So, here we are...splitting up, leaving the prison :)
Enjoy.
XXIII.
NOOOOO!
The scream—the scream must've belonged to him, he'd recognized his own voice, thought he couldn't remember himself shouting—his eyes were still fixated at light as it played at the razor sharp edge of the sword, falling on Hershel's neck—and there was blood.
His arm was up in the air, too, already aiming—and he had already started shooting…
Hershel—Hershel—the man who had showed him to how to pick himself up, the man who had never given up on him, the man who had showed him there was another way out—the man who had told him he hadn't been too far gone—the man who had always believed in Rick—the man who was like a father to him—he was dying.
And once again, Rick was watching it—unable to do anything.
Unable to reach him, unable to protect him, unable to save him…
Just like each time, just watching.
Beside him, just a foot behind, someone else was screaming too, all above the other screams from his back in the distant, a lighter one, teary, and Rick turned his eyes again to Amanda—who was standing just behind his shoulders now—her hair loose over her shoulders, tears running over her cheeks, and her gun up in the air too—already firing as well, her glistened eyes glinting with fury—
Then the gunfire started from the other side of the fence.
Heavy machinery fire.
He turned aside, quickly, grabbing her at the upper arm and they started running up at the steep hill—and she was a way faster from him, zigzagging in the field toward the bus at their left side a few yards away at top speed without a break, bent down forward the ground.
Rick followed her the same too—gunshot firing above their heads as they ran faster and faster, and twisting aside he fired his gun again as Amanda threw herself down at the ground and rolled herself behind the bus that was lay on its side at the road.
Rick followed her example again, too—firing his last two shots—then leapt forward towards the bus too—then pain pierced through him—somewhere at his upper leg, beside his lip.
He let out a scream over the gunshot sounds—and the submachine gunfire had started from the prison's yard too as they'd started returning fire—and Rick clutched at the edge of the bus's side and checked it.
"They're coming—" he yelled, twisting toward her as Amanda already was bent down over his leg—checking his wound.
"It—exited out—" she stated, her voice trembling, poking the side of his lower hip, her tears still running, "I see the exit wound—"
Rick lowered his gaze as well and looked at the side of his hip. He'd been lucky—lucky that he'd been hit at the side of his hip—not at his thigh where the main artery was, but it didn't feel lucky, not at all.
He poked his head to see the situation better—to see Hershel at least—he…he must've gone now—the man who Rick loved as his father, he was gone, Rick wanted to do his last duty at least—he should do it—he couldn't—he couldn't let him—let him turn, but they were coming.
With a deep gargoyle, deep rumbles of grunts the tank had already started moving, slowly, painfully but decisively slowly.
"They're coming—" Amanda said, too, shooting a glance out, craning her neck up, "We gotta go. We can't stay here." She leaned forward toward him, trying to take him over her shoulder, but Rick pushed her off.
"No. You go. I'll only slow you down."
Her move suddenly ceasing, Amanda looked at him, "I'm not leaving you here—"
He shook his head, "You're already a fast runner than I am, and I got shot at my leg. I can't run," he told her and gestured with his head, "And they're coming. You go up, find others, find Judith and Carl—" he asked her, holding her forearm, looking up at her eyes, and wondered if he was begging now, "I'll come back as soon as I can."
She shook her head, "Rick—don't be ridiculous. I'm not leaving you!" she said back, staring at him hard, even though tears still glistening in her eyes, and started pulling him up, "You can't die on me, either!" she bit off.
She—she sounded mad, and Rick thought she had a right to be. He—he was failing her again, like everyone else. He pushed her again. "No. You have to go back. They'll need you. Kids will need you, Amanda. Please go run up. I'll come back. He wouldn't want me dead in the gunfire. He will want to do it himself. I know it. I'll find him and finish this. You run up—" he ordered, this time keeping his tone stern, and pushed her again, "Go now."
She gave him another furious look, and Rick couldn't decide which she was furious with more—with him or with the situation, then she said, standing up, her eyes locked on his, "You better not to die on me today, Rick," she warned, seething.
