[66] The Message
Today is November 22nd! Happy birthday to Toby!
Once Daryl and I dispersed, I expected a flood of awkwardness, the need to run and hide at an all-time high. I didn't feel that. Instead, he gave me a small smile, looking slightly relieved as he stood. I smiled, enjoying the silence until Rick ruined it by calling Daryl's name.
Daryl cursed under his breath, briefly glancing my way before heading out of the block and back into the common area, "you can walk, right?"
I nodded, curious and followed him slowly. Once he noticed I was behind, he held an arm out. I took his elbow, leaning my weight as he sped up.
The group wasn't gathered as tightly anymore; most spread far as Merle was in the centre. T-Dog stood still a few feet from him.
I realised what was happening, the tense feeling in the room not just for Merle's return but for this.
Daryl gently shook me off his arm, making forward to separate them. Rick got there first, standing near the two and addressing Merle, warning him away.
"Rick, back off. You too, Daryl," T-Dog didn't even turn to look behind, just knowing Daryl was ready. "This is on me. I'm not running from this."
Merle's glare was scalding as he stalked closer, "why, isn't that just so fuckin' dignified of you."
T-Dog's head was down; a stance of vulnerability or surrender. I heard him take a deep breath but couldn't interpret the emotion. When Merle was only inches away, standing tall over him menacingly, he lifted his head, shoulders straightened.
"Do what you gotta do, man."
"What was that? I do believe I just heard the sound of Mister Yo's balls droppin'," Merle took one last step, T-Dog held his ground, their noses just an inch apart. His voice lowered to a growl, "too bad it ain't gonna do you any good."
Merle's harsh gaze grew strong. I almost expected T-Dog to drop dead from the intensity alone. Everyone was silent, watching as Merle's expression became more angry and deadly, facial muscles twitching as if gearing up, goading him to action.
My leg screamed in protest, sore and angry with all the action from the shootout. I ignored it, launching myself forward into a quick run. I heard my name and felt Daryl's fingers graze my arm, barely missing me before I was out of reach.
I easily slid in front of T-Dog, between the two men. My jaw clenched, ignoring the searing in my leg. I stood still, straight firm as I had just seen T-Dog doing. It was hard to do so far below Merle, but I tried to imagine I was much taller.
I knew the tenseness in my face was obvious, but I channelled that into a glare, eyes not faltering from Merle's for a second. I hoped he couldn't tell that my expression was from the pain and nervousness and not at all threatening.
"T," T-Dog's voice was uneven. I could hear the nervousness. "Move. I don't want you in the middle of this."
"I'm always in the middle," I said, still not looking away. I wasn't sure if that was right or if the nervousness I heard from his voice was for me, but it felt like it. The comment felt right. I was always stuck in the middle of the stupidest things. A good example was in Woodbury; I was smack-down in the middle of all the bullshit. "He ain't gonna touch me."
I didn't believe my own words for a second. I'd blown, crashed and pushed through so many boundaries with everyone in the group. I was confident no matter what I did, no one would punish or hurt me in any way. Merle was different. Although he hadn't outright hurt me in Woodbury, he'd promised he could. The worst he had done to me was kind of my own fault. When I went after him, trying to hurt him and he grabbed and held me against the table to restrain me. There was a faint bruise on my ribcage where the corner of the table dug in. Still, although Merle never carried out his threats, I didn't feel confident he never would.
I jutted my chin out slightly. Merle's eyes made me very nervous. He could be terrifying. But I wanted him to see me, to hear the challenge. He was here for Daryl, and Daryl was staying. Merle had to do something that wasn't him. He had to act, just like I had to in Woodbury.
When Merle seemed to catch on I wasn't moving from his threatening stance alone, his voice came out in a low growl, "lil' darlin', if ya don't hightail yer ass—"
"—Fuck off," I snapped.
Merle's eyebrow twitched upward. His expression didn't calm but seemed to ease the slightest bit.
"What, then? Lil' girl's gonna fight his battles for him? That it?"
"There ain't no fight here. If ya don't like it, leave," My insides shivered at my own words, both very afraid and regretting them. There was so much conflict in my feelings toward Merle. I liked him before and preferred his presence to others for unknown reasons. I did know he wasn't good right then. I didn't even know whose side he was on. I didn't want him to go. I never wanted him gone in the first place. Whatever he wanted to happen couldn't happen. They would kick him out again, and while I could get over that, I wasn't ready to risk losing Daryl over it. Not again. Besides, T-Dog was mine.
