CHAPTER 21
Daryl felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he heard the familiar, chilling sound of a herd of walkers growling in unison. He stayed flat on the parking lot, and looked beyond the front tires of the Mercedes –Benz that he was lying beside and saw the herd's rotting feet staggering slowly closer.
Daryl carefully slid his Stryker Stryekzone 380 crossbow in front of him, and then he slowly pulled the string back until it locked underneath the latch. He had already shot one arrow into a walker, and he had used another as an improvised dipstick to get a golf club rag soaked with gasoline from the Humvee's tank for the explosion that distracted the herd; now there were three arrows left in his quiver. Daryl selected the replacement arrow with red and yellow vanes and placed it on the flight groove.
There was a bump on the opposite side of the Mercedes-Benz and Daryl caught his breath; a second later the bump happened again and it became continuous. Daryl turned his head to the left slowly and looked underneath the car to see dozens of feet; most wearing moldering shoes and sneakers, some barefoot, but all of them rotting flesh, staggering past the Mercedes-Benz on the way to the burning wreck of the Humvee.
This cuckoo plan is actually workin'! Daryl thought with surprise.
There was a louder bump up front, and Daryl looked forward quickly to see that a naked female walker had stumbled against the Mercedes-Benz's front and struck the hood head first. Daryl held his breath again as he watched the female walker push its upper body off the hood, then growl angrily and push itself away from the car and stagger along with the herd. Daryl exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.
Daryl looked in the direction he had run and saw the Woodbury group and the El Dorado group lying on the courtyard as the herd staggered past them and towards the burning Humvee.
At least those assholes have the sense to stay out of sight.
Daryl next looked at the main entrance to the El Dorado: Rick, Carl, and Michonne had not yet exited the casino.
What the fuck's goin' on in there? Daryl wondered angrily.
There was another bump at the front of the Mercedes – Benz, and Daryl saw a tall, male walker wearing a torn, and blood stained rain poncho. The poncho walker stood in front of the car with an angry expression on its face, and then it moved to its right and continued on with the herd. Daryl felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, but he didn't dare raise his hand to wipe it away.
I can't lie out here like a cigarette butt much longer. I either have to crawl, run like hell, or stay here and yell at Rick to pick me up before he gets out of Dodge.
Daryl laid still and considered his limited options while the herd continued along and bump into the opposite side of the Mercedes – Benz.
•••
The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group stayed down on the courtyard as the herd staggered on to the burning Humvee.
"Does anybody see Dixon?" John whispered as he held onto the crying, frightened Julia.
Tyreese lifted himself up slightly and squint his eyes with the hope of seeing the gruff redneck alive somewhere in the parking lot, after a few moments he sank down and answered "No."
Juan shut his eyes and put his hands on his temples. Another innocent man dead, he thought angrily as his fingers twisted around his hair, only one man should've died today, and that's Rick Grimes!
Sam lifted himself up and grinned with satisfaction at the sight of the burning Humvee. "I told all of you he's dead," he gloated.
"Shut up, you fucker!" Julia spat as the tears seeped through her shut eyelids.
Sam looked confused at Julia. "What's the hell's gotten into her?" he asked as he looked around at the other survivors.
"Sam," John said as he glared at his fellow Woodburian.
"Yeah?" Sam replied.
"Shut the fuck up," John ordered.
Sam's complexion turned pale and he lowered himself down to the courtyard.
John looked down at Julia who was still crying; he shook her gently. "Are you okay, kid?" he asked.
Julia opened her eyes and wiped the tears away. "I…I think so," she answered quietly.
John patted Julia's shoulder reassuringly and let her go. The young cocktail waitress sniffled and her index finger underneath her nose.
"Okay, so Dixon's dead. What about Rick and Michonne?" Karen asked.
John turned around and looked at the main entrance to the El Dorado. He saw Frankie's corpse (with a gunshot wound to the center of his chest and another one to his forehead) sitting against a shattered glass door; to Frankie's right was the set of open doors Karen and Julia had guarded while everyone went back and forth loading the supplies onto Rick's vehicles.