"I won't—" he told her back seriously, nodding, "I promise."
She nodded back with the same seriousness, and took her gun out and threw it at him, "Amanda—"
"Shut up—you're out of bullets. I know it—" she said, and ordered at him, "Cover me—" then without a word she leapt over the hill as Rick pushed back and started firing, getting her back as she did the thing she did the best—she ran.
# # #
If they survived this, she was going to kill him!
She was going to kick his ass so bad he was never ever going to think about making such speeches, ever again!
We're not too far gone!
So stupid—so stupid…
She'd known it—she'd known it was going to end in tears…but his words—vibrating in her…so easy…so easy to believe…so easy to—hope.
And this might be the universe's response to remind her what would happen if you turned into a sucker.
Her loose hair swung in the air as she ran zigzag, not staying in one direction more than two seconds, and thought perhaps she should just shave her head bald.
God, she was fucking hating it!
Stupid, stupid man…making such stupid speeches, making them believe…not just because they wanted to because they didn't have any other choice, but truly believing it—believing in him.
She wondered if there was a neon sign right now over her forehead flashing "sucker" because she felt damn like one, and she was furious—so furious!
She could still feel tears running over her cheeks, she could even feel the salty tastes of them over lips as they slipped through over her mouth.
Hershel Greene—over her eyes there was the man's last scene was again as his blood started running over his neck over his chest, the same blood she had a piece of it running through in her veins.
She felt—she felt like she'd lost something more just a kind old man who had been nice to her, but—but someone—someone who cared about her in a way, who had accepted her at his table with his family, dined with her, held her hands with her daughters, made them pray….
She'd never prayed…in a long time—she…she hadn't seen any point. God, even if it were real, she was sure as hell didn't care for her a bit…but she'd prayed with him.
Because—because they—they were doing it, like a family, father and daughters, and she—she'd wanted to be a part of it. As if—as if she'd been really a daughter to a father like him.
Now, it was lost, like every good thing in her life, lost forever, and Beth—
Beth.
God, Beth—the kindest, gentlest soul she'd ever known, and she'd lost her father today.
They—they were both orphans now.
The thought made her cry even more and she picked up her pace, and ran even quicker, her breath turning to fire in her lungs, but she didn't stop. She had to get back—find them. Judith, Carl, Beth—all the other kids…Joan and Noah…
God!
She—she needed to find them. All of them.
So, Amanda did what she always did the best, she ran as fast as she could get, doing her zigzags.
# # #
His leg throbbed with pain with his every heartbeat—blood pouring out of the wound—his head already feeling dizzy. Rick stopped the thought, focused ahead—he had to do it.
He had to go back, find Carl, find Judith, find…Amanda. He had to go back.
He needed to find them.
They were almost passing him by now—the tank stumbling the grass down on the earth—people around it at the cover, moving forward—they were ruining his home.
Hid behind the bus, Rick waited for the moment. He could almost see him walking behind the tank, too—leaving off the blade, the sonofabitch was holding a gun now—approaching, approaching… His rounds had finished now, he'd used all of them, covering Amanda as she'd ran back—he had to do it… he was injured, but he had no other chance, no other choice.
Bracing himself for the pain, ignoring the throbbing ache in his leg, Rick jumped on the man, hitting him at his side, drawing him to the ground.
It was the chance he had, to finish this, and Rick was going to do it.
He was going to finish it. This time for good.
# # #
It was a hell.
Simply as that.
As gunshot passed over her head, she leapt and threw herself at the first cover she'd seen, rolling over the ground, and hide herself behind benches at the front yard beside the greens that had been placed upon a heightened side walk.
Two men were coming from her left direction, both holding guns, thank god, basic handguns, and herself without a gun, she knew she just had to take one of those. Momentarily, she berated herself yet another silly decision leaving the gun to Rick—but he was out there sitting ducks, she just couldn't have left him like that… she just couldn't. He had to protect himself.
Amanda just needed to acquire a gun now.
It wasn't the first time she was stealing guns from people anyway.