My face faltered at that thought, completely disrupting my act for a full second. I had no idea what I meant by that. Where the fuck did that even come from?
I regained composure quickly, telling myself I'd figure it out later. Merle's eyes looked me up and down, sizing me up before looking over my head at T-Dog. I didn't know what T-Dog looked like or what he was doing, but I didn't look.
Merle scoffed, meeting my gaze once more before turning away, "whatever."
I stood still, watching until Merle was far enough away. Across the room, he leaned his back on the wall. I brought myself to the nearest table, sitting on the metal benches attached to it, legs facing outward from the table.
"Did anybody else get hurt?" Glenn asked.
Everyone looked around. I did the same. No one seemed hurt, and the only person that did was dead.
"Sasha isn't here," Rick noticed. "Where's Sasha?"
They started murmuring, talking amongst themselves.
"Did anyone see her?"
"Where did she go?"
"I haven't seen her since before . . ."
The last time I saw Sasha was when we were all gathered in this room, talking about Woodbury. That had been a long time ago. I assumed that was the last time they saw her too, but I didn't know.
Beth and Maggie rushed to check the cell-block. Carl volunteered to look through the halls in case she hid, and Oscar volunteered to go with him.
"Carl, stay inside. I mean it," Rick told him before he was gone.
"Are you goin' back out there?" Daryl asked.
"Yes, I think I have to. I'll try and see what was on that van before going out too far. I want someone to cover me, but we don't need any more than necessary outside. There's no telling if they are still out there, or how many . . ."
"It may be best to wait until nightfall," Hershel suggested.
Rick reached to his belt, unclipping the large ring of keys before giving them to Hershel, "No, the message mentioned 'channel'. I'm going back out there."
"I'll cover you," T-Dog began following him out.
"Me too," Daryl joined.
Maggie jogged back into the common room, Beth behind her, "she's not in the cell-block."
"Okay, we'll keep looking," Rick was dismayed, looking back at Daryl, "I need you to keep an eye on him."
"You need me out there. He can stay in here."
Rick motioned to Michonne, who'd been silent at the other end of the room, "we can't leave them both in here."
"You're not, I'll be out with there with you." Michonne assured, she waved at T-Dog, "he's slow on that leg. You might need to get closer to this, I can be at your side. For the dead, and for the living. If they start shooting out there it won't be the worst thing to have an extra pair of eyes."
"I have two men for that," Rick said, his voice argumentative.
"It's a big yard, lots of cover beyond those fences. Your best bet is to have them cover you from a distance, watch the side-lines."
"You're not in any better shape," T-Dog cut in.
"I handled myself out there just fine. We need to keep an eye out for Sasha, if she's not in the building, she could be hiding out there, afraid to leave cover or . . ."
A frustrated breath escaped Rick, mumbling an agreement before approaching Merle. "You stay here. You don't leave this room. And you don't step foot in the cell-block."
"Aye, aye, captain," Merle winked.
Rick shook his head, leaving for the door with T-Dog and Michonne behind him.
Daryl stood in front of me, "You good here? I'll be back."
I nodded, "what's goin' on?"
"They wrote somethin' on that van in the yard. I think it was talkin' 'bout a radio channel."
"Radio? Like in a car?"
"Like a walkie."
"Go, I'll take her to the cell-block," Hershel urged. "We'll be fine."
Daryl silently agreed, giving Merle a side-long glance as he left into the hall.
Hershel also watched Merle, calling me and nodding his head toward the cell-block. Reluctantly, I stood, slowly making my way over.
"What about Sasha?" Maggie asked when Hershel told her to follow.
"We have to find her," Beth agreed.
"We have eyes everywhere we can right now. More people running around is dangerous and unnecessary right now. We need to lay as low as possible and be cautious."
The sisters weren't happy but understood. Hershel and I went with them into the block. Behind me, Maggie quickly shut the barred door, dividing us from the common room.
I watched with furrowed eyebrows as she took the keys from Hershel, locking the door before walking away.
I stood still, much of my weight going on my good leg, staring at him through the bars. Merle stared back at me silently. After a moment, he went to one of the tables, sitting and turning himself away from me.