Rick and Michonne had yet to run through those open doors with Rick's son, Carl.
"They're still in the casino," John answered.
"Maybe they're dead too," Nate suggested.
"Rick and Michonne, dead? No way, man," Tyreese said with a shake of his head.
"I think they are dead," Alonso replied. "Harold went back in there with Miyaguchi, and I've seen him kill dozens of those geeks on our supply runs!"
John growled and waved a hand dismissively. "Rick's a cop; he's been trained to handle an armed son of a bitch."
"What about Miyaguchi, he's got a sword?" Julia asked. "He made us all watch when he'd kill somebody for breaking his stupid rules!"
"Never bring a knife to a gunfight," John quipped. "Besides Michonne's got a samurai sword too."
"Miyaguchi's good with that sword, amigo," Alonso said forbiddingly.
"No shit?" Tyreese asked.
"Sí," Alonso nodded.
Tyreese chuckled and adjusted the claw hammer hanging at his side. "Well, me and my sister Sasha heard what Michonne did with her sword to the walkers the Governor kept for those gladiatorial matches."
At the mention of the Governor's name, Juan caught his breath and moved his hands back to his Remington 870 shotgun.
"Gladitorial matches?" Nate asked as he looked at Tyreese in disbelief. "What kind of town did you guys come from?"
Tyreese huffed wearily and shook his head. "It's a long story, my man."
Nate looked back at the herd, gathering around the burning Humvee. "I hope I get to hear it."
"Excuse me everybody, but what the fuck are we going to do now?" Karen asked irritably.
Sam raised a hand. "I vote we leave," he said.
"And leave Rick, Michonne, and the kid behind?" Tyreese asked.
"They're dead!" Sam answered with certainty.
"You don't know that," Tyreese said as he glared at Sam.
"Then why haven't they come back?" Sam asked.
Tyreese and the other survivors looked silently at the El Dorado. Nate glanced down at his AR-15 rifle, and tightened his grip on the weapon. "I'll go get them," he said as he sat up.
"Get down, kid," John ordered as he looked at the young ADA.
Nate lied back on the courtyard as John ordered without debate.
"We can't risk those geeks seeing you run back into the casino," John explained. "We'll just have to wait for Rick and Michonne to come out."
"And how long are we supposed to wait?" Karen asked.
"As long as it takes," John answered. "Leave no man behind."
"That fire's not going to distract that herd forever," Sam insisted as he thumbed over his shoulder. "We've got to get in those trucks now and haul ass to the prison."
"Is that a fact, Sam?" John asked.
Sam looked at the other survivors and then looked over his shoulder at the herd, growling and grasping at the flames billowing out of the Humvee. Sam looked at John again and answered, "You're damn right it's a fact, John."
John dug into his jeans pocket and held out a set of car keys. "Well, how's this for fact? I've got the keys to the Silverado, Tyreese has the keys to the bread truck, and Rick had the keys to the Dodge Ram, and he apparently is dead! So would you like to do the math?"
Sam's complexion went pale slowly.
"That's right, Einstein: we don't have room to carry all of us!"
The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group looked at each other nervously.
Sam pointed a shaking finger at the parking lot and stammered, "But we…we could…hotwire a…car…"
"Key word being could!" John interrupted angrily. "I don't know how to hotwire a goddamn car! When the world went to shit, me and Donna got in our car, and we drove until we found Woodbury! From there on in, that son of a bitch Governor sat me in a rocking chair while he built a security team with that druggie Merle Dixon!"
Sam looked around at the other survivors anxiously. "Somebody…somebody's got to know how to hotwire a car, right?"
The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group looked at each and mumbled quizzically.
"My older brother Marcos used to steal cars back when we were niños," Alonso said.
