CHAPTER 22
"You Americans are full of surprises," Sora grinned as he looked up at Michonne.
"And you people are full of bullshit," Michonne replied as she glared down at Sora.
"Can you have some respect, Michonne?" Sora asked. "In the early 20th century, Japan was a military empire poised to conquer Asia and the Pacific Ocean; World War II ended that, but towards the end of that same century, Japan had become a technological empire, selling automobiles, televisions, and computers to every nation in the world!"
"I'm not talking about the Japanese; I'm talking about motherfuckers like you," Michonne said as she pointed her katana at Sora.
Sora's grin disappeared from his face. "You will suffer for that insult, woman!" he vowed while pointing his sheathed katana at Michonne.
Michonne grinned and raised her own katana. "You want to teach me a lesson, Sora? It won't be as easy as beating on a little boy."
Michonne began to walk down the balcony steps. Carl felt a wave of fear rush through Sora's body and traveled down to the hand that was gripping his shoulder.
"Who is it that you are comparing me to?" Sora asked meekly.
"The Governor," Michonne answered.
Sora's courage returned; he tightened his grip on Carl's shoulder, and the boy winced in pain.
"Ah yes, The Governor. Mr. Zavala told me about him, but he did not tell me that you know him as well. I wonder: do you know the Governor…intimately?"
Michonne stopped in her tracks and glared at Sora.
"Mr. Zavala watched as the Governor murdered five young men and a boy for their supplies," Sora continued, "he was afraid that Rick Grimes would become like the Governor and kill his friends and my associates on the road to that damned prison. You must understand that I had to prevent that from happening."
"A leader has to do what's best for his people, right?" Michonne asked.
"Right," Sora answered.
"Then I suppose you'd call killing Carl, Daryl, and me 'collateral damage'," Michonne said as she resumed walking down the balcony steps.
Sora grinned and replied, "I would have called killing the three of you a 'necessary evil', especially after you vowed I would not get away with killing Rick Grimes."
"You're not going to get away with beating his son either."
Sora looked down at the bruises on Carl's face. "Why do you care about this boy, Michonne? He is clearly not related to you."
Michonne stepped onto the auditorium and looked at Carl for a few moments. "He's my friend," she answered.
Carl smiled at Michonne.
"Well, your friend can watch you die," Sora threatened. "The Moctezuma Theater will host its first performance since the world came to an end."
Michonne placed her katana across a chair in the front row, and then she unslung her scabbard from her back and placed it beside her sword; she unfastened her hooded cape, draped it over another chair, and picked up her sword.
"Take a seat and watch the show, boy," Sora ordered as he shoved Carl towards the stage's edge.
Carl rubbed his right shoulder and glared up at Sora.
"Sit down, Carl," Michonne ordered.
Carl jumped off the stage and sat in the chair next to Michonne's scabbard. He looked at Michonne. "Good luck," he said quietly.
Michonne nodded her thanks and walked towards the steps along the side of the stage.
Sora watched as Michonne began climbing up the steps and said, "I intend to take your sword to the prison. Remember that I told you earlier that you have no right to wield it."
Michonne stepped onto the stage and said nothing.
"May I have time to remove my coat and jacket?" Sora asked.
"Sure," Michonne answered. "I don't want to hear any excuses from you as to why you lost before I cut your fucking head off."
Sora smiled in amusement and knelt down to place his sheathed katana onto the stage. He stood up, undid his black trench coat, and shrugged it off; he undid his tailored Italian business suit, and shrugged that off too. He unknotted his silk tie and let it fall to the stage, and unbuttoned his shirt collar. He removed his gold cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up to his forearms (the handkerchief was still wrapped around his left wrist where Carl had bitten him); he knelt down again, picked up his sheathed katana, drew the blade, and dropped the scratched scabbard onto the stage. He gripped his katana's worn handle with both hands and stood at the ready.
Across the stage, Michonne gripped her katana with both hands and stood at the ready.
Sora raised his katana over his head, charged at Michonne, and brought the blade down in a chopping motion.
KLANG!