Later, everyone was in the common room except for Oscar, who was on watch, and Guillermo, resting in a cell. With a vacant expression, Merle stood the farthest away, against the wall. The situation seemed to cost him no feeling, nor was it any kind of surprise. Like it was a regular occurrence.
Daryl had told me to sit at the table, but with the radio, hat . . . and the rest there, I couldn't. I had no desire to be closer, no matter how sore my leg was.
"You can go in there, rest a bit, don't need to see this shit," Daryl told me quietly. I could tell by the tone that it wasn't a command or instruction but a question.
"I wanna know. I should be here," I answered. I wasn't sure about my statement, so I looked back at him, waiting for approval and adding, "right?"
Daryl nodded, "yeah." As an afterthought, he patted his side, "lean here."
I raised my eyebrows questioningly, and he only got closer before his attention returned to the conversation. At his closeness, my right shoulder was just grazing his side. Honestly, I wasn't sure I needed to, but something about the warmth and proximity made it hard to do otherwise. I inched to the side, slightly leaning into him and taking most of the weight off my right leg.
I felt eyes and me and found Merle staring. I couldn't decipher the expression, but it wasn't vacant or casual. I swallowed nervously and shifted, hiding my face from him behind Daryl.
With the baby sleeping in a cell, at least I assumed it was, considering I hadn't seen or heard it, Beth was free to hug her arms around herself. A sob escaped her, and she quickly left the room, running into the cell-block.
Hershel only glanced her way before his eyes trained back to what was on the table, "Maggie . . .?"
"I'll go," her voice cracked as she obliged, following after Beth.
"This is sick," T-Dog spat. "God, what . . . what are we supposed to do?"
"We should have gone back, we never should have left. We did this, we left him there," Glenn rambled.
"You barely made it out yourselves," Hershel said.
"It's on me," Michonne confessed. "After he got me out, he said it was best to separate, told me to meet him . . . it doesn't matter. After he didn't show, I should have gone back, kept looking."
"What good would that have done?" Hershel asked. "You would have been captured too. This is no one's fault. Everyone stop with the blame. It's not helpful, to anyone, especially Tyreese."
"Sasha?" Rick asked, eyes not leaving the table. It was the first time he'd spoken since placing them on the table, since telling us about the radio.
"We can't find her," Carl answered. "This could be a trick, right? Ty could be dead, he might be lying."
"Oh, he's alive," Merle's voice called everyone to attention. As it always did. "Prob'ly wishin' he wasn't."
"Shut up, man," Daryl warned.
"Just sayin'. Ain't the Gov's style. If he wanted yer man dead he'd probably woulda been one a' the biters in the truck. You seein' the same shit I am, brother? Those didn't come off of a dead man."
Daryl hesitated. I watched his face as he spoke again, "Merle's right. Could be different now, but, he was alive when it happened."
"You can tell?" Carl asked. Daryl nodded, offering no explanation.
I wanted to keep avoiding it, but my eyes were continuously being pulled to the table. I was sure everyone else was the same, not wanting to see the horrific sight but not being able to look away.
"Maybe we can get him back," Carl spoke, but with his voice wavering, I was pretty sure he knew it was nonsense. "That's why he wants to meet."
"He didn't say that," Rick said.
"Maybe just wants us to think it, so we'll be there," T-Dog said. "Then what, he just kills us on the spot?"
"Do we go through with it?" Hershel asked Rick.
"We have three days," Rick spoke, avoiding the question. "Three days, at noon. He'll be at the location to discuss terms."
"Why make us wait so long?" T-Dog asked.
"To keep ya guessin'," Merle said. "Make you scramble, scare you into makin' a dumb mistake. Gives him time too. Should be leavin' now, hightail it outta here."
"We're not running," Rick growled at him.
Merle raised his arms, his one hand palm out in mock surrender.
Daryl nudged my shoulder, "get to the cell-block. I'll meet ya there."
With a frown and one last glance at the dark, bloody severed fingers on the table, I left the room.
On my way into the cell-block, I couldn't shake what happened, what they found.
When the others first came in after checking out the yard, and some searching for Sasha, Daryl pulled me aside. While they heard from Rick, Daryl told me himself.
Painted on the side of the van that drove into the yard was the word channel followed by the numbers. It meant nothing at first until they got a better look at the yard. A walker, one that had surely come from inside that van, while unfamiliar, was wearing a familiar hat.