Sam smiled. "Okay. Did he teach you how—"
"He was killed in a crash while running from the cops," Alonso interrupted. "I promised my madre that I'd never follow in Marcos' footsteps."
Sam's smile fell like the stock exchange and he put his head down on the courtyard. "Oh, we're all fucked," he muttered.
John looked at the despondent Sam and shook his head in disgust. The Woodbury group and El Dorado group looked at each other again, only this time worriedly.
"So you want us to just stay here?" Julia asked quietly.
John looked back again at the front entrance to the El Dorado, and answered, "No, I want us to stay here and wait for Rick."
Madre de Dios, I can't believe that John's gone from not trusting Rick Grimes to believing in him! Juan thought. What did it take to ease your doubts, amigo? Was it Rick's offer to go on this supply run, was it being treated as a veteran instead of an old man? Or maybe it was how the Governor got me to believe in him: by telling me what I wanted to hear.
Juan thought of the Governor—Philip—and that night those five young men were slaughtered in their own camp.
•••
"Why did you kill them?!" Juan asked as he stood up from the campfire.
Philip was holding his nickel plated Beretta 92SB Compact pistol in his hand and was looking down at Lance, the young man who had led the group of college kids and was now lying dead on the ground with a bullet in his chest and another bullet in his forehead. Philip looked up at Juan and said, "For the supplies and the gas. I didn't want to kill them, but that's the way the world works now."
No. There had to be another way, Juan thought.
"You could've asked them to join us!" Juan shouted.
Philip holstered his pistol, and picked up Lance's Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle. "If you remember, I asked if we could join them, but instead of accepting us, they laughed at us."
Sí, he did ask them that. And they did laugh at us. They even wanted us to leave.
"Then you should've just taken their supplies!" Juan argued.
"And if I did that, they'd have gone after us, and then I'd have to kill them; but I'd put my own people at risk, like your wife, Marianna."
Juan pictured Marianna, dying in his arms in the aftermath of a gunfight, and then he thought, No! Marianna can't die!
"You…you should've tried to make a deal!" Juan said.
"A deal? With what and how long should I have tried?" Philip asked. "You saw the way they behaved, Juan, they thought this was a game, but this is survival."
Sí, we can't stay here all night. And those muchachos were stupid. If they joined us, they'd have gotten us all killed, or maybe they'd have killed us.
"What…what do we tell the others back at camp?"
Philip walked over to Juan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me worry about that. But right now, let's just gather up the supplies and the gas. Everyone back at camp must be worried about us."
Juan nodded, and he followed Philip and his minion Nick into the camp and the three of them began to collect the supplies and the gas cans.
"Juan," Philip said.
Juan turned towards Philip slowly.
Philp said, "Remember, this is the way the world works now."
•••
"Buenos Dias, Juan!" a familiar, irritated voice called over the fog of memory.
Juan blinked and the memory of his conversation with the Governor vanished and was replaced by the image of John, lying on his stomach, and glaring at him angrily.
"Qué?" Juan asked.
"Nice of you to wake up, buddy," John said sarcastically. "How many shells you've got left?"
Juan let go of his shotgun and dug into the pockets of his jacket. "Three," he answered as he showed the shells to John.
John grumbled with disappointment and pointed at Karen. "How much ammo you've got left?"
Karen ejected the 30-round magazine from her M4A1 rifle and tested its weight. "Half full," she answered.
"How about you?" John asked as he pointed at Alonso.
The chef ejected his own 30-round magazine from his M16A4 assault rifle and examined it as he would an entrée before he sent it out to the waiter. "Half empty," he answered.
"You?" John asked Nate.
The young ADA ejected the magazine to his AR-15 rifle and held it to John like it was a pamphlet. "Empty," he whispered.
John snorted in amusement. "Now are you glad I stopped you from running into that casino, huh?"
Nate placed his empty magazine next to his rifle and said nothing.
"How about you, kid?" John asked Julia.
