The sound of the nails being hammered into the wooden box sent a chill down Anna's spine as they closed Jesus within. She stood beside Daryl just in front of Jessie, Michonne, and the other Alexandrians but still separated from the rest of the gathering. Finally, they lifted the coffin and lowered it into the grave of the ever-growing cemetery.
.
After the funeral Anna, Daryl, Tara, and Enid said their goodbyes to Jessie and the others. They watched quietly as the Alexandrians disappeared down the road, the gate closing behind them. Enid and Tara left to tend to their duties, and Daryl and Anna started toward the house.
"I'm gonna go question the girl," he said. "I need you to stand outside the window and listen."
"Why?" Anna asked, furrowing her brow.
"Case she says somethin' I don't catch," he explained as they rounded the house to the entrance of the cellar.
Anna took a breath but reluctantly nodded. She positioned herself beside the window to the girl's cell, leaning against the wall as Daryl went to the cellar doors. He shook his head and sighed before throwing one of the doors open and heading inside.
"Who are you?" Anna heard Daryl ask faintly. "Answer the question."
Keys rattled and she could hear the cell door creak open.
"You wanna die?" Daryl asked, his voice dangerously low. "Is that it?"
"Daryl, what's your problem?" Henry called.
"Quiet!" Daryl snapped, and Anna flinched. "Do you?" He asked. "People up there just buried a good man. And they are ready to string you up right now. All I got to do is drag your ass up them steps. How many in your group?"
"I already told you—" the girl started.
"Get up!" There was a sharp thud of a body hitting the bars. "How many?" Daryl demanded.
"Ten! Ten!" The girl cried. "There were ten of us! I think. We wore skins to blend in. We didn't have names. I mean—I mean, we did, but didn't use them."
"How long you been out around here?" Daryl asked.
"I don't know. We moved around with the—with the dead," she explained, her breathing labored. "I mean, the skins made them leave us alone. They protected us, so we protected them."
Anna furrowed her brow.
"You got a camp? Walls?" Daryl asked.
"Walls?" The girl echoed. "Walls don't keep you safe. Places like this don't make it. They never make it. That's how it is. My mom and me, we saw it happen over and over. I—I barely remember the world before all this. But my mom, she told me how it was changing, how we had to change with it, how we needed the dead and each other to keep safe. We're never alone."
"Why'd your people kill our people?" Daryl asked.
The girl said nothing. Anna wrapped her arms around herself.
"Tell me!" Daryl roared, and Anna's heart jumped into her throat.
"We were always gonna kill you, okay?" The girl shrieked. "It's just what people do now. Everybody still alive is a threat. It's us or them."
"How many people in your group?"
"I already—"
"The truth!"
"I suggest you tell me the truth." There was a high-pitched ringing in her ears.
"It is the truth!"
"I am telling—" Her head began to pound and her body began to tremble.
"Don't lie to me!"
"Don't lie to me," he said, striking her again and again, his voice far too calm. She could feel the bruises forming all over again.
"My mom! It's just my mom. She's a good person. Please don't go looking for her. Please," the girl begged. "She's just one woman, out there alone."
"You said your people were never alone," Daryl pointed out.
"She—she was at the cemetery. She got separated, but just her," the girl said quickly.
"Liar!"
"I don't like liars."
She couldn't breathe.
"Please, I'm telling—No! No, I told you the truth!"
The girl sobbed and Anna felt her blood run cold. She pushed herself off the wall, covering her ears as tears slipped down her cheeks. Her chest heaved and she let out a shuddering breath as she looked around. Everything seemed too bright, too loud.
"I told you what was gonna happen!" Daryl said.
"Good girl."
Escape. I need to escape.
.
.
"Liar!" Daryl shouted, dropping the knife from the girl's terrified face.
He moved his hand away from her neck and grabbed her wrist, dragging her to the cell door.
"Please, I'm telling—No!" She cried. "No, I told you the truth!"
The girl sobbed and he could feel her shaking in his hand as she clung to one of the bars, anchoring herself to the ground.
"I told you what was gonna happen!" He said.
"Daryl!" Henry called.
"Shut up!"
"That was everything! Please! Please! Let go of me!" She begged.
"Daryl, stop!" Henry demanded.
"Please, Daryl, please don't kill me, please," she stuttered, her face contorted in terror.
Daryl looked between Henry and the girl. There was still more that she wasn't telling him. She couldn't die yet. He released her and she fled across the room, folding herself up behind the chair as if it were enough to protect her from him, should he change his mind.
He shut the cell door and locked it up, glaring at her through the bars before turning and walking to Henry's cell, pointing at the teen standing at the bars.
"Thought I told you to stay quiet," Daryl said in a low voice.
"She's just a girl," Henry insisted.
"You wanna know what your place is here?" Daryl asked. "It's right where you're at, for as long as it takes for you to figure out how to wise your ass up."
With that, he walked off.
"Daryl," Henry called after him. "Daryl! Wait!"
Daryl kept walking, heading up the cellar stairs and shutting the door. He turned, ready to ask Anna if she caught anything. Only, she wasn't there. He looked around, confused. Then he realized.
"Shit," he sighed, shaking his head.
"Thank you," he heard from the window.
Knowing he wasn't going to find Anna anytime soon, Daryl sat down against the wall beside the window.
"What?" Henry asked.
"I said thank you," the girl repeated. "For saving me."
"I had to. Couldn't let him do what he was gonna do to you," Henry said. "I'm Henry."
There was a pause.
"I'm Lydia."
"Nice to meet you."
Daryl leaned his head back, pressing it into the wall as he picked at a bit of grass beside him. He shouldn't have asked Anna to listen in.