As they moved over where she was hidden, Amanda eyed them. These people—they had guns—and they were shooting, but they were…terribly bad at it, she noticed at the next second, with happiness.
Their trajectory was misled, their aims miscalculated, the bullets were bouncing off without really hitting at any target, and then she knew. They-they weren't trained. They were just people who were somehow handed with guns—submachine guns, semi-automatics, and tank, she reminded herself, a fucking tank.
As if on a cue, the fucking thing battered down their fence gate, rolling down on its palette, and fired at one of the prison's heightened walls.
More debris started falling, as every part in the yard looked at it, and taken the moment, Amanda didn't wait any longer. She jumped on the guy she'd eyed as a better chance at his back, her arm coiled around his neck to keep him in position over her as a shield as her other hand already clutching his wrist, her finger on the trigger—
Before the man could understand what was happening, she raised his arm, and squeezing, shot at the man in front of them at his forehead. Then she bent the man's arm with a quick move and hit at his forehead with the gun's butt, and the man went limp in her embrace. She stepped back, letting the man fall. He was so—unexpecting, it took under ten seconds.
She quickly ran to the other man and took his gun too—and looked around— "Shepherd!" then she heard it.
She ran toward the hunter, "Daryl!" she yelled as he took down one of the men with his crossbow, "Where're kids? Where's Carl and Beth?" she asked, "Did you see them?"
"Beth went to look for kids and Judy with Carl—they're inside," Daryl said back, "Can you get them out?" he asked further, "I couldn't go—had to deal these sonofbitches—" he continued, gesturing with his head at the people around the tank.
"Maggie?" Amanda questioned, her eyes on the tank as well as rotter started flowing inside the broken fences, too. She shook her head.
"She's trying to get people on the bus with Glenn—" the hunter answered, and catching the walkers, he swore, "Jesus Christ!" He pushed in, "Go get them—" he yelled, "We gotta go."
She nodded, already making a move, "Joan and Noah—did you see them, too?" she asked.
"They're on the bus—"
She let out a breath of relief. At least they were where they were supposed to be. Before she sprinted inside the block, she gave Daryl a last look as the man shot at one of rotters, "Rick's still down at the fences. Look for him, too—We gotta go—" she repeated his words and started running inside.
Gunfire and rotters…and screams…. everywhere. It was a nightmare. A part of C Block was in tatters too by the artillery fire, and rotters were swarming inside over the fences, dead bodies all around, and others getting eaten alive, screams echoing in the air. A lost battlefield where no one could live, just Rick had warned.
They'd asked for this. They'd asked for this, and Rick had delivered.
# # #
Punches and punches, they fought.
Around them the people were still marching on the prison, but no one stopped for them. Walkers were limping over the broken fences as well, too distracted by the sounds and fires at the blocks they had barely given their deadly attention to two men that were beating the hell of each other.
Rick was injured, and Governor wasn't-only a graze at his arm, and Rick was getting it hard.
The fucking bastard threw him down, and pressed his boots over his wound, and he howled with pain, his eyes blackened—then caught his ankle and pushed the man back and climbed on him.
His shirt was already in teeters, one side of completely tore off, and one of his eyes wouldn't even see good with a few punches he'd taken, but Rick had the upper hand—he bent down, and started punching him as hard as he could—lost in his fury and anger—lost in his despair—
He—he didn't ask for this!
They could've all lived together—
They should've all lived together—
They were the living.
But this was a game where only the house would win.
And they were losing—again—he was falling.
He threw punches and punches, a beast inside him howling with anger and despair, and blood and sweat over his face through his crack lips, salty and copper, and it tasted like failure. Bitter taste of failure.
He was going to kill this sonofabitch, like he should've already done long ago.
Suddenly a sharp twinge of pain at his right side cut through his unhinged rage—and Rick felt a small blade slipping through his flesh and muscles, and he looked down at the small hand knife that was stuck now at his side.
Then the fucking sonofabitch pushed him off—and standing up, he threw Rick off at the bus, and his hand raised for a punch.