Julia slid her Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun out in front of her. "I…I just loaded my last four shells; I've also got a handgun," she answered as she touched the walnut grips of the Smith & Wesson 64 snub-nose revolver holstered to her side.
John nodded. "Good."
"I've got a pistola too," Alonso said as he touched the handle of his holstered Beretta M9 pistol.
"Good," John nodded again, "save it for when your rifle runs out of ammo."
"I've got my gun too," Sam said nervously as he drew the civilian model of the Beretta M9.
"Fuck! Don't point that gun at me, Sam!" John shouted as he covered his face with his arms.
Sam put his gun down in front of him and folded his hands over his slouch hat. "Sorry, John," he muttered.
"Sshhh!" Karen whispered with a finger to her lips. A moment later she looked to see if any of the herd surrounding the burning Humvee had heard John's shouting…they hadn't.
John pulled his arms away from his face and gave Sam one last contemptuous glare before looking over at Tyreese. "Okay, Jim Brown, how many shells have you got left?" he asked sarcastically.
Tyreese rolled onto his side, dug into one of the pouches to his utility harness, and held out one shotgun shell.
"Keep that hammer close, buddy," John suggested.
"I heard that," Tyreese replied as he loaded the shell into his Mossberg 500 shotgun.
"How many bullets do you have, amigo?" Juan asked John.
"I loaded my last magazine before Dixon blew himself all to hell," John answered as he raised his Colt M1911A1 pistol for emphasis.
"So we're all running out of time and bullets, but you still want us to wait for Rick?"
John stared at Juan for a few moments, and then he looked back at the El Dorado. "We either wait here, or run back to the prison." John looked at the Woodbury group and El Dorado group, all of them waiting anxiously for his decision. "We're staying," he said firmly.
The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group looked at each nervously, and then they looked at the herd surrounding and growling at the burning Humvee.
"I hope you're right, man," Tyreese said.
"Me too," John admitted.
Juan shut his eyes and shook his head with anger. So you're going to risk our lives for one man, huh, John? A man who would be on his way back to the prison right now if it was all of us in that casino!
Juan realized that the Governor—Philip—had manipulated him into thinking that killing those young men for their supplies was necessary for the survival of the group. The Governor was a manipulator, and so was Rick. Juan's wife Marianna had warned him several times about Rick, but he didn't realize she was right until it was too late.
Rick manipulated everyone in the prison into thinking the women, children, and the elderly had to starve while the construction crew put up a new gate. Juan realized now that if Rick returned to the prison, it was just a matter of time before he started killing people for being a drain on resources or being too weak to defend their new home.
•••
Rick and Harold had their hands around each other's throats as they rolled around the lobby's marble floor. The truck driver was still hungover and slow from drinking on sentry duty last night, but he was taller and heavier than the sheriff's deputy; he got on top of Rick and hit him with one punch after another. Rick put his hands on Harold's chest, and shoved the truck driver off him. Harold stumbled backwards, knocked another chair over, and fell to the marble floor.
Rick got to his feet, stomped over to Harold, and pulled him up by his shoulders. Rick then threw Harold towards the reception desk; his right side hit it with a loud thump and he shouted in pain.
Rick moved on Harold again, but the truck driver recovered quickly enough to throw a punch at him; Rick blocked it with his left arm, and threw a punch with his right hand that hit Harold on the jaw and sent him spinning back towards the reception desk; Harold's upper body was draped over the granite top of the reception desk like bunting, and he was gasping for air.
"It's over," Rick said as he opened the handcuff pouch on his gun belt, and took out the infamous "bracelets".
Rick walked over to Harold, and snapped one cuff onto his right wrist. The feeling of cold steel on his skin awoken Harold and his eyes searched the reception desk frantically for a weapon. Harold spotted the hotel phone lying on the counter, and he grabbed it with his left hand just as Rick was bringing his right arm behind his back. Harold lifted the phone up as he turned around and struck Rick on his left temple. Rick fell to the marble floor while the phone itself flew off its receiver and a moment later Harold let go of his improvised weapon and it swung back and forth on its wire like a pendulum.