Michonne blocked the blow with her katana, and the two opponents leaned on their blades and shoved back and forth in a struggle to gain the upper hand; Michonne felt that she was losing, so she stepped to her left, grabbed hold of Sora's belt, and shoved him towards the wooden pillar at the end of the stage.
Sora groaned in pain as he hit the wooden pillar face first.
Michonne ran forward and thrust her katana at Sora's back, but the Japanese gambler spun around and parried the thrust with his own katana. Sora screamed in rage and slashed his katana right and left at Michonne as he moved forward. Michonne parried the blows, but Sora's attack forced her to move across the stage backwards. Her feet got tangled with Sora's black trench coat and she fell onto the stage.
"Michonne!" Carl screamed in horror as he leapt out of his chair.
Sora spun the katana in his hand and brought the sharp tip down at Michonne's chest, but she rolled onto her right side and the katana's tip was impaled on the stage.
Michonne scrambled to her feet while Sora struggled to free his sword. She shouted defiantly as she swung her katana at the Japanese gambler's head.
KLANG!
Sora had freed his katana in time and blocked the blow. He went on the attack again and forced Michonne back towards the narrow curtains on the sides of the stage that were called legs.
Sora raised his katana above his head and brought it down on Michonne, who leapt to her left.
SHRUPP!
Sora's katana cut a diagonal line through the middle of the leg, and the bottom piece of drapery fell to the stage.
Michonne went on the offensive: she slashed her katana at Sora, but he blocked it. Michonne continued her slashing attack, forcing Sora to move backwards across the stage as he parried her strikes.
Carl grinned like he had just seen his favorite baseball player hit a homerun. "Yeah, get him, Michonne!" he cheered while punching the air with his fists.
Michonne continued her attack until Sora stood his ground and the two of them locked their katanas together in another shoving match. After a few moments of struggling, Sora struck Michonne with his elbow, and she fell to the stage.
Carl gasped in shock.
Sora raised his katana above his head to deliver the killing blow, but Michonne did a leg sweep that took out the Japanese gambler's legs and he fell to the stage across from her.
"Get up, Michonne!" Carl shouted.
Michonne—tired from the fighting—sat up slowly. Sora got on his feet faster, and his foot stomped onto Michonne's right wrist. The swordswoman screamed in pain, and was forced to let go of her katana.
Carl's eyes widened in shock.
Sora bent down, grabbed Michonne by her dreadlocks, and pulled her to her feet. "You should have thought twice about arranging your hair in this fashion," he said, "it makes it so easy for the Oni—or an enemy—to grab hold of you."
Michonne punched Sora in the face, but the blow wasn't strong enough to make him let go of her hair or knock him down. Enraged, Sora twisted Michonne's dreadlocks around his hand and threw her across the stage; she fell onto Sora's tailored Italian jacket, black trench coat, and scratched scabbard.
"No!" Carl shouted.
"Silence, boy!" Sora ordered as he walked towards the fallen Michonne.
"If you touch her, I'll kill you!" Carl vowed.
"Americans," Sora spat as he shook his head, "always making promises they cannot keep."
Michonne sat up slowly with Sora's black trench coat on her head; she pulled the garment off, panted for breath, and looked up to see Sora standing over her.
"Thank you for the match, Michonne," Sora said. "I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed Kendo."
Sora gripped his katana in both hands and raised it above his head and a moment later, brought it down on Michonne.
"Nooo!" Carl shouted as tears ran down his face.
WOK!
Carl wiped the tears from his eyes and saw Michonne was still alive, and was holding up Sora's scratched scabbard; she'd grabbed the World War II relic and used it to block Sora's killing blow.
Sora blinked in disbelief; he pulled on his katana's worn handle, but the blade was stuck on the scabbard like an axe on a log.
Michonne balled her left hand into a fist and punched Sora in the groin.
Sora howled in pain as he let go of his katana and grabbed his groin; he fell to the stage and curled up in pain.
Michonne dropped the scabbard, got to her feet, and mustered the strength to run across the stage to retrieve her katana.
Sora grabbed his scabbard, picked it up, and brought it down on the stage like a hammer; the scabbard split in half, freeing his katana.
