Sitting Ducks

Sleeping hadn't been as difficult as I'd anticipated. I woke up late in the morning, possibly the afternoon. I could tell by the way the sunlight flowed into my cell from the cell-block.

I blinked a few times, rubbing my eyes to rid them of the sleepy feeling. I was groggy and sore all over, sure that if I closed my eyes, I'd fall into oblivion once again. I almost did until my eyes got a closer look at my cell.

Why am I in here? I never sleep here.

As I began to feel more awake, my leg throbbed and reality crashed down. It wasn't that I'd forgotten about Woodbury; I'd forgotten that Daryl left. Daryl should have come back. I should have been sleeping on the mattress on the perch next to his.

He really just left?

He did. I could still see the back of his vest, the dirty wings that had been yellowing with age. Merle's arm went over his shoulders as they kept walking. Far from us. Far from whatever bullshit was going to hit us.

Lucky him.

I was stuck, like the rest of them. Though, it didn't seem as bad of a prospect as it once did. I was a bit angry with some of them. Glenn, Maggie, and Rick. I was always mad at Rick, but that felt a little more amplified. How had he just let Daryl go? Couldn't he have just let Merle come? I was confused on how I felt about Merle; after everything at Woodbury, I was conflicted as to what and who he really was. I didn't think that mattered as long as Daryl would be here.

I didn't know what happened to Maggie. She looked fine. I didn't like the way she kept snapping at Merle, if only just to piss him off. If she didn't like him, fine, what did it matter? How many of us actually like each other? Hershel used to want absolutely nothing to do with us. Now he lives with us. It seemed her arguing just made it worse, maybe even reinforced the decision for them to leave.

Glenn . . . it was hard. I could see in his face what Merle did. He was scared of him, right? Glenn was scared Merle would do it again or attack someone else. On some level, I could understand; on another level, I was angry at him for not getting over it. We needed Daryl. Couldn't we have found a way to deal with Merle in spite of what he'd done? He was constantly telling me that everything he had done was to get to Daryl, to find Daryl. He'd done that. What else did he need? If Merle was with us, he couldn't have been a threat to us, right? Everything was for Daryl, and with us, he had Daryl.

I sighed, finally forcing myself up and out of bed. It didn't matter what I thought. I was a kid, a dumb, stupid kid. My thoughts on this didn't matter.

I recalled Carl's argument about that very same subject the day before. I was starting to wonder if he was right. For the longest time, I treated my situation with the people as if it were temporary, not caring to make ties or help much. But I was always led to believe that wasn't my job; why would they want my help? What could I possibly contribute? At some point, I had accepted I was going to stay with them all; there was no other option. But after everything, it was still hard to connect and make peace with that. I always stayed in the background. I couldn't do that anymore. Hershel, Carl, T-Dog, they had all proved that to me. They could see me, and I was noticed.

I avoided all the funerals. Ignored them. Stopped talking for months. I had hidden behind my status of being a kid, but not necessarily on purpose. I didn't know what else to do.

I had a better understanding then, somewhat.

As for the whole thing with Merle and Daryl, I was a kid. I didn't matter on that front. Nothing I could say or do would change it. With the impending problem of Woodbury, I had to find a way to do more. They were expecting me to shut up again, ignore them and hide away like when Shane died. I saw the way they looked at me as if waiting for Daryl's absence would have me snap.

Fuck Daryl.

I could get on without him; I would. And I wouldn't let them see what they expected. Some part of me wondered if I would even have the chance to shut them out. As soon as I'd been alone in my cell, T-Dog had invaded my space and was beside me.

Don't disappear on us. Hershel had told me.

That's what they were waiting for, expecting. For me to disappear. Wait.

Was that why Carl had gotten so mad at me?

I didn't know the answer but blocked it out for the time being. I'd only just exited my cell. T-Dog was down the way, having climbed up the steps.

"Hey, little T. Was just about to check on you, hungry?"

"Why do ya call me that?" I finally asked.

T-Dog stopped at the railing near the stairs, leaning against it with his bad ankle slightly off the ground.

"Oh," he said thoughtfully, "you don't like that? Could call you Tobiah."

I felt my face go slack, "how-how do you . . . No. No. I'm Toby."

T-Dog had a big mocking grin, chuckling. "No, I think I like your real name."

"Did Daryl tell you?"

"No, we found something with your name on it in the house."

"Wait," I thought back on it. "Who else knows?"

T-Dog hesitated, thinking it over, still grinning. "I can't remember. I think most of us. Rick, me, Daryl, Sasha. I don't know who else was listening."

I groaned, rubbing my face, embarrassed.

"Well, come on, Tobiah." He stretched out the name; I glared as he did. "Let's go have some lunch. You slept in."

"No, anythin' but that. Daddy only calls me that when I did somethin' real bad."

T-Dog laughed again, turning to head back down the steps as I started forward. "Oh, I get that. My mom's voice screaming my entire legal name still haunts my dreams."

"T's a letter, right? Like T-Dog."

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed in agreement. "And Toby. We both start with T."