Rick caught the hand—pain running at the tip of his every nerve, the man's other hand just punched him at his wounded side, close to the blade. Howling with pain, Rick bent down, the man's hand still at his side—and tried to pull himself back. Governor caught his shirt, and the fabric tore off as Rick took a few stumbling feet—then they were both at the ground again.
Only one difference, now Rick was underneath.
Then his punches started falling.
# # #
"Beth!" Amanda screamed as she ran over the block cell to find them, "Beth! Carl!"
Rotters were swarming inside, too, now. She killed two of them with the gun she'd picked up from the men outside, and advanced further in the corridors.
"Beth-" she screamed again, another rotter in front of her, and she dropped it down even without thinking—
God, soon, she was going to be out of the bullets. She needed to get another gun, and there was so little time now.
They should leave—now!
They should've already left! As soon as they'd seen that damn tank!
The walls around her shook as if her thoughts had been heard, and more debris fell over her head, and she shook her head. They should've already left!
Then she heard it—ahead of her…baby cries, and she'd never—ever been this happy to hear a baby cry.
She quickened her pace and ran toward it— "Beth!" she screamed back.
"Amanda—" Beth yelled back, "Amanda—we're here—"
She turned one of the corners in the darkened corridors, grey and red now—and saw them getting cornered by four—no five rotters. Beth was holding Judith one hand, and another one was holding her gun, her arm strained and angled just like she'd taught the girl. Amanda saw her aim, and even her fingers trembles, she shot at the rotter's head.
The brain sputtered, as relief and pride spread over her insides, knowing that they could at least protect themselves better against the dead, and Carl took the other one with his own gun as Amanda killed the remaining two from behind with quick shots.
Then she was out of the bullets, even the spare gun finished. Tucking the gun at her empty holster, she drew out of her knife, and running, stabbed the fucking damn thing at the head before she threw it off her way.
She had left no fucking patience to anything that stood on her way now.
She held them closer up their upper arms, her hand at Beth's, the other at Carl's— "Are you OK?" she asked, eyeing Beth and the baby girl.
Beth nodded, "We're—" she breathed out on a sob, "My dad—"
Amanda squeezed her fingers hard, "I'm sorry, Beth—I'm so sorry—"
Tears…tears had made stains over her cheeks, and Amanda knew she herself had them, too. Snarls and growls started approaching again, and Amanda shook her head. "C'mon—this place's overrun. We gotta go."
Judith still with Beth, making cries, they started running out of the cell block. "My dad—" Carl then asked as they ran, "Where's he? Is he 'kay?"
Amanda swallowed, "He's still down at the fences—Daryl was going to find him—" she told the young boy, "He got shot at his leg, but he was fine. He was looking for that bastard." She halted for a second, pushing the door, and they stepped outside, "I came to look for you."
At the metal staircase, Carl stopped, "I'm gonna look for him—" he said and started running down the stairs.
Amanda grabbed him at his shoulder as Carl passed by her like a wind, "No!" she shouted, "Wait. We don't know where he's. Let's find Daryl first—" she told the boy, her eyes wandering around to locate the hunter.
Rotters—people still everywhere.
Goddammit!
Then Beth exclaimed behind them, "Here there—" she pointed at the left— "Over the tank—Behind a walker!" she bellowed, "He's using it as a shield."
Smart guy.
The rotter had been stabbed by a long blot at his chest after he'd put it down, and Daryl was behind it as he advanced closer to the tank, and they were shooting at him, but one of his hands, Amanda saw him something—something like a ball—something grey and green, and then understood what the man was trying.
"Take cover!" she pushed down them from the staircase, "Now!"
Beside the tank, Daryl threw off the rottter, just beside the tank's cannon, and jumping up, he threw off the grenade in his hand through it.
The hatch opened, and the asshole who had told them what they had wanted to take what they had, screamed off, "Grenade!"
Then the ground beneath them shook, and an explosion swept the tank from inside… From their cover, Amanda looked impressed.