They'd made their way carefully through the field, taking out some of the walkers, though it didn't matter; with the gate open, more just strolled in. They got to the walker, without seeing any men in the distance, without getting shot at. Daryl added in, telling me it was too easy. The Governor wanted them to find it. Otherwise, they could have been killed or shot at from the field.
The walker was wearing Tyreese's dark beanie, the withered one with holes he normally wore. A radio, a walkie, was clipped to its pocket. The worst find, around the walker's neck, were three dark, bloody severed fingers tied together in a necklace.
They took the 'souvenirs' from the walker and then found a safe cover inside before finally deciding to go to the channel on the van.
Daryl told me there was no way to know where the Governor was during the conversation. He could've been hiding far out, hiding nearby, watching the prison, or even on his way back to Woodbury.
They'd had the radio talk before going back to us, the rest of the group, so I only knew what I was told. The Governor spoke to Rick, refusing to answer whether Tyreese was alive or dead. He'd said Tick would get whatever answer he wanted if he agreed to meet in three days.
Rick was unable to get much of a word in as the Governor gave the time and location. He'd signed off promptly after.
I believed everything Daryl told me, everything Rick told the group about what the Governor said. But a part of me still wished I'd heard it, heard his voice and the exact words he used. It didn't matter, so I wasn't sure where that desire stemmed from. I just knew I was scared. I didn't want to be anywhere near that man ever again.
The worst part was, even when the Governor shot me, he wasn't acting like that bad of a guy. He was still being nice, polite somehow. I could easily see that nice leader, the nice man having Merle and me over for dinner. I couldn't stop thinking about that dinner, how nice he was, how naturally I'd warmed up to him, how naturally I'd warmed up to all of it. The town, the atmosphere. I was sure I'd even admired him before I found out he was a bad guy; he just seemed so much more put together than Rick. A real man, a real leader. Merle respected him so much, I'd never seen Merle respect anyone. The walls were safe, it wasn't a dark, damn place with bars. It was a town, a home. So many people just live their lives in those walls, no one dying, no one screaming or crying or waiting to die. No one knew what kind of man that leader truly was, what he did behind closed doors.
That scared me more than any of it. More than the shootout, more than when he'd grabbed me by the arm and shot my leg. How easy I accepted him, the town, and how much I still wanted to.
"Ow," I whined at the pinching in my side.
"Sit still," Daryl huffed behind me. "It don't fit right, tryin'a make it tight."
"Why I gotta wear this?" I wasn't against wearing it, but the process of Daryl getting it on me was tiring. It kept falling and leaving gaps where it shouldn't have. Apparently, prisons didn't readily carry child-size riot gear.
"Don't start. Y'know the answer."
"Yeah, but I ain't allowed outside. Why do I need it in here?"
"That stop ya last time?" his voice had an edge.
I swallowed nervously, body tensing, "sorry."
I felt a pat on the back of my shoulder as the fabric tightened, "There, got it," Daryl followed his words with a sigh, and I turned to face him. "I know, didn't mean it like that. We just gotta be prepared, ready, y'know? 'Sides, more mad at Glenn than you 'bout that."
"Why?"
"You really wanna go over this now?"
"If yer gonna yell, can ya just do it?" I turned my body more on the floor, facing him fully. "I know I was bad, and yer actin' like I wasn't. Is it 'cause you left?"
"No," he answered quickly. "You did a bad thing, yer not bad. Don't think ya need to be yelled at, ya learned from it, didn't'cha? Think we both did."
I nodded.
"I'm mad at Glenn 'cause he shoulda' turned back. It ain't all on you. You weren't drivin'. Maggie and Glenn shoulda called it soon as they saw ya."
"Maggie wanted to go back," I defended. "I kept sayin' no."
"Don't matter. She shoulda' done more. But I ain't that mad with her. The run was Glenn's, he was drivin', he called the shots. That's why he got yelled at, not you."
"You yelled at him?" I said, surprised, "when?"
"After we found . . ." Daryl trailed off a moment. My stomach did a small flip, the grotesque image of Tyeese's fingers vivid in my mind. "We all kinda lost it a bit. I blew up on him. Maybe if ya'll came back ya wouldn't've seen Merle . . . maybe. I dunno. But I've been pissed at him 'bout it, didn't say nothin' 'til then. They wanna keep blamin' Merle for the whole thing. And I don't think this is on one person, if anyone . . . he fucked up too, had ta let him know."