"I remember that, kinda." Carl had tried teaching me some letters a long time ago. Some stuck and were easy, like O. Just a circle. I remembered T because he said it was in my name. I wasn't sure if I remembered what it looked like, though. I watched him go down the stairs carefully as I went closer, "Why'd ya take the stairs if yer leg's still bad? You coulda called me."

"Didn't want to wake you. If you were still sleeping, you needed it. How's yours?"

I paused in my steps, testing out and putting more weight on it. I'd been limping, afraid to even try. "It's better. Don't hurt as bad to walk."

"Cool, just take it easy."

"Hey, if I'm little T," I said, leaning with both arms on the railing as he descended, "that make you big T?"

He threw his head back and laughed, stopping to look up at me near the bottom of the staircase. "Oh, the biggest of T's, for sure. Now—"

"—No! No, No! NO!"

We both froze at the shouting, our eyes darting to the entrance of the cell block. I looked back at T-Dog. Fear made my blood run cold.

T-Dog began rushing the last few steps, running with a small limp toward the entrance. "Get your gun! Stay up there!"

"Here?! But—"

"—Just do it!"

I growled out a sound of frustration, quickly but carefully going back to my cell. I grabbed my gun and went back to the railing, peeking over for any signs of what was going on. The yelling continued, but I couldn't understand each word. They were random, so a sense of sentence strung together in a logical way.

"Get out!" Came the shouting again.

Has the Governor come already?

Did walkers break in?

My hands shook as the possibilities bombarded my mind. I took the time to slip the magazine from my Glock, checking that it was indeed fully loaded before snapping it back in and switching the safety off. I stayed upstairs, eyes trained down with my gun ready, careful to keep my finger off the trigger until I was sure I needed to shoot. After a few more moments, I knew the voice was Rick's, but I couldn't hear anything else. Only his shouting.

There were no gunshots, some other voices, but they were lower. There were no other signs of trouble or panic other than his yelling.

I'd made my way to the top of the stairs, watching and waiting for any sign. No one was visible through the entrance of the cell block, I desperately wanted to run through and see what was going on, but T-Dog's instruction stopped me. The last few times I hadn't done as I was told didn't end up great.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but T-Dog finally came back.

"It's . . ." he struggled to find the words, "it's fine. We're safe."

I felt slight relief, but not enough, seeing his expression. I started walking start the stairs, flicking the safety off and leaning heavily on the railing.

"What's goin' on? What happened?"

"It's Rick . . . something's up with Rick."

Later on, I was sitting with Hershel in a cell. He was going through a bag, sorting medical supplies I thought, but I wasn't sure. I was on the floor, just fiddling with my shoelace on the new shoes I'd gotten from Woodbury. I'd thought about taking them off several times, but I couldn't be picky with shoes. And I did kind of like them. The clothes I hadn't changed out of from Woodbury caught a few glances. I'd been self-conscious of my arms being bare in the short-sleeved unicorn shirt. But either no one had noticed or decided not to say anything. It felt nice to not have so much clothing weighing down my arms.

Carl came into the cell looking tired, "they want to talk to you now."

I frowned, "they didn't want us there."

Carl shrugged.

Hershel motioned to his crutches which were resting against the wall just out of reach; Carl went forward to pass them to him. "We'll all go together."

On the walk to the common area, the large room with the tables right outside of the cellblock, we were quiet. I hadn't seen or talked to Carl since hearing about Rick after T-Dog suggested I give him some space. T-Dog didn't seem to fully understand, having a hard time explaining. But after I'd heard others murmuring. All I knew was something was wrong with Rick; he'd been upset, yelling. In T-Dog's words, 'something snapped.' Apparently, Guillermo and someone else had taken Rick outside to get some air and talk. Everyone else I'd seen at least once since after it happened, except for Guillermo and Rick.

Everyone was in the common room, except for those too. I assumed they were still together.

In the room, T-Dog had my pills. He gave me one and a water bottle that was half empty.

I washed the pill down, handing the bottle back to him, "you my keeper now?"

"No, just making sure you get it."

"I can take 'em," I held my hand out for the bottle.

A cool hand was over mine, lowering it down. I glanced at Hershel, who had reached out over his crutch, "don't worry yourself over it. It's best for someone else to keep track. We can't have you missing doses."

I gave up without a word.

"Come here," Glenn said, patting the floor beside him. He was crouched to the ground, a chalk drawing on the floor. "We need your help."

I stood beside him, raising a brow, "Me? Why? I don't know shit."

"Actually, you do. In this case, you may know more shit than we do." Oscar said.

"This," Glenn placed a pointer finger on the drawing, pressing it hard into the floor, so the tip of his finger turned white. "Is Woodbury . . ."

After taking a seat on the floor beside Glenn, the questions started. I answered what I could, with some hesitation and embarrassment that I'd even gotten myself in the situation of being in that town. But Carl had been right since I got back. Not one person had scolded me about sneaking on that run.

Glenn started to explain how they'd been laying out Woodbury, and anyone who was there had a turn explaining what they'd seen. I was the only one that hadn't gone.

After he explained the map to me, I started pointing things out, telling them all about what I did and where I went during my day in the town. Once I ran out of things to say, my eyes danced around the chalk-drawn map on the cement floor, trying to remember, think of any details I hadn't revealed.

That was where they kept the walkers, I followed Merle there.