He knew Daryl was no-nonsense guy, but she didn't know he was that capable, either. Taking off a tank on his own, circled with dead and people who wanted them death all the same while.
"Daryl—" she shouted at him from their cover at the sidewalk behind the greens again, "Daryl over here—"
The tracker ran towards them, killing the guy who had escaped from the hatch with his crossbow, too, and crouched beside them, looking at the rotters still filling in the yard.
"We gotta go—" he said, "Hurry up—The bus already left."
Carl shook his head, "Where's Dad?"
"Did you look for him?" Amanda asked as the same time, but the man shook his head.
"No—couldn't. The tank—" he gestured with his head.
Carl stood up from their cover. "I'm goin' to him—"
Amanda pulled him down—gunshots still echoing in the air— "Carl—" she started, but Daryl cut her off.
"You take them out, go in the woods. I'll look for him, then we'll track you in the woods," he told her, but she shook her head.
The sun was almost set down. They'd less than a half an hour of sunlight now. She shook her head again, "No. It's almost sunset now. It's too dangerous. We got Judith. She can't stay in the woods at night. Not like this." She glanced at little backpack that was hanging over Beth's shoulder. She knew it was Judith's bag, but she—no. It was too dangerous. And, Daryl… Daryl had to be with them.
"We got a safe house around here," she told him quickly, "A funeral home of Grady's former board. We keep it stocked and clean for emergencies. It's loaded gun. There's even a small cache in the basement. A few guns and stuff. Take the kids there. You can't make it until the sun's down, but you can find your way in the dark better than anyone. It's not very far away, either. I'll find Rick, and we'll try to look for others, will come tomorrow."
Carl shook his head, "No. I'll come with you!" he opposed.
"No!" she exclaimed, "You go with Judith and Beth. We'll come later. Go now—we're wasting time."
Daryl nodded, "Where's the house?"
She gave him a location as best as she could, but the tracker was quick and knew his around in the woods, and soon enough he understood, "A'right. Got it. We wait you there."
"Wait for two days—" she said, swallowing, "If we don't come—don't look for us…Try to keep up."
Beth shook her head, "Amanda!"
She stood up, "Go now—" She leaned down, and kissed her friend at the top of her head, and then the baby, "Be careful. Be safe. I'll try to find Maggie, too. They might be at the bus." Beth nodded with tears, Amanda turned to Carl, "Take care of your sister, okay? You're a man now."
The boy nodded, "I will—" he stopped for a second, but didn't say anything else, either. Amanda wondered if he was mad at his father like Amanda was—even though he'd wanted to look for Rick, but another gunshot in the air couldn't let her ponder on it further—as she started jumping over the sidewalk in hurry—
"Go now—quick—" she shooed her hand, "We'll find you. I promise."
# # #
When the punches stopped, his hands found his throat, and started strangling him.
Everything was black, blood filling in his mouth, his blood, and everything tasted salty and copper, bitter—and everything was black…black and red.
Carl—he thought as fire spread over his lungs…
Carl—I'm sorry…
Lori… I'm sorry… I couldn't protect them…
And he was failing them now, failing them in the worst possible way.
He cracked his eyes open—to see the sunlight for the last time—with his bloody, swollen eyes….one last time.
He forced them open, his eyes almost shut down completely, and instead of sun, he saw…her.
Her arm was coiled around his neck, and Amanda—Amanda was holding a knife over his throat from behind, trying to cut his throat open, but his hand at hers fighting with her—
He hit her with his elbow—at her side from where she'd been shot—and Amanda staggered backward on her feet, her arm still coiled around his neck, and Rick saw them fighting, still laying under them—
"Rick—!" she screamed, "Rick!"
With the last ounce of his strengthen, Rick pushed himself up, pulled out of the knife at his side, blood sputtering out of the open wound over his hand, and rising it, Rick stabbed the sonofabitch at his heart.
The bastard shouted with pain as Amanda finished it—as his grip on her wrist loosened, she slit his throat, and threw him off away from him.