"You…crazy…son of a bitch," Harold gasped as he grabbed Rick by the collar of his jacket. "I was starting to think I was wrong about you. I thought…I thought you were a decent man after all."
Harold yanked Rick to his feet, but the sheriff's deputy hit him with an elbow to the stomach, and when Harold doubled over, Rick grabbed the truck driver by the small of his back, and shoved him towards one of the lobby's sofas—the same sofa he napped on hours ago while everyone was gathering up the supplies they came to the El Dorado for.
Harold thrashed wildly on the sofa; he reached for the Glock 17 pistol holstered to his side, but Rick drew his Colt Python revolver faster.
"Freeze!" Rick ordered as he aimed his revolver at Harold.
Harold drew his pistol and sat up, but he froze at the sight of the muzzle to the .357 revolver looking across the lobby at him.
"Drop the gun!" Rick ordered.
Harold held onto his pistol.
"Drop it!" Rick ordered again.
Harold dropped his hands to his lap, but he still held onto his pistol. "Aren't you going to kill me?" he asked Rick.
Rick blinked. "What?" he retorted.
"Aren't you going to kill me?" Harold repeated. "That's what you do isn't it?"
Rick lowered his gun slightly. "What are you talking about?"
Harold leaned back on the sofa wearily. "Last night your friend Juan told Miyaguchi and me all about your friend the Governor."
Rick's complexion turned pale and the mention of his former enemy's title. "The Governor?" he whispered.
Harold wiped the blood away from his mouth with his cuffed left hand and sighed wearily. "Yeah," he said.
Rick looked to his left at the marble staircase: Just minutes ago, Sora had pulled Carl up that staircase, but Michonne had gone after them. Rick's heart told him to run up that staircase and save his son, but his police instincts told him he couldn't leave Harold armed.
"Listen," Rick said as he looked at Harold. "I've got to find my son, and I can't leave you here with a gun at my back. So you can just go outside and help the others—"
"They're getting chewed up right now, Rick," Harold interrupted sadly. "And after the geeks finish eating them, they'll walk in here and eat us."
Rick shook his head. "You don't know that."
"I don't have to see it to know it. But I did see how you were willing to give your life to save your boy. That's the kind of man you are Rick; who you really are."
Rick looked at the marble staircase again and he gritted his teeth over being stuck with Harold. "I don't care what you think of me, Harold. I've got to find my son before—"
"Don't worry about your boy," Harold interrupted, "Michonne will save him. I've got a feeling about that woman; when she sets her mind onto something, you better get the hell out of her way."
Rick lowered his service revolver and stared at the beaten and bloody truck driver who sat on the sofa. After a minute Rick asked, "What exactly did Juan say last night?"
Harold glanced at the lobby entranceway to his left and looked at Rick. "We don't have much time, so I'll give you the edited version."
•••
Sora continued to pull Carl behind him as he ran through the hallways of the second floor to the El Dorado. It was impossible for Carl to keep up for long and the boy finally lost his footing and fell face first onto the carpeted floor.
Carl was light, but he weighed enough to make Sora stop running. The Japanese gambler looked down at the prone boy and swore in his native language.
"Stand up," Sora ordered as he tightened his right hand tightened its grip on the scabbard of his sheathed katana.
Carl panted for breath, and stayed on the floor.
"Stand up!" Sora shouted as he yanked on Carl's arm.
Carl screamed in pain as Sora pulled him to his feet.
Sora bent down so he was eye to eye with Carl. "Silence!" he ordered.
The look of pain on Carl's face was quickly replaced with a look of rage, and he hit Sora with his left hand.
Sora glared at Carl, and his nostrils flared with rage, but the boy glared back at him.
"Move," Sora ordered as he stood up and pushed Carl ahead of him.
"What're you going to do now, hide in a closet?" Carl quipped.
"On the contrary, we are still leaving this casino," Sora retorted.