I nodded again, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction when imagining him yelling at Glenn. "Good," I hadn't meant to say it out loud. The word slipped out quickly and quietly. I was still mad at Glenn for my own reasons, not all of them entirely sensible.
Daryl watched me for a minute. I lowered my gaze to his abdomen, avoiding eye contact. I saw the thick knot tied with shirt material at his side, just under his armpit. I noticed it a few times since he returned but didn't mention it. The knot was different than before, bulging and falling away. I could see his skin through a slit in the fabric.
"Good?"
I pursed my lips, searching for the right words, "I . . . I don't like Glenn right now."
"Don't be like that," his tone was firm, subtly reminding me of Rick. "I know ya liked Merle before, but this ain't our camp in Atlan'na. May not be happy with Glenn, but he's got every right to be pissed at Merle. He's my brother, and for the time bein' he's with us. But he ain't exactly a friend to us now."
"I know that, I'm not sayin' 'cause of Merle," Although I was on the fence with that. Glenn and Rick almost made us lose Daryl because they didn't want to deal with Merle. A part of it was how he spoke to Daryl and argued with him in the forest. Most of it was something I couldn't explain. Maggie wasn't happy with Glenn. I could see it when she looked at him when they talked. "He's bein' . . . I don't like how he's bein'. It's weird."
Daryl didn't seem to understand what I was getting at, but I wasn't sure either, "we had a tough time. We all coulda' died out there, or in here. People are gonna act weird."
"Like Guillermo?"
"Not exactly. But yeah. You remember how we found G?"
I nodded, thinking back on how he'd scared me, jumping out from nowhere with the gun.
"That whole place had been shot out, attacked. Just like we were today, only his people didn't make it through. That ain't somethin' you'd wanna relive."
While some were dealing with the message on the van outside, others were going through the prison halls and even a bit of the tombs, searching for Guillermo and Sasha. Guillermo was found by Glenn, right where I'd left him.
Glenn walked him into the cell-block, practically supporting all his weight with an arm. Guillermo's expression was vacant and almost dead. He was no longer sobbing, but that would have been a comforting sight compared to what I saw on his face then. He was lying in another cell-block, not having moved or said a word since being found.
My eyes caught the knot in his shirt again, "what happened there?"
Daryl looked down, lifting his arm slightly. "Shirt ripped. Tried to tie it there, but it ain't stayin'."
Daryl scooted off the bottom bunk, stood, the strode out of the cell. After a moment, I stood from the floor, following him. Without an injury, Daryl was quicker. Once I was out of the cell, he was at our place on the perch. I stepped his way carefully. My leg was okay, but after all the panic and moving of the day, I wanted to be slow on it.
Daryl's back was to me as he stood over our mattresses. I was surprised when his hands raised over his head, peeling the shirt from his abdomen.
My breath caught in my throat as I saw his back. All movements toward him paused.
Don't, you're not allowed. Go back. You can't look. You're not supposed to see when someone's been bad, it's not your business.
I couldn't look away, though. The scars along his back were elongated, some crisscrossing. They were a darker tone, almost brown, possibly fading with age. I hadn't seen a lot of other scars, so I couldn't tell what the colour meant.
I raised my hand to my face, palm upward. There was a long, thick gash along my palm. The scar was white. It wasn't from being bad, I'd cut myself trying to skin an animal on my own when I was really little. But it was the only scar I could see to compare his appearance. I couldn't see my back.
Daryl showed me a glimpse once at the farm. I remembered we were near the barn where Hershel kept the walkers locked in. Daryl had turned, lifting one part of his shirt to show me one of the lower scars. I'd never seen more than that.
I was starting to think about that conversation, what he'd said about being bad.
I wasn't smart. I knew that. It took me a long time, and I still didn't completely understand why, how, or any important details. But I was starting to see how different things were, Daddy, me, and everyone else. I'd spent a lot of time, mostly in close proximity to those people, so I'd picked up on things.
The only mark on Carl's arm was a small white dot over his elbow. He'd told me about it, a mosquito bite from long before, but hadn't gone away because of how much he scratched and picked at it. The way no one really, actually got into trouble, regardless if it was someone's kid. I'd really started to notice and pay more attention after seeing Carl's back once during our time on the road.
