Eighteen
(Trigger warning. This chapter involves a suicide.)
Rick poked his head out of his tent at the sound of footsteps on the farm house porch. He heard the screen door creak on its hinges and shut softly, but he couldn't make out who went in. He looked back into the tent where the soft glow of firelight illuminated Lori's sleeping face. He ran his hand over his face and the back of his neck.
"Dad?" He looked over to see Carl stirring in his cot.
"Go back to sleep, Carl."
"Something wrong?"
"No. Just can't sleep."
"Me neither," Carl admitted.
"You cold?" Rick reached for a blanket, and Carl sat up shaking his head. "You feel sick?" Carol shook his head again and swung his legs over the side of the cot.
"Are you and mom going to break up?" Rick stared at his son for a moment before looking over at Lori sleeping peacefully across the tent.
"You want to take a walk?" Carl nodded. Rick grabbed the oil lantern and nodded for him to follow him. Carl grabbed his jacket from the end of his cot and followed his father out into the cool night air. They started walking toward the barn. With the nights getting colder, most everyone had opted to sleep either in Dale's RV or in a tent, as the barn was drafty and damp. The only one who opted for something else was Daryl, who still enjoyed his distance from everyone out in the field.
"You and mom were fighting really loud."
"Carl, I love you and your mom more than anything. You know that, right?" Carl nodded. "A lot of…stuff happened since I got shot. Your mom…well, she did the best she could."
"You were really mad at her. What happened?"
"It's nothing you need to worry about," Rick insisted. "Moms and dads fight, and it's got nothing to do with how much we love you. Ok?" Carl nodded. "No matter what happens, your mom and me want what's best for you."
"Do you still love each other?" Carl asked, kicking at a rock with the toe of his shoe. Rick paused and knelt down in front of his boy. Even in the pale moonlight, Carl could make out the sincerity in his father's face.
"Of course," Rick assured him. A loud creak from the barn startled them both, and Rick straightened back up, his hand flying to his holster.
"What was that?" Carl asked, stepping curiously toward the barn.
"Carl, stay back." Rick peers up toward the hayloft just in time to see something come fluttering to the ground. It's straw, he realizes. He heard the distinctive shuffling of feet on the rickety old boards, and he heard a strangled sob before something snapped. Rick held the oil lamp up, trying to brighten the view, but the light was so low it didn't help at all. Without warning, a pair of legs emerged from the loft, illuminated by the moonlight, twitching as a rope caught, held and then broke under the weight.
Rick's first instinct was to shield his son's eyes, but he was frozen in terror watching one of their people take their own life. Carl let out a loud yell and started forward.
"No!" He reached out for his boy, but Carl was too quick. Carl knelt next to the still body and pushed at the shoulder. He scrambled backward in the dirt, and Rick rushed to his side.
"It's Patricia!" Carl yelled, his voice high and frightened. Rick pulled him back and knelt next to the body. Her neck was turned unnaturally, and her eyes were wide open. He placed his fingers against her neck and bowed his head.
"She's gone. Go get Hershel." Carl gasped and hurried off to the house.
"What's going on?!" Dale came rushing out of the RV, shotgun in hand. He'd heard the commotion from Carl's yells and woken from a dead sleep. He raced toward the dim light of Rick's oil lantern, and when he stopped cold at the sight of Patricia's body, Rick stood and put his hand on his shoulder.
"There's a note." He swallowed hard and handed Dale the note he'd just found pinned to Patricia's shirt. He'd seen a lot of that in his time as a cop, but this was the first time it'd ever hit so close to him.
Grief. That's what it was. All the note said was that she wanted to be with Otis. She asked for nothing. She blamed no one. She just wanted Otis.
"Jesus," Rick murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose and fighting off the urge to vomit.
"Was she bit?" Dale asked, kneeling down. Rick shifted nervously and stepped toward.
"No, I…I don't think so. We best stay clear."
"Why?" Dale wondered, narrowing his eyes at Rick in the darkness. He turned his attention back to Patricia and gently examined her neck and arms for signs of bites. He saw no blood or wounds. Just the horrible angle of her neck.
The screen door swung open, and Rick looked up to see Hershel, Maggie and Glenn rushing across the lot with Carl. Glenn held an oil lamp in his hand, and it swung in the darkness, barely illuminating the forms of the frantic survivors.
"My God, what happened?" Maggie panted, arriving first with Glenn right behind her.
"We gotta move her. We gotta…" Rick took a step backward, and he ran his hands over his face. "We should bury her."
"Now? In the middle of the night?" Glenn asked.
"It can wait 'til morning, can't it?" Dale asked, standing and taking a step toward Rick.
"I don't know," he murmured. "I don't know."
"What?" Maggie asked. "What aren't you saying?" Dale took another step forward, only to feel something tug at his pant leg. He looked down in time to see Patricia's broken corpse roll toward him, her hands outstretched, her mouth gaping open with that horrible, strangled rasp escaping.
"Shit!" Rick hollered, pulling Dale toward him, ripping Dale's pant leg in the process. Dale's eyes went wide, and he stumbled backward, and just as Rick brought his pistol out, Carl came up between him and Hershel, reached into his jacket pocket and revealed one of the hand guns from the duffel bag. He aimed it right at Patricia's head and pulled the trigger. The corpse slumped forward, still, and Maggie curled into Glenn, choking back a sob as Rick grabbed the gun from his son.
"She wasn't bit," Dale stammered. "She wasn't…" He looked to Rick, and Rick shook his head.
"Jesus. Jesus."
"The hell is goin' on?!" Shane asked, coming around the back of Dale's RV, rushing over with his gun in hand, flashlight casting frantic shadows in the dirt.
Another sound from off in the field turned their attention back toward Daryl's tent where the dim light barely illuminated the structure in the dark.
"What the hell is that?" Dale panted. Rick took a few steps forward, and he listened as the sound grew closer. And louder. And then his stomach twisted in fear.
"Get everybody to the cars. We gotta get out of here now," Rick choked out. Moments later, the dry, throaty rasps of dozens of walkers came washing over the property like the cacophony of a badly tuned orchestra.
"Dad!" Carl yelled. "Dad, what's happening?"
"Carl, get your mom. Get what you can and get to a car."
"Glenn!" Maggie cried out, as he started for the house.
"Sophia's inside. She's sound asleep. We can't leave her. Get to a car."
"I'm not leaving without you!" she choked out.
"I'll meet you at the traffic snarl. We get separated, we meet at the traffic snarl. I'll be there. I love you."
"I love you." She let go of his hand, and he rushed toward the house, lantern swinging in hand, illuminating the shadows of walkers coming around the house.
The next few minutes would be a blur of chaos and terror, and nothing would ever be the same again.