That was where Glenn and Maggie were kept.

That was the Governor's place.

That was the building Merle lived in.

"What about over here?" Glenn gestured to an opposite corner.

"I dunno. Like I said, I only been here," I made a circle motion to the main street.

"There has to be more," Sasha was standing close by, but she wouldn't sit like the rest of them. She looked tired and her hair was more unkempt than usual, curls flying out in all directions. "The people, what about guards? How many? Where?"

I pursed my lips, examining the map. They'd gone over this, they'd told me before, with Michonne. They told me everything that Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne all saw. But they'd been going over the same stuff, comparing information, trying to find out if they'd missed anything. I knew I didn't have an answer for her, but she was making me anxious. They all were, but mostly Sasha.

"They didn't . . . I saw men with guns. Not everyone, but some. I think they were guards but they didn't guard nothin'. I know some people went to the gate."

"They would have had guards where they kept Glenn and Maggie, how many were there?"

"None. Not when I went with Merle. He was alone, I thought it was just a buildin', I didn't know they . . . I didn't know 'til Glenn was yellin'."

"We thought you were in another room," Glenn said. "We called for you, but didn't hear anything until . . . until you were there I guess."

"Maybe moving you," Maggie added. "but you were gone again."

My thoughts were scrambled; I wanted to help, but there was no other information I had that could help. I kept searching the map anyway, as if it would conjure something useful from my brain.

"You said you followed Merle," Sasha went on. "Without a guard, they didn't lock you in that apartment? You just left?"

I nodded.

"You could walk around freely." I saw the ways her eyes were wide-set, disbelieving. "And you never went this way?"

"No. Didn't think 'bout it."

"Please, Toby, Tyreese's life depends on this." Sasha pleaded.

"I know." You think I don't know? "I'm tryin'. I didn't do much. I stayed at Merle's place."

"What about when he was gone?" Maggie asked.

"Like I said," I was trying not to get aggravated but was losing the battle. I was trying to be helpful but was proving I was anything but. "I followed him there—"

"—what about when you didn't?" Hershel interrupted, watching me with a soft expression. His tone was the only one that wasn't demanding, only inquisitive and patient. "You said there were long periods of time he disappeared. In any of those instances, did you look around, explore?"

I shook my head.

"You didn't try to look for Maggie and Glenn?"

"No." My jaw was tight in an attempt to keep my composure. "I didn't know they were there."

"But you arrived together!" Sasha pressed, her expression more lost than I felt.

"And he said they left!" My composure slipped, staring back at Sasha. "They were gone and it was just me!"

It was silent for just a moment, but I revelled in it, thankful. I took a deep breath and looked back down at the chalk drawing.

"Merle told you that?" I heard Maggie ask.

"No. Merle wouldn't . . . he wouldn't tell me nothin', the Governor guy did. We sat at the table here," I pointed, "we had food and he said you were gone, you had to go back and I'd be fine with Merle."

I purposely kept quiet about the whole niece bit, I didn't see any possible way that information would be useful. It would also lead to more questions that I couldn't answer. The same questions I would ask Merle, and he wouldn't answer.

"Toby . . ." Maggie's voice was full of pity and concern. I refused to look up. "We never would have left you."

"Okay," I stretched out the word in frustration, "but I didn't know that."

"How could you not know that?" Glenn finally cut in beside me. I couldn't tell if his voice was worrying or offended, maybe both. "Why would you think—"

"—I don't know, okay?! He was nice. There was food; we were in a house. There were no fences or-or bars, and Merle told me to go with it! And with—" I stopped myself from saying daddy just in time. "—everythin' was real confusin'. I ask Merle; he kept sayin' later. So I wait for later. Later happened, and I got fuckin' shot."

I felt a hand encircle my bicep, pulling me up and away from the map. I let it happen willingly, wanting nothing more to do with Woodbury or the Dixon's.

"Okay," T-Dog said, pulling and leading me away from the map. "I think that's enough. Give the kid a break."

"So much about this doesn't add up. This man, this . . . Governor." Sasha continued, "she was given food, a bed, healthcare. While the rest of you were being beat on in a cell!"

I flinched at the wording, guilt taking over. In the silence I looked up, expecting Sasha's gaze on me, but she was staring at Michonne questioningly.

"I didn't have it any better," Michonne assured.

"We know, we all saw the state you were in after," Hershel spoke. "Merle and this Governor were smart. She was cut off, separated, isolated. With that, confused and lost, which I'm sure, played right into their hands."

"Something still doesn't make sense. Even after they find out about the prison from Maggie, Toby was still sent away and fixed up. He had what he wanted."

"Because her role in the Governor's game wasn't finished. Even after he got the information, he wanted."

I turned to Michonne when she said that, before I could speak up and press her for the meaning, someone else did.

"What?"

"Think about it," Michonne returned my gaze while speaking to the others. Her eyes held such a strange, heavy expression. It made me feel both important and small. "They told us how you got brought in the room; the Governor shot a warning shot that hit your leg. Then you got taken away."

I nodded.

"Then what happened?"

"I went with Merle," I'd already gone through this story when showing them where I'd been in Woodbury. "We went to the Governor's place with some guys. He was really angry. At Merle. But . . ."