.
.
Breathe.
Anna sucked in a breath, feeling the air fill her lungs despite the tightness in her chest, and exhaled slowly. Her skin tingled.
Focus.
Another breath. Her fingers trembled in Dog's brown fur as he leaned into her. She held him close, her eyes shut.
"Anna?"
She opened her eyes slowly, keeping them to the ground. She recognized the boots in front of her. She didn't think anyone would find her in the hayloft.
"Are you all right?" Emma asked.
Anna didn't say anything for a moment, feeling her heart throb painfully. Dog stepped a little closer to her.
"Not really," Anna finally said, her voice cracking and barely above a whisper.
Emma moved forward and sat down on Anna's other side. Anna felt the woman's hand rest gently on her shoulder and squeeze lightly.
"What happened?" She asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," Anna muttered, closing her eyes again.
"Talking might make you feel better," Emma pointed out. "But if you don't want to, I understand."
Anna was quiet, clenching her teeth and furrowing her brow. She'd talked about it already—till she was blue in the face. She'd told Daryl and Emma everything that had happened. She wrote about it. She let herself feel. She did everything she could think of to make it go away, but it just kept coming back.
"When I killed Isaac," Anna said. "When I found out they burned his body. It made things easier. It took a while, but I stopped looking over my shoulder. I stopped thinking he was going to appear one day and…," she paused, slowly pulling away from Dog. "I thought I moved on."
"What happened?" Emma asked gently.
"Daryl was interrogating that girl. He asked me to listen in—in case she said something and he missed it," Anna explained. "And it… it reminded me of Isaac; when he would question me."
"Anna…. What he did to you…," Emma started. "Trauma has no expiration date."
"I know," Anna sighed. "I know…, I just—I don't know." She shook her head, brushing her hair behind her ear.
Dog made a soft noise, bumping her other hand with his nose. She smiled and scratched behind his ear.
"Thanks buddy," Anna said, taking another breath.
She was calmer now, her hands no longer shaking.
"Does he sit with you when this happens?" Emma asked.
"Yeah. He's helped me through a lot of panic attacks," Anna said. "I think he was a service dog in a previous life."
"Maybe," Emma said, reaching out and patting Dog on the head. "What's his name?"
"Dog," Anna said. "Daryl named him," she defended when Emma cocked a brow at her.
"And you let him?" Emma asked.
"I couldn't think of a name, and honestly, I kind of like it," Anna shrugged, wiping her face clear of the drying tears. "Thank you, by the way."
"For what?" Emma asked, tilting her head.
"For being my best friend," Anna said, as though it should have been obvious.
"You're my best friend, too," Emma said, a grin spreading across her face.
.
It was dinner time when Anna made her way back to the cellar doors, where she found Daryl sitting against the wall beside the girl's cell window. When he noticed her approach, he pushed himself to his feet and tossed a piece of grass to the ground. She stopped in front of him and sighed.
"I'm sorry I left," she said quietly.
"Don't be. I shouldn't have asked you to listen," Daryl said.
"I didn't think it would still bother me," she said, shaking her head. "But I'm fine now. What did I miss?"
"Her name's Lydia," Daryl said, gesturing to the window. "She's talking to Henry. We're just gonna listen in, see what she tells him."
"Okay," Anna nodded. "I'll take over from here, you go get something to eat."
"Nah, I'm good."
"Daryl," Anna huffed, shooting him a look. "Go get something to eat."
"All right," Daryl relented, starting toward the front of the house when he paused. "You okay?" He asked, turning back to her. "Bein' here and all?"
Anna pressed her lips together, but nodded.
"I'm okay."
"Tell me if you ain't," Daryl said before disappearing around the corner.
Anna took a breath and sat down beside Lydia's window. She could hear them talking through the glass; they were probably raising their voices so they could hear each other from their cells. Henry told her about the early days of the outbreak, about how he'd lost his mom and later his dad.
In return, Lydia told him about her time in the early days, how she and her parents had been hiding in a basement with a bunch of others. Her father had been a vocal pessimist about their chances of anyone coming to help them. She told him about how he was an angry man, and how he often made her fearful. But her mom was always there to make her feel safe by singing her a song about a tattooed lady named Lydia.
"I remember that look in his eye," Lydia said. "Still see it. How cold it is—was," she corrected, and Anna frowned. "Why am I even telling you this?"
"Beats the quiet. Beats being alone," Henry said.
"Never been alone," Lydia said. "My people traveled in groups with the dead. I miss the sounds…, the smell."
"Not gonna lie…, walking around in dead people's skins is pretty messed up," Henry admitted.
"Thinking this place isn't gonna fall like every other place…, that's messed up," Lydia huffed.
"Agree to disagree," Henry conceded.
"Your dad's an asshole like mine," Lydia stated. "All you did was sneak out. Is it even that hard? Are there a lot of guards posted here?"
Anna tensed, hoping Henry had the sense not to say.
"Daryl's not my dad," Henry said. "He doesn't even want to be here. He and Anna are only doing it as a favor for my mom."
She relaxed, pulling her knees up to her chest.
"I thought you said your mom died," Lydia said.
"My second mom, I mean," Henry clarified. "She's tough. Not somebody you want to mess with. Hey, what happened to your dad?"
"My dad was a stupid man," Lydia said harshly.
Anna furrowed her brow, noting the 'was' in her statement. He probably died. But Anna wondered why Lydia had to correct herself earlier when speaking about the cold look in her father's eye.
"My mom, though, she kept me alive. Kept me safe. She's a lot like your mom," Lydia said gravely. "You don't mess with her, either."