Carl snorted in contempt. "Without Harold? Some friend you are."
Sora slapped the back of Carl's head. The boy cried in pain and his arms covered the top of his head.
"Mr. Singleton was not my friend; he was a man who helped maintain order in this casino. I thought he was reliable, but his drunken behavior this morning says that I was wrong about him."
"Yeah? Well, now he's dead and my dad's going to kill you next."
"Hardly. Even if your father survives his fight with Mr. Singleton, we will have long departed this casino."
Carl looked over his shoulder. "What?" he asked.
"I secretly stocked a pickup truck with supplies months ago in the emergency that I may have to evacuate this casino. We shall take the pickup truck and you will take me to your prison. Of course, you will not be alive when we get there, but I will make certain your people do not forget your bravery when you watched your father and your group get swarmed by the Oni, and when I was forced to amputate your arm after an Oni had bitten you."
Sora and Carl continued walking along the hallways, then Carl's eyes widened and he stopped him his tracks. "You were the one stealing supplies from your group!" he shouted as he turned around and looked up at Sora. "And then you blamed other people for itand you executed them!"
Sora smiled and patted Carl's head like he was a dog that performed a trick. "It is one thing to claim your innocence, and it is another thing to prove it."
Sora's hand moved to Carl's shoulder, he turned the boy around, pushed him forward, and they continued along the hallways.
•••
After a few minutes Sora and Carl came to a large lobby: across from them was a granite plaque, flanked by a set of wooden doors. Wooden benches were set against the walls along with clay flower pots holding Poinsettias. Carl took a longer look at the plaque and chiseled upon it was the legend: MOCTEZUMA THEATER.
In front of the plaque was a notice stand that read in white letters: ALL SHOWS CANCELLED DUE TO THE END OF THE WORLD.
Sora pushed Carl towards the set of doors on the left; he opened one door and pushed Carl inside. "Move," he ordered.
Carl found himself in a cloud of darkness; he put his arms out so he wouldn't bump into anything and he walked forward uncertainly; he gasped when he felt Sora's hand on his back.
"Move," Sora repeated as he shoved Carl further into the darkness.
Carl stumbled forward and he yelped when he began falling forward. He put his hands out to his sides, and his left hand grabbed onto a cylindrical object, and his right foot landed on a step. A moment later light flooded into the darkness and Carl shut his eyes from the shock. When Carl opened his eyes, he saw that he was in a large theater, and he stood on a staircase that descended from the balcony to the auditorium; the cylindrical object he grabbed earlier was a handrail.
Footsteps approached Carl from behind and a moment later he felt Sora's hand on his shoulder again.
"Go," Sora ordered as he shoved Carl forward.
Carl held onto the handrail as he started to walk down the staircase. He looked around the theater and saw the rows of seats had maroon padding, and the walls had murals of the Aztec's daily life, up ahead was a stage framed by a gold curtain.
"Beautiful theater, is it not my young friend?" Sora asked as he walked down the balcony's seats behind Carl.
Carl glared over his shoulder at Sora, and said nothing.
"Some washed up pop singer was the casino's opening act; unfortunately, that was also the same day the Oni appeared in Atlanta," Sora explained. "The poor girl was amongst the first group of guests and employees that attempted to escape. I saw her when I went out on the first supply run weeks later; well, it was not exactly her, if you understand my meaning."
Carl shivered as he stepped off the staircase and into the auditorium.
"The exit is behind the stage," Sora said as he pushed Carl forward. "When we get outside do not bother shouting for your father. In their final moments one should try to keep their dignity."
"I told you my dad's going to kill you," Carl said confidently as he stepped onto the stage.
"Your father is not here is he?" Sora asked.
"No, he's not," said a woman's voice.
Sora and Carl both stopped in their tracks and spun around to look at the top of the staircase to see Michonne standing there with her hooded cape billowing behind her like a superhero and with her katana in her hand.