Michonne nodded to me, "tell me everything. Even if it doesn't seem like it matters."

"He said he was sorry," The information I'd given earlier was solely location. Michonne was the first to ask for the real details. "It was weird. He wasn't even angry at me 'bout lyin'. Didn't seem to care that I was even there. Then he told 'em to take me back."

"Back where?"

"His apartment. Then Martinez fixed my leg, and I went to bed. Merle stayed up, said he was gonna figure out a plan to get us out."

"They have a whole town, people that don't know about the prisoners, right?" Beth asked looking around. I didn't know what the town knew, but Michonne nodded to confirm. "They weren't scared she might . . . say something?"

"Exactly," Sasha looked down with her eyebrows furrowed, trying to put it together. "Before, she didn't know they were being kept prisoner, I get that, but after? He just showed her he had her people locked up and just let her go away? No promise of secrecy, no lock up, no threats."

"That's how they get you; lure you in," Michonne said. "The Governor had two of your people locked away to torture and press for information. He didn't need a third. He didn't need to torture her or even ask where to find this place. Not until he realized they wouldn't talk."

"Okay, wait." T-Dog intervened. "I have been wondering . . . it would be easier to force the information out of Toby; I'm glad he didn't. But why not? He would've gotten it faster."

"He didn't need to," Michonne shrugged. "He likes the game, maybe wanted to scare it out of them. If he wanted your location any earlier, he could have brought the kid in before. Or beat it out of her himself. Instead, the Governor showed her what was really going on and injured her. But didn't feel the need to lock her up. He was still giving her shelter, food, a bed, a home. He had a plan."

"If he had a plan, why execute Glenn and Maggie? Why get rid of the leverage?"

"They weren't part of the plan. They served their purpose. With them gone, if Toby blabbed, she had no proof. Keeping hostages is a risk he didn't want to take."

"What about Toby? How is she not a risk? She's still a hostage."

"No. She went around with Merle freely; the Governor used that. No one tied her up, no one held a gun to lead her around. She did was she was told. Woodbury's a town, a community, something everyone wants right now. And as a child, it wouldn't have been exactly difficult to manipulate which was the better life. A prison or a home. With Maggie and Glenn gone; he had Toby as leverage if he wanted it. Maybe even as just a backup plan. But there's a reason he didn't kill her or even lock her up after."

After a very long, stretched-out, contemplating silence, T-Dog nudged me again. "Let's go, take a break."

T-Dog pulled me toward the cell-block, I was ready to ignore all of it. Maybe Tyreese hadn't been lost because of me, but I could have done more. I never had to trust Merle, I should have questioned more about Maggie and Glenn.

As I walked with T-Dog, I caught Carl's eyes. He made no move to come with me, only standing straighter, frowning before turning back to the others as they spoke. Emotions tornadoes inside my stomach, guilt, defiance, realization, maybe more. Whatever it all was, it made me break from T-Dog, going to stand by Carl.

"I wanna hear," I told him. T-Dog didn't look pleased but nodded.

Carl glanced at me when I stood at his side, nodding subtly with a smile. I wouldn't miss this, I wouldn't miss anymore. I was a part of it. A door opened and everyone look, quiet again as Guillermo walked in. I was sure we'd all been expecting Rick.

"G," T-Dog greeted. "I thought you were with Rick, is he—"

"—Needs space. Let him be."

The others looked reluctant, curious and hesitant to get back to the topic of discussion.

Beth started it up again, "Why are we even so sure he's going to attack? Maybe you scared him off."

"I told you how he was. His collection, the fish tanks full of heads. Walkers and humans; trophies," Michonne looked around at everyone. "He's coming."

I blinked, reassessing her words. Okay, I'd missed that at some point, when the hell had they talked about fishtanks with heads in them? My expression must have been transparent, because Carl murmured in my ear, "while you were there, we met Michonne. She told us about him."

"We should hit him now," Glenn blurted suddenly.

"What?"

"He won't be expecting it. We'll sneak back in, put a bullet in his head."

"And leave this place undefended?" Guillermo's voice was one of disbelief, not taking Glenn seriously. "It's been established that leaving to save Tyreese wouldn't be ideal, so why would leaving to perform an assassination be any better?"

Sasha sighed and shook her head, without a word she turned, walking away. Some watched her until she disappeared out the door.

"That's what he'll be expecting, for us to wait him out," Glenn went on.

"And if you're wrong?"

"It's a risk we have to take," Glenn turned from Guillermo, approaching Michonne. "You know where his apartment is. You and I could end this tonight. I'll do it myself."

After a few seconds of silence, Michonne nodded.

Glenn let out a sigh of relief, "okay."

"He didn't know we were coming last time. And look what happened. You were almost killed, Toby was shot, Daryl was captured. Tyreese didn't make it back, and you and Maggie were almost executed." Hershel; argued frantically.

"You can't stop me."

"Rick would never allow this," Hershel said pointedly.

Glenn stopped forehead, facing Hershel, expression hard and determined. "You really think he's in any position to make that choice?"

"Think this through clearly. Lori lost her life here, Jimmy too. The men that were here. It isn't worth any more killing. What are we waiting for? If he's really on his way we should be out of here by now."