Falling back at the ground, Rick stared at her, as she stared at him—the blood—then she dropped on her knees beside him, "God, you got stabbed, too!" she exclaimed.
"'m 'kay—" he grated, trying to turn around, "Carl—" he tried to make a move to stand up, too, "Carl—Judith—"
She pushed him down—back at the bus. "They're fine. I found them—" she assured him, her eyes at his side, checking his wound, "We—we need to close it—you're bleeding."
"'s fine—" Rick rasped out again, "Carl—I gotta find them—"
"Daryl and Beth are with them. The bus left. The prison's overrun—" she started speaking fast, her hands probing him, "Grady got this safe house. Closer to here. I sent them there."
He nodded, and pushed himself up, holding the bus's edge, "Let's go."
"You can barely stand—" she told him agitated, gesturing his leg, "We need to take care of this first. Take off your belt—" she ordered.
"Amanda—"
"Don't Amanda me—" she snapped back, "Do as I say! Take off your damn belt. We need to tourniquet your leg. You can't walk like this."
Rick gave her a look—or at least tried to—he wasn't sure if he were capable of doing any stare right now—but she was right too, he couldn't walk with a gunshot and knife wound in the woods. In silence, he stood on stumbling feet, and started uncinching his holster first, his hands, wet with blood shaking, then took off his belt.
She gave him another look, too, but not at him, at his ripped off shirt—then suddenly drew back and took off her own basic white tee.
If he weren't in such a condition, he must've stared at her if she'd gone mad, but standing in her white sports bra, she shook her head, lifting her eyes up at him. "C'mon—don't look at me—tuck it at your side, close the wound. I don't have time to look bandages for you—" she said, taking the belt from his hand, and raising on her knees in front of him, she started looping the belt around his upper thigh, above his main artery to cut off the blood supply.
She fastened the belt, and craning her neck up she checked on him again as Rick tucked her shirt over the knife wound inside his jeans, their eyes catching—she shook her head, "You really better not to die on me today, Rick—" she warned him again, tying the belt, and stood up.
He shook his head, "I don't plan to—" he said in return, despite that he'd been about to die just a few minutes ago before she'd found him, "I survived worse—"
"Wonderful—" she shot back, taking his arm over her shoulder, supporting his weight, and told him before they started walking back to the prison. "Let's go find your kids, Sheriff—"
# # #
He was going to be death of her.
Simple as that.
They hobbled together, his arm over her shoulders, leaning over her, and she knew he'd gotten it pretty bad with Governor—even she herself had started getting it pretty bad while she had attacked the sonofabitch from behind—then he at least at the last minute, he'd managed to stab the asshole at his heart.
It'd been close, so close.
When she'd seen them like that, her first thought was—after she'd momentarily freaked out thinking he was dead—to attack him behind and slit his throat, but the man somehow had noticed her and stopped her before she could've completed her attack—and god, he was strong. A way too strong for her.
She hadn't given up, of course, inched her knife closer and closer, but when the bastard had elbowed her at her side—at her still a bit sore side, she'd thought for a second she'd been done.
God, how she wished for a gun now!
Both Rick and her were out of the bullets, which made things even worse for them—if it was possible. She looked around as they walked back—rotters around them, limping toward the prison too, but none of them had still bothered them, thank god for small mercies.
"Did you see Michonne?" she asked, wandering her eyes around again, "We could use her sword now—we're pathetically outgunned."
Rick shook his head, "No. I don't know if she's still alive—" he said back, and Amanda let out a sigh, taking another step up in the hill, wondering how many people they'd lost today—
"We should've left—" she muttered out, "We should've left as soon as we saw that tank…"
Rick didn't say in return, and Amanda let it go—it was…it was another fight for another day…she supposed. If they survived today, that was it.
Her fucking 30th day. Always to remember.
She would've never forgotten today, never.
She shook her head again, and felt her hair brushing over her shoulders, and it pissed her a great deal. She mumbled under her breath, and Rick stayed in silence again—so they walked back to the prison to follow Daryl and their group—him in ripped off shirt, and she in her sports bra…the duo of the apocalypse.
