he nuzzles my hair.

I can't remain like that, however, or I could break.

So, I just go back with the others and lie down against Sive's little frame. She's more upset than she lets on, of course. I can see her peering at the walkers too. Even if she's never met them, she knows what to look for. Plus, if I miss my daughter, I can't imagine how much she must miss her sister. That's why, even though it would be a horrible sight to see her walking among the dead ones, she still hopes to get a glimpse of her in the dark. She spends the whole night twitching in her sleep, and I hold her without being able to close my eyelids.

The next day is planned like clockwork; we're as disciplined as a military squad. When we finally manage to penetrate inside the prison, I feel a sense of accomplishment I didn't expect. Coming here was the whole reason why I brought my daughters to this country in the first place. I would have never imagined the price of it. But, as we walk these corridors, I can only think one thing: 'They were here.'

As I follow the reassuring shape of Daryl along those rooms, I wonder: 'Would they have liked him?' Probably not. They liked laughing, drinking, joking and praying. They may have respected him, but if they'd met in a Boston pub, they would probably have ended up fist-fighting for one reason or the other. Especially if they'd seen my gaze trail along his arms.

I stay back with the kids and Lori, in the cell block, while they go to explore more ground. We start settling in. Each kid claims a room. There are real beds, albeit dusty and uncomfortable. Here, we can simply lock the door and the walkers will never get in. We've never been so safe.

When I climb up the stairs though, I notice the puddle of dried blood in front of each cell. It looks too meticulous to be random. Prisoners were executed here. Even though the bodies are gone. I shudder. I'd never really spent time thinking about how they'd died. I had never wanted to picture that.

However, I'm cut mid nightmarish thought by some screaming downstairs. Hershel is hurt. No, Hershel's leg is missing. They're carrying him to a bed so Carol and I can immediately try and stop the bleeding. He's been bitten. But maybe, just maybe, Rick stopped the disease from spreading in time. It was genius thinking.

So, as I tend to him, it takes me a while to notice the strangers staring at us from behind the barred door of the block. When Hershel was stabilised, I first noticed how Daryl was pointing his crossbow outward. I could only surmise some walkers had followed them back. And, when I stepped out of the cell, my eyes widened, and I let the rag I was drying my hands with fall on the ground with my mouth agape.

They're wearing prisoners' uniforms. "Ye're prisoners here?" My voice quavers, before I find a new strength. And I yell at their lack of response: "How many of ye are there?"

"Aideen, stand back," Rick warns. One of them is holding a gun, but, right now, I couldn't care less. There are four of them. Four prisoners, but none of them the ones I'd want to see.

"How many more?"

"There's just us," the white one with the gun states.

I almost slump down before their eyes. But then, a huge black one throws him a sideways glance and adds:

"Well, there's also the Irish guy in solitary…"

And it's like lightning struck through the ceiling.