"Leave? Just leave Tyreese there?"

Hershel's gaze went down dejectedly, sighing before glancing around the room. His eyes looked wet and tired, "I don't see how we can help him. We can't say for sure he's even alive, no one saw him get taken."

"Old man has a point," Guillermo said. "This isn't just one man. This is a whole town, we're outnumbered and outgunned. When he finally decides to show, we can't be here."

"And go where?" Glenn pressed.

Guillermo shrugged, "while you were playing farmer with your girl, we were out in the trenches all winter, we survived. We found this place, we'll find another. One where our people won't get slaughtered upon arrival. One with the absence of a turf war."

"Maybe that would have worked, back when Hershel had two legs, and we didn't have a baby crying for walkers every four hours.

"We can't stay here," Hershel urged.

"We can't run."

I heard footsteps and turned my head, Maggie had left the room and was making her way toward the stairs in the cell-block.

Glenn watched her, then turned back to the group, thinking for a moment. "Alright, we'll stay put. We're defending this place. We're making a stand."

Carl was working on another handgun when I grabbed my next. I hesitated as I brought the assault rifle onto my lap. As expected, it was heavier, and my unfamiliarity with the weapon made me feel embarrassed. I could figure this out, I thought to myself. I'd seen this type of gun get used several times; I'd seen it disassembled, cleaned and reloaded. Handguns and most hunting rifles are easy. Daddy has taught me a few growing up. I hadn't used all of what he showed, but he taught the basics. How revolvers, Glocks, and other pistols could have different safety mechanisms. Which kinds could better handle hollow points, and which took what sized bullet? I'd forgotten what kind, but he'd even showed me a sniper rifle when hunting, allowing me to see out the scope of our target, but I wasn't allowed to shoot it; I was too small.

An assault rifle was brand new to me. It was a type of firearm he didn't have on hand often, but he'd shown me a few. But there were never times to really show me how it worked, and there wasn't any reason to use them when hunting. Daddy didn't always want even to use a gun to hunt, saying it could be seen as cheating.

We ain't that desperate; he would say on occasion when setting a trap or bringing his bow. There were times we were that desperate, though. I remembered a time I'd asked Daddy about it; how he would call using a rifle cheating one day but use it another.

"Sometimes, ya gotta swallow yer pride and do what needs to be done." He'd said, "if we don't need the food immediately if we can survive longer and do it right, we don't use the gun. Today, we need to."

I sighed as I examined the large firearm. I'd admit it felt good to hold. I even positioned it properly against my shoulder, pointing the barrel down to the cement, purposely leaving my finger off the trigger. Even though I knew it wasn't loaded. I wonder if I can try this soon.

A lot of larger guns, hunting rifles, that one sniper. Daddy wouldn't let me fire, claiming I was too small for the kickback, that it would break me in two. Maybe I'm old enough now, I thought. I couldn't tell how much bigger I'd grown since the last time he'd said that, so I wasn't sure.

I could ask Daryl—both my brain and my breathing seemed to halt simultaneously.

I shook the thought off, pushing it from my brain as I lowered the gun. I knew enough to check to make sure it wasn't loaded. I knew that already. They'd told us before starting that they were all unloaded for safety, but out of habit, I was always told to check. I struggled longer than I wanted to check the ammo, but once I finished, I just stared at the hunk of metal for a while. I looked over to the other guns, the untouched pile, considering putting it back for someone else to get to it. I almost did. I'd even leaned over and reached to put it back but stopped.

Sometimes, ya gotta swallow yer pride and do what needs to be done. I let out a sigh. After finally hearing his voice again at Woodbury, my memory of what he would tell me was much more prominent. It was like he was whispering in my ear.

"Do you know this one?" I swallowed my embarrassment and pride, turning to Carl.

Carl looked at me, then the firearm, biting his lip, "That's . . . uh . . . the M4A1?" his voice rose in questioning as he named it, then gave a nod like he was sure of himself. "I think it's like the M4 Carbine, but . . ."

I nodded; that was right, "More automatic, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"What's the word for that? It's the same, but it's not?"

Carl thought about it, his eyebrows scrunching together as he stared at the gun in thought.

"Variant," Guillermo said; we both looked up in surprise. "M4A1 is a variant of the M4 and M16."

"Oh, okay," Carl replied to him as I just watched the man.

"Okay," I echoed Carl, looking away from Guillermo. "but do you know this one? This part comes off from this, pretty sure, but how . . .?"

"Is it that?" Carl pointed to a spot.

"Nah, I tried that."

"The end of the rail, near the top handle. Just below that."

We looked at Guillermo again. He was looking back at us, well, looking at me. I narrowed my gaze at him, keeping a blank expression while trying not to get annoyed with his input. I didn't feel as angry with him as before, even after my outburst in our first few days at the prison. That rage, the need to throw stuff at him, the need to lash out was gone. The contempt, curiosity, and consciousness were still present. After nearly a year of him being with us, he was a stranger.

Thinking that word about him reminded me of Lori. She'd said something along those same lines to me before she died. Again I had to push the unpleasant thoughts from my head. I distracted myself by following his instructions, trailing my hand on the rail of the firearm, turning it over to look.