It wasn't anything significant. He had his shirt off after Lori helped wash his hair, not wanting to get it wet. I'd taken the opportunity, looking closely with confusion. I remembered how I thought; no wonder he gets away with so much. No wonder he never wants to listen, and more.
I may have never seen my own back, but I could still see the difference. Carl wasn't the only one I'd noticed missing any evidence of discipline.
"Do I look like that?" The words escaped my mouth unwillingly, I hadn't been paying attention to myself, much too distracted by what I was seeing.
Daryl turned quick, startled. Although tense, he calmed, reaching the ground to pick up a ball of bunched-up fabric.
"Don't know," he muttered, pulling the new shirt over his head.
Daryl knew what was there, even if he hadn't seen what it looked like. I regretted how I'd let Maggie search there for ticks, but I'd been anxious and afraid. If there were any more, I wanted them gone. She saw what I looked like and told Daryl at some point before he'd talked to me by the bard that day. I didn't understand why she told him. I still felt the embarrassment and anxiety from that day. I always wondered who else she told.
I said the wrong thing or asked, I guessed. I could tell by Daryl's demeanour. Only moments ago, he could meet my eyes, tell me what he wanted, and get to the point. This time he was quiet, eyes going everywhere but mine.
It was private, I knew. You couldn't talk or show anyone how bad you were. That was for you alone, to grow and learn from it. So many questions, so much curiosity was coming out. I'd already seen his, he knew about me. Did it matter how much more he knew? Something about me was different. I didn't fit. It felt like Daryl had the answers.
"Can you look?"
That was wrong again. Daryl's eyes were on my feet, lips tightening and frown deepening. My fingers fiddled with the hem of my shirt under the thick bullet-proof vest.
"No," he shook his head as he slipped the angel-wing vest over his shoulders.
Nothing I would say could ever be right, I didn't know how to be right. This seemed like a moment I had to grab, something so easily avoided and afraid to talk about; it was right there. Right in front of both of us, in between us. "What about—"
"—Stop." Daryl cut me off, proving to me that, once again, the subject was not to be touched. "Not today, Toby. Please."
Mouth agape, I stood there, taken aback by the sudden desperation lacing his tone. I noticed the way he was eyeing the staircase. I didn't want any wrong things I said to make him leave, so I quickly tried to change the subject.
"Is Merle gonna leave?"
Daryl's stance shifted, still uncomfortable. I could tell he was grateful for the new question as he spoke more freely. "I dunno, kid. Don't think so, but that don't mean they won't throw him out. He's gotta behave, one wrong thing and that's it. They're just lookin' for a reason, he knows that. How's that holster?"
My hand went to the Glock, buckled into a dark holster. He helped fasten it around my right thigh. The holster couldn't fit my size, just as the vest couldn't. Daryl had to make a new hole for the buckle to fit tighter, then cut away the extra belt. The snap to hold the gun into place was hooked over the hand, but with my fingers over the metal, I felt it wiggle a lot.
"Don't fit it right."
"Fixed the belt best I could. A different gun would fit the holster better."
"No," I said hurriedly. He'd brought it up before when he was putting it on before working on the vest. I didn't want a different gun.
"It'll work for now," Daryl moved on, understanding. "Keep it with you. It ain't just the Governor we gotta worry 'bout."
I gave a nod, frowning.
We'd known that the entire prison wasn't blocked off. When we first arrived, the walkers weren't only prisoners and guards but civilians. But those areas were able to be locked up and closed off, so no more could run through. Before things got more complicated, it was the plan to go into those areas and seal off any openings to the outside.
Knowing that there were weak points, Glenn had driven out earlier, right before the shootout, to pinpoint where the weak points were and how bad. After the message from the prison yard, they also had to go over that issue. The next step was to go through the tombs and figure out how to solve the problem from the inside. Not only that, Sasha was still missing.
We were waiting on another possible attack; more walkers were getting into the prison, Tyreese was captured, Sasha was missing, and Rick kept disappearing. The day just kept getting worse.
"Daryl," Glenn walked into the cell-block. "Carl and I found another breach."
"Another?" Daryl descended the stairs. I strode over and then sat at the top step, watching as some of them gathered.
"The whole front of the prison is unsecure. If walkers can just stroll in, it's going to be cake for a group of armed men."
"That whole section had been cleared," Beth said, holding the baby in her arms near one of the cells at the bottom.
"It's blocked off for now," Carl spoke. "But we need to fix it. He said he wouldn't, but . . . he could still come, right?"