She almost laughed, almost.
It was a long day, a long, long day.
They walked through the main gate as rotters all swarmed all around, everything around them in ruins, people on the ground getting devoured, and she felt she was about to cry.
Rick—from what she could tell from his bloodied, battened expressions, he felt the same too—seeing his home like this—what mattered him the most—and all of sudden her anger at him dissipated, leaving its place a sadness—remembering the way he'd looked as he'd sacrificed his pigs—and his tiredness, and Amanda wished she could've stayed mad at him—not like this—not like…this. "Amanda—" he told her slowly then, and she stared ahead, the bloodshed over her eyes, trying not to cry, "Thank ya—thank ya coming back," he whispered.
Swallowing, she shook her head, "Partners, Rick, remember?" she told him back, "Partners don't leave each other behind—"
His only answer was a little squeeze over her shoulder where he'd gripped her for strengthen, and they walked—trying to be as quiet as possible as rotters were distracted with their food, toward the backyard where Daryl and Beth had taken out of the woods over the broken fences—then stopped dead.
Rotters—a herd—a herd of perhaps more than fifty were around the narrow corridor between the block and fences—clustered around something—something Amanda didn't want to know—then as they stopped and stared at them—they noticed them, lifting their heads, and started coming toward the fresh meat.
Goddammit!
She coiled her other arm around his waist, got him closer to her, "Hurry up—" she hissed, and turning around, she started running at the other side, dragging him along—
Then stopped dead again—two people, one man and one woman still holding guns, staring at them in the ruins—trying to get out too— "It's over—" Rick told them, waving his arm a bit, "Go now—"
The woman raised her gun, and told her friend, "Get them down—as they eat them, we run—"
Amanda wanted to yell—wanted to scream—wanted to cry out what kind of monsters they were, but she didn't do anything—it was a naught question in these days, almost irrelevant.
They got guns, she and Rick didn't—it was what was relevant. "Daryl—" she told him then, she didn't even know why, she just wanted him to feel better at least, she guessed, "Daryl would take care of them. I saw him take down a tank today—"
He nodded in his silence—but his other hand found hers that was still wrapped around his waist and held her fingers.
All of sudden the gesture itself made things a bit better—just a bit better—she supposed there would've been worse ways to die than this—holding the hand of a man she knew—different.
She only could wish now it'd be quick.
She almost closed her eyes, but before she could, two sudden gunshots echoed in the air, and man and woman dropped dead in front of them, holes on their forehead, and then behind them she saw Lizzie beside her sister Mika, the girl who—who had been feeding rotters, butchering animals, her gun still raised up—
And the psychopathic girl looked at them, "Carol said we should protect each other—" she told them as they both stared… "Always."
And at that moment, Amanda knew, no one had ever said any truer words, and the irony wasn't lost on her, either.
So, I long debated myself how to split them up, and didn't wanted to be too much...predictable. I also didn't want to keep Amanda and Rick apart as well, because Amanda still harboring a tempest inside because they didn't leave-just like Carl does, and I want to play with that, and Lizzie part is ironic-I mean, the psychopathic girl literally saved their asses, telling them about Carol-the woman Rick sent off to protect his own-irony. The show did it too at Terminus, and well, I wanted to play my hand too. Besides, I think I'm liking the idea Rick and Amanda dealing with Lizzie as they look for Carl, Judith, Beth, and Daryl. I also liked the idea Beth and Daryl herding up their own flock, taking care of Carl and Judith...so this happened.
As you can see, I also left Michonne part in the dark, as I still don't know what to do with her, lol. All in frankness, I'd found it very odd at the show that she left Rick like that-a total mess after his fight, who was asking for Carl and didn't turn back to the prison to look for the boy with Rick just because she was having a breakdown. I guess they did it only because they wanted her to return at the next episode but it came to me a very OOC moment for Michonne even for those times. I didn't like it, so I totally wrote it off. Besides, I wanted Rick and Amanda killing Governor together, too, as Amanda wouldn't leave her partner behind :)