I found what I needed, allowing the part of the gun to detach from the other.

"Oh," I said thoughtfully, surprised what he'd said worked. I held a half in each hand, though still allowing them to rest against my knees as they were heavy. There was still much more with it I had to do, and I hadn't the faintest clue how to continue. Glancing back at Guillermo, I held up the pieces, "here; you do this one."

Guillermo's face contorted, looking offended, "no, I'll have nothing to do with that."

"Still?" Carl voiced an edge of annoyance in his tone. "You're going to have to use a gun at some point."

"No, I won't have to."

"You will. We've all had to."

Guillermo's eyes met Carl's. They were so steady and certain it was scary, "if there comes a time I will shoot a gun, it will be because I choose to. There is no have to. There is always a choice."

Carl's eyes squinted slightly; I couldn't tell if he was thinking it over or disagreeing with that statement.

A few minutes later, T-Dog appeared out of the hall. He was carrying three large wooden pallets, two in one hand, slung over a shoulder. The other hand only held one. He put them all down, leaning them against the wall as he took a breath.

"How's it goin', guys?"

Carl and I greeted him. Guillermo only glanced. Axel held some more pallets, putting them down but leaning them against his own body to rest.

"G," T-Dog addressed. "Can you grab two rifles and come with us? We're fortifying a bit, want to place guns within arms reach if shit goes south."

Guillermo shook his head; I could tell T-Dog was trying not to roll his eyes.

"He's not going to—"

"—Yeah, I know," T-Dog cut Carl off. "I forgot for a sec. You won't just carry them? You'd save me the extra trip."

Guillermo shook his head, not even looking.

"I'll grab 'em," I said, standing and putting the firearm aside.

"You sure? How about your leg?"

At the table, I grabbed two assault rifles, "I can walk. Yours?"

T-Dog smirked and waved a hand down to his ankle, "getting better. I got this. Those are good; bring 'em up. G, down the hall, we got the metal tables. If you can carry both, bring two up with us."

Guillermo nodded then, turning toward the doorway to follow the instruction.

I followed T-Dog and Axel through the halls and up a flight of stairs; they struggled a bit there but eventually made it. While they were going up the stairs, I lagged behind, leaning against the wall to rest my leg until they were all up the stairs. Then I slowly made my way up, one slow step at a time. I regretted volunteering. As much as I was tired of sitting in one place, stairs weren't the best idea.

"Where we goin'?" I asked, hoping we were close. I kept my tone neutral, not wanting to give away that my leg was very much starting to hurt. I was still slow, making sure to be careful. Once we got there, I would take a break.

"The bridge," T-Dog answered, his voice echoed through the hall. He was at the front, Axel just behind him and Guillermo a bit further. "We're going to reinforce some areas with metal, like the fold-up tables and wood. At the bridge, we'll set some up, hide one of those guns up there, and if anything happens, we'll just duck behind one of these bad boys. Want to make sure there's some kind of safety net in every area."

"That's a lot of ground to cover," Guillermo commented.

"Okay, not everywhere; I just mean the places we go regularly."

"Well, I hope nothing happens. Guns scare the bejesus out of me. I robbed a gas station with a toy gun, never even took it out of my pocket," Axel explained.

T-Dog stopped, placing his pallets down with a tired groan, in front of a closed door. He was looking at Axel intently. "You said Oscar was the thief. That you were in here for pharmaceuticals."

"I didn't want ya'll to think I was a violent man. If you follow me."

T-Dog opened the door, and light spilt into the dark hallway. He held it open for us to walk through. I squinted at the bright sun as I walked onto the bridge.

"So what're you saying?" T-Dog continued, his tone apprehensive. "That you're in here for a toy gun?"

T-Dog's voice made me nervous as if we were suddenly questioning our trust in Axel again. Not that I'd ever trusted him, but I wasn't really concerned about him, and I definitely wasn't scared of him.

T-Dog and I exchanged a look as I sat down, leaning against the chainlink that adorned the bridge between the two buildings. Acting on the nervousness I saw, I slide one of the assault rifles down on the floor beside me, then placed both my hands on the appropriate places on the other. It was still laid flat on my lap, but I kept my hands ready.

"No, listen to this," Axel's smile was crooked, glancing at him before leaning the pallets he had against the chainlink fence. "The next day, the cops found me at my brother's house. Still had the water pistol in my pocket. I swore up and down that that was the only weapon I had. But they said they didn't believe anyone could be so stupid and get away with it. So they turned my brother's house upside down, found his .38, said it 'matched the description'." Axel used his fingers to make air quotes. "There you go, armed robbery. Tell you the truth; I don't even know how to use this damn thing."

Axel's gaze was directed downward at the silver pistol that he was holding out with both hands.

My fingers involuntarily twitched around the firearm upon seeing that.

Again, I felt no concern or fear toward Axel. I was only trusting and acting based on the nervousness I saw in T-Dog. I could see the apprehensiveness was gone from his expression, smiling from Axel's somewhat comical story.

The concern that grew inside me then was of my own volition, caused by the way Axel was holding and examining the pistol as if it were some foreign object. That made me more nervous, more than any distrust the group felt toward him; incompetence.