•••
"He killed those college kids?" Rick asked in disbelief.
"That's what Juan told us," Harold answered.
Rick thought about Bryan; from the story Harold just recalled he was barely older than Carl. "Did he kill the boy too?"
Harold closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah," he whispered.
Rick lowered his head, he knew the Governor was a murderer, even crazy, but he never thought the Governor was capable of killing a child.
"He killed them all for their supplies," Rick said in shock.
"Yeah, so excuse the fuck out of me and my friends for thinking you'd do the same thing," Harold spat.
Rick looked up at Harold and his eyes burned with rage. "No, I would never have done that!" he retorted as he pointed his service revolver for emphasis.
"Really? You're the man in your group. You run shit, don't you?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Rick asked.
"I've been trapped in this damn casino for over a year and three things happen when one man runs shit," Harold answered as he held up three fingers from his cuffed left hand. "They either fuck up, can't cut it, or they go crazy.
"The first guy that ran this casino took a big group out for a supply run; he got half of them torn apart along with him! The second guy hanged himself, and the third guy chopped people's heads off for stealing food or wasting electricity!"
Harold put his left hand down and lowered his head again. A moment later a sob burst from his mouth and he raised his hand again to wipe his tears away. "When you offered to take us all with you to that prison, I smiled for the first time in months," he muttered. "I thought we were finally getting the fuck out of this place."
"It's not too late, Harold," Rick insisted. "You and your people can still—"
"They're dead, Rick," Harold interrupted.
Rick suddenly thought of Hershel, the farmer who always knew the right thing to say whenever he was depressed or overwhelmed. "You can't say that, Harold. You've got to have…faith."
"I've burnt up all my faith, and I don't deserve any blessings from God," Harold interrupted. "I've got blood on my hands the same as Miyaguchi."
Harold put out his hands; he opened his left, but he still held onto the Glock 17 pistol in his right.
"I could've stopped all those executions; I could've argued with Miyaguchi, or I could've put a bullet in his goddamn head, but I didn't. I didn't give a damn at first because I didn't know any of those poor bastards, and I liked that Miygauchi named me his right hand man, but the more people we lost, the harder it was for me to take the thief or the idiot out in the back so Miyaguchi could chop their heads off with that goddamn sword of his!"
Harold put his hands down in his lap again, and he leaned back on the sofa as if he was exhausted.
He's still holding on to that gun,Rick thought as he stared at the Glock 17 pistol in Harold's hand. I've got to convince him to drop it, but he's too high-strung now.
"I told Julie to hand over your kid, Rick. What've you got to say about that?" Harold asked as he looked up at the sheriff's deputy.
For a few moments, Rick's hand tightened around the handle of his Colt Python revolver, but he loosed his grip. "She didn't listen to you, Harold. Carl's alive. I have faith your people are alive, too."
"I've burnt up all my faith, remember?" Harold asked. "I was willing to let a boy die, because I want to stay alive. I was supposed to ambush you and Michonne because I want to stay alive!"
Rick nodded. "I get it, Harold. You want to live. Your people want to live too, but they realized they didn't have to follow Miyaguchi stay alive. Go outside and help them with the herd, I've got to go help Michonne rescue Carl."
Harold shook his head, and tears began to run down his face. "It's too late for me, Rick. I was afraid that we'd all die in this casino, and today's the day."
Harold raised his pistol and stuck the barrel underneath his chin.
"No, Harold!" Rick shouted as his eyes widened.
"Save your boy, Rick," Harold said before he pulled the trigger.
BLAM!
The bullet went through the bottom of Harold's chin, and it continued through his brain and finally exited out the top of his head, taking blood and brain matter with it. The last impulses from Harold's destroyed brain ran through his body, and a second later he sat on the sofa limply, with his right hand still gripping onto the pistol.
Rick stood in horror as he processed what he'd just witnessed. The fatal gunshot rang in his ears, along with Harold's last words: "Save your boy, Rick."