"You bet yer ass, and he prob'ly will." Merle shrugged, leaning his shoulders against the open doorway to the cell-block, clearly making it a point not to cross over the threshold.
"I'm going to try and find Rick," Hershel declared. Manoeuvring himself expertly with his crutches. "We need a plan. We need to know what to do if we're going to this meeting."
"Bad idea," Merle sang, moving aside for Hershel to pass by.
Glenn ignored him, "where's Maggie?"
"Her and T-Dog are still looking for Sasha," Beth answered.
"Okay. Daryl, come with us down to the tombs. We need to find a way to secure it and make it safe from the inside. We can't go out there. I don't believe the Governor will lay off until the meet, I don't trust it."
"You got it."
"You'll need some help," Michonne offered. She was standing in the cell block below me, leaning against a wall. I wasn't sure what led to her being allowed to be in the cell-block, but no one seemed to mind her.
"No," Glenn denied, glancing at Merle pointedly. "In case anything happens, I need you in here."
"Oscar," Daryl suggested. "He knows this place better than us. May have some ideas; he should be there with us."
"He's on watch; we don't have enough people free."
Daryl hesitated, silent before his head turned to look up at me. He held his fingers out, waving for me to come down, "Toby, c'mere."
Using the railing to pull myself up, I descended the stairs, leaning my weight on it as I went. The leg hurt but wasn't terrible to walk on. Stairs were a different story.
Daryl didn't speak until I stood at his side, "need you on watch."
Mouth agape, I blinked, unsure I heard right, "me?"
Daryl nodded, "we need everyone right now. There's a rifle there and binoculars. Keep yer eyes peeled on the walkers in the yard and out in the woods. You see anythin', just call, someone'll come runnin'."
"Ya want me on watch?" I clarified.
"Carl can do it, so can you. You held yer own when they attacked, right?"
I nodded slowly, beginning to grasp what I was being told.
"What about her leg?" Beth asked.
Daryl's gaze flicked down to my calf, "she ain't runnin' or even walkin' much. Just stand and watch," his eyes went back to mine, "can you handle it?"
My eyes went around a bit; those in the room were staring. Even Merle watched with his arms crossed at the doorway, still not daring to step foot in the cell-block. I caught Carl smiling.
"Yeah," I nodded again, feeling good and somewhat happy about the request. I wasn't sitting around, waiting in a cell anymore. I had a job, not only that, a job he wanted me to do. "I got it, I can do it."
"Go tell Oscar yer takin' over, send him back."
Trying to make my limping slightly less obvious, I started out the cell-block. Merle was grinning as he shifted his position, leaning his back on the doorway instead of his shoulder so I could get by.
Still grinning, Merle winked as I passed, "Well, look who got promoted."
I didn't respond, sheepishly walking away from him. As I was heading to the door to leave the common room, I found the far table where Tyreese's black beanie hat had been.
I stopped, staring it down. It was the only thing on the table. My eyes searched the room, wondering where they had moved them.
I heard footsteps and turned; Daryl had left the cell-block, standing in front of Merle.
"Where are they?" I asked. I should have kept quiet, but I wanted to know. What were you meant to do with something like that?
"Rick took 'em," Daryl answered. He knew what I meant.
Without another word, I left the room.
When I opened the door to the balcony, the sky was darkening, but the air was still thick and muggy. The area was surrounded by interlinked metal, like the bridge and the storage area in the common room outside the cell-block.
Oscar turned around, eyes widening in surprise at the sight of me, "oh, hi, kiddo."
Any resemblance of a good mood was ruined at that. My expression dropped, not neutral but just borderline glaring. He'd called me that before, and it still had the same bristling effect.
Kiddo.
"Don't call me that."
"Right, forgot." he gave a nod. "Clyde call you that or something?"
"No," I didn't offer another answer, hoping he wouldn't press anymore. The mention of Clyde shook me. Seeing this man that was linked to my life was still so odd.
"So, uh, you need something?"
I blinked, bringing myself out of the thoughts he'd conjured, "I'm on watch. They want ya in the tombs."
"Yeah?" Oscar seemed a bit nervous but accepted. He showed me the scoped rifle they'd placed there. "This is all they got here. Just in case, you want me to show you—"
"—I got it," I cut him off, taking the long rifle. I didn't use that exact one before, but it resembled ones close to what Daddy used.