I picked up the gun from my lap and joined it with the other at my side. Then I held up a hand, "C'mere."

Axel's head turned to me, eyebrows furrowed.

I jerked my fingers inward to motion for him to approach; I had no plans on standing, wanting to rest my leg. "Give it here, I'mma show ya."

Axel was staring at me with a dubious expression but walked closer to hand the pistol over.

"You don't have to do that," T-Dog said to me, causing Axel to stop in his tracks. "I can show him. Sorry, Axel, I guess we just assumed . . ."

I rolled my eyes, then pushed myself half off the ground with a palm to the floor. My other hand reached out as I inched toward Axel, taking the gun from his hand before settling back on the floor.

"Toby—"

I cut T-Dog off, "—his safety wasn't even on. I can tell him. I knew how to use a gun before you did."

"How could you know that?" T-Dog questioned.

"Atlanta. You didn't start holdin' 'til that first run with Merle," I paused, noticing the way T-Dog flinched at the mention of Merle. "The first time Glenn didn't go by himself. Before that, you used a bat if ya had to. You shoot sometimes, but not as much as the others. I don't think ya like usin' guns."

T-Dog was staring at me wordlessly. I saw Guillermo turn and look at him. He had put the two folded metal tabled against the chainlink, opposite the pallets T-Dog had brought in before.

Turning the firearm over in my hands, my gaze wracked around it. I'd seen some similar models, and daddy had taught me enough to be able to tell what mechanic it might use. I found the release for the magazine, letting it drop into my lap as I pulled the slide back to cock the hammer. I found a switch that I was sure was the decocker, and then, with it pointed away even though it was not loaded, I pulled the trigger.

I frowned when the trigger moved too smoothly, and nothing followed up the motion. Checking again, the safety was off; the trigger should have worked. I hesitated, trying to figure it out, and then my eyes went to the magazine in my lap. I bit my lip to suppress a groan of annoyance, I was planning on checking the trigger weight to figure out the mechanic. But with the pistol having a magazine disconnect, the trigger wouldn't pull without the magazine.

"This double?" I asked T-Dog.

"Uh, I think so?"

I sighed quietly. I'd volunteered to show him; I wanted to show I could be useful. I wasn't very smart, but I wasn't entirely stupid either. I resolved to empty the bullets from the magazine, leaning forward to pour them onto the floor in front of me. My hand had to stop a few from rolling away.

Once the magazine was back in, no bullets, and the safety off, the trigger pulled. I messed with the weapon a bit more before figuring it out.

"Double-single action," Even though I'd done it before, I was still proud I'd figured it out myself. "Why'd ya give him this one?"

"I didn't choose it."

I wanted to tell him they should have given him something easier. But I was already committed, and even though I didn't use that pistol, I'd figured it out. Axel knelt down in front of me, watching curiously.

"Mag's empty," I told him, then slid the hammer back to show him the empty space where the bullet would go, "empty chamber." I stopped for just a second, thinking of something. "Where's the safety?"

Axel raised his eyebrows, and I could have sworn his moustache twitched. He wore a gentle smile as he pointed.

"Yeah. Is it on or off right now?"

I didn't miss the way Axel looked it over, examining my hands as well. He couldn't tell if I'd changed it since taking it from him. Seriously?

"On."

"No. Look, that's red," I pointed to the dot under the safety switch. "Red means ready. It's off. Here at the end, that's the hammer. I'mma pull the trigger," I started pulling it, showing him how the hammer was sliding downward with the motion of the trigger before clicking back into place. "You got double-single action, so first pulls gonna be heavy; all shots after that are gonna be single, easier."

I pulled the trigger a few times, showing the quick and shortness of the motion compared to the first trigger pull.

"Safety on, then off again to reset. Here," after I flicked the safety back, then forward, I passed him the gun. "You do it."

Axel hesitated at first, pointing the gun in the same direction I had before starting to pull the first trigger. He chuckled softly, sounding sheepish, "that is heavy."

After the first pull, I could see that he felt the difference on the next ones.

"Not as simple as just pointing and shooting, huh?" he grinned at me.

I pressed my lips together to suppress a smile. As I fought for control over my expression, I motioned to the bullets in front of me on the floor, "you can put those back now. Safety off."

"No red," he gave a nod, seemingly happy with himself as he gathered the bullets. Axel didn't need any help putting them back in, though once he was done, he'd tried sliding the magazine in backwards. He caught on quick and turned it.

"If you knew all this, why did you need . . . why did you need those lessons back at the farm?" T-Dog's voice was skeptical. Axel stood straight, listening.

I knew he was going to mention Shane. He was asking why I needed the lessons from Shane.

"I know how guns work. I just can't shoot for shit," I said. Then added as an afterthought, "don't put yer finger on the trigger 'less you plan to shoot." That was the number one rule. You could not so much as look at the trigger unless you were prepared to shoot.

"Yes, ma'am," Axel nodded his head. "You're quite a little lady, a good teacher."

"No, I just told ya somethin' I knew better."

"That's what a teacher is," T-Dog told me.

"Oh." I knew my expression faltered with my confusion. Thinking it over, "how come no teachers told me how ta read then?"

T-Dog struggled with a response for a long time, stammering some words. "Sometimes people have a harder time than others. It's not as simple as being told to do it."

"But you said—"

"—I didn't mean it like that. It's complicated."

"That about more or less than a water pistol?" Axel laughed.

T-Dog chuckled, his gaze switching between Axel and me. "Unbelievable. What I'm getting out of this story is that as long as I had a toy gun, a water gun, and no brother. I could have gotten away with robbery."

I hadn't wiped my expression clear of the confusion. They'd mentioned it several times, and I still didn't understand. "What's a water gun?"

"You know, the toy gun that shoots water."

"Why do they shoot water? What's that s'posed ta do?"

"Well, exactly what it sounds like. Just shoots water." T-Dog was watching me while thinking it over as if starting to realize my confusion. "You never had a water gun?"

"Why would I need ta shoot water?"

"It's not to hurt anyone. It's a game."

"Sounds like a waste of water. We need the water; why would we shoot it?"

"No, Toby." T-Dog shook his head, smiling unsteadily. "We don't have any now. It was before all this. Kids used them for games; you just shoot water at each other. Water wasn't scarce or difficult to get. It didn't matter."

"You always gotta be careful with water. There ain't always enough," I said, not understanding. Sometimes houses had water, I knew. But many times, they didn't. Lots of times, Daddy would complain that the water wasn't working; we had to make do with what we had or find more. Another case was when we went hunting. I couldn't understand the use of water T-Dog was talking about.

"What?" I asked when I noticed T-Dog was watching me quietly, arms crossed.

"I'm afraid to ask you about water balloons."

I felt my eyes narrow and my forehead wrinkle more than before. Trying to figure out what he was saying and why. Was it some kind of joke? I looked around, but Axel was only smiling and shaking his head, tucking his gun away. Guillermo had turned away from the conversation, picking up one of the folding tables to place it against the chain link properly.

"All right. Axel, help me in the courtyard. G, can you lay these out along both sides?"

Guillermo nodded.

"Little T, you good?"

"I'll go back to the block in a minute."

"Take it easy. That walk was too much. You need help, just say so. Pass me one of those; leave the other here somewhere. If someone's by here if shit goes down, they'll have some cover and a weapon."

T-Dog strode over to me, and I grabbed one of the assault rifles, handing it to him before he and Axel left.

After a few moments, I started to stand, still favouring my leg. But it didn't take much and wasn't difficult to slide one of the pallets over to cover the chain link. Guillermo was behind me, doing the same on the opposite side.

"I have this," he said. "You should get back."

"Just wanna be outside for a bit longer." Staying in the block, no matter the chore was not helpful in taking my mind off of Daryl. I could still see our mattresses up on the perch. Some of his things were left behind. I was planning on packing up whatever was left of his and hiding it in another cell. I didn't want to see it, to think about it. Another person was gone.

"They should have given him something more simple to start with."

It took me a moment to figure out was Guillermo was referring to; I'd just slid the third pallet into place before turning to look at him. "Right? Why didn't they?"

Guillermo shrugged, his back to me as he lifted the metal table, walking over to place beside the other, "Because he's a criminal. They assumed he would know how to use it because of that."

"But . . . why? Most know how."

"Depends on where you live, but not usually."

I hesitated, thinking about it. Anytime I'd found out someone in the group didn't know, even Carl, I was confused. I'd always just assumed their dad never taught them for some reason, "But I know. Because of my dad. I'm not a criminal."

"No, you're just . . . you."

"Uh . . . 'kay?" I was frowning, then quickly distracted by how easy it had been to just talk to him. Once again, I'd forgotten. I felt like I had to make sure he knew I didn't actually forget. "I don't hate you anymore. But I still don't like you."

Still, he didn't look my way, much too focused on the task. "I don't like me either. I shouldn't even be here. I'm grateful I am, or . . . I'm starting to be."

"What's that s'posed ta mean?"

Guillermo turned to look at me. Something in his face caused my defensiveness to ease. I knew why I was always so on guard with him, but what did it matter? He really wasn't capable of much. Thinking about it, he reminded me of Carl or of me. Or more of what we were supposed to be. Quiet, complacent, clueless, and out of the way.

As his mouth opened to answer, a loud, single gunshot rang through the air. I jumped and spun around. Looking out into the field. It was eerily quiet.

Just one shot?

I couldn't tell where it had come from; turning to Guillermo, his expression was wide-eyed and fearful. We both waited, for some kind of sign, of anything. If there had been a walker problem, they would have taken it out quietly, or if there were too many, there would be more shots. I could feel my heart pumping loud and hard in my chest, the pulse reaching my ears. As if it somehow needed to remind me how scared I suddenly was.

Looking away from Guillermo, I peered out again—more shots burst through the air in quick succession. I dropped down to the ground, and so did he. More shots joined it; I could hear them hitting metal, and cement, the high pitch ring of the bullet embedding into something. They didn't stop, the sound continuous as I dragged myself against the upright metal table.

I was frozen for a while, ears ringing, pulsing with fear and pain. I was so overwhelmed by the fear and sound I had to actually look over my limbs, assuring myself I hadn't gotten shot. I looked at Guillermo. He was beside me on the ground, hunched over his legs, shoulders convulsing and face tucked in.

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