"Of course you do. Your dad taught you good, huh?"
I stared, once again taken aback.
Oscar smiled and shrugged, waving toward the gun in my hands, "he taught me, you know?"
"To shoot?"
"You bet. Used to drag me around on hunting trips every weekend. I probably wouldn't even know what to do without him. That was not an easy time."
"Shootin'?"
"No. Spending the weekend with your dad. God, the patience on that man, paper thin, I swear." Oscar chuckled, and I fought back a smile. "Don't get me wrong, the man knows his shit. Gets his point across. But damn if you're not picking it up quick enough."
A breath of a laugh escaped me. I bent my head to hide my expression. I leaned my shoulder against the wall, lifting my leg to rest it.
After his laughs calmed, our eyes met, and he spoke with a solemn expression, "this must be hard for you."
"What?"
"Everything, all of this," he looked around. "Your dad . . ."
"You should go," I said, wanting the conversation to end.
"Yeah, you're right. It's going to be okay, we'll figure it all out. I'm sure."
I kept my eyes away as he passed, opening the door and shutting it behind him.
I sighed, enjoying the fresh night air, trying to push thoughts of daddy from my mind. I went forward, positioning myself to lean against something while being able to look out the open slits in the fortifications.
I lost time standing there, watching, staring out into nothing. The paranoia was the worst of it, any time I saw movement, I jumped, readying the gun or binoculars, but it was always just a walker in the yard. More were spilling in from the whole the van left in the fence.
I remembered the first day we cleared the prison yard. I'd been sick, in a lot of pain, and it took hours. We'd done it, eventually. That progress was gone.
The sky had darkened, and I could barely see past the yard. My calves began to ache more than before from standing, and my eyes felt heavy. Just as I considered getting someone else, the door behind me opened.
"Your turn?" I asked Carl.
He nodded, "nothing happen?"
"No. More walkers, though. Did ya kill the ones in the tombs?"
"Just a couple. They mostly just wanted to map out the big problems, seal off some tunnels. Everyone's really tired, so they don't want to push it."
"Aren't you tired?"
"Yeah," Carl reached, and I handed him the rifle, "but it's fine. Is your leg okay?"
"It's fine," I echoed his words. "Hurts, but fine."
After a bit of silence, I opened the door, hearing his voice behind me, "good night."
"Night," I responded, going back to the cell-block.
In the common room, Merle was lying on a cot in the caged storage, the door wide open. Passing by, I could see he was awake but didn't look my way. Laying on his back, one arm bent behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
The cell-block was pretty quiet. Daryl was up the stairs, moving some stuff near our mattresses on the perch.
"It go alright?" Daryl asked when I made it up the stairs. He turned on his side and lay on his mattress.
"Uh-huh," I mumbled tiredly. I took the holster off and put it aside. "Did you find Sasha?"
"No."
My eyebrows furrowed, my mind unwillingly flickering back to Axel's lifeless body, "Why not? Where—"
"—we're gonna figure it out tomorrow."
His blue eyes looked straight into mine; I could see the seriousness and tiredness. I had to leave it alone, but I wanted to keep pressing.
He must have noticed because he rubbed a hand over his face before adding, "we got some ideas. Fill you in tomorrow. Go to sleep."
I put a hand on my vest, "can ya help with this?"
"No, leave it on."
"To sleep?"
He hummed an affirmative, and I groaned, but he didn't respond again. Displeased but too tired to argue, I settled onto my mattress beside him.
"Here," Daryl lifted his head from the pillow, reaching to the side and showing a pill bottle. "Water there," he pointed above our heads. I grabbed the water bottle placed upright above our pillows on the floor.
Daryl gave me the pill; I washed it down with the last few sips from the bottle, tossing it aside after. He lifted the pill bottle, shaking it slightly to show one pill rattling inside, "last one."
"Then I'm done?"
"Then yer done. Hershel's gonna check yer ear tomorrow."
Relief filled me. My ear still felt strange, and it hurt a little every so often. But it was nowhere near like it had been before. One more pill and I wouldn't have to worry about the medicine anymore. No one would have to find me to make me take it.
With my head back down to the pillow beside me, Daryl was looking my way.
"We good?"
The bright blue of his eyes was easy to make out in the darkness, other features not so much. His gaze seemed contemplative, searching.
"Yeah," I whispered. "We're good."
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