"Hurry, Michonne!" Carl shouted.
Michonne slid on her knees across the stage, and came to a stop in front of her sword; her right hand wrapped around its handle.
On the other side of the stage, Sora wrapped his hand around the worn handle of his katana. He stood up, and turned towards Michonne.
"Behind you!" Carl shouted urgently.
Michonne stood up and faced Sora.
Carl watched wide-eyed as the two duelists prepared for their final match.
Sora held his katana over his shoulder, shouted a battle cry, and ran towards Michonne.
Michonne held her katana in both hands, and prepared to receive Sora's charge.
At the last moment Michonne stepped to her left and ducked. Sora's blade flashed over her head just as she swung her own blade at Sora's stomach.
SVASSH!
The blade of Michonne's katana sliced through Sora's stomach like it was a slab of beef. The Japanese gambler gasped in shock and fell to his knees; when he hit the stage, he slid a few yards, but when he came to a stop the pain from his mortal wound caught up to him.
Sora reluctantly looked down at his stomach, and saw his white dress shirt was quickly turning red. The fingers on his right hand uncurled around the worn handle of his katana, and the blade fell to the stage. Sora screamed painfully as his hands flew to the fatal wound across his stomach and he doubled over.
Behind Sora, Michonne stood up and shook the blood off her blade.
Watching from the auditorium, Carl's mouth dropped open.
Sora sat up and every time he took a labored breath, his intestines almost spilled out, but his blood soaked hands kept pushing them back inside.
Michonne walked over to the dying Sora and he raised his head slowly: his complexion had turned pale; drops of sweat were running down his forehead, blood was dripping out the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were full of tears and fear.
Michonne didn't say anything to Sora; he lost the duel and she'd told him she didn't want to hear any excuses as to why he lost. Michonne wrapped both hands around the handle of her katana, raised it above her head, and Sora lowered his head in defeat.
Michonne brought her katana down on the back of Sora's neck.
SHLUKK!
Michonne's katana sliced through Sora's neck and his decapitated head fell to the stage, bounced twice, and rolled around in a semi-circle; his upper body collapsed to the stage and a large pool of blood began to spread out from underneath him. Michonne shook the blood off her katana's blade and stepped over Sora's body.
"Michonne!" Carl cried.
Michonne looked up and saw Carl running towards the stage; he leapt up, grabbed the ledge, and climbed over it like it was part of an obstacle course in gym class. Carl stood atop the stage and ran towards Michonne, who dropped her katana and dropped to her knees as she opened her arms wide.
Carl threw his arms around Michonne's neck and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Michonne! Thank you!" he cried as his tears ran down his face and onto her shoulder.
Michonne wrapped her arms around Carl and returned the hug, although not as tightly. "No problem, kid," she replied as she fought to hold back her own tears.
Michonne broke the hug, put her hands on Carl's shoulders and examined the boy: his hair was disheveled, he had a superficial cut under his chin, his left cheek was swelling; his eyes were tired and watery. "Are you alright?" she asked.
Carl looked down at himself and rubbed his hands together, it was like he was processing being kidnapped, assaulted, and threatened. "I'm okay. My face hurts, my arms hurt, and my head hurts, but I'm okay."
Michonne smiled supportively and her hand brushed through Carl's hair gently. "It's all over now," she said quietly.
Carl raised his head up and his eyes widened. "My dad! Is he okay?!"
Michonne blinked and looked up at the balcony staircase, and remembered Rick struggling with Harold on the lobby floor: 'Save Carl, Michonne! Save my son!' he pleaded. Michonne looked at Carl again and answered, "He's okay too."
Carl smiled and tears ran down his face again. "I knew he'd be okay. My dad survived getting shot and being in a coma when all this started. Did you know that?"
Michonne now thought about Andrea, and their nomadic winter last year. Andrea did most of the talking, and the first topic of conversation was her group. "Yeah, I know," she answered.
"My dad's tough," Carl said proudly.
"So are you," Michonne replied.
Carl blushed and lowered his head. "Thanks."
Michonne picked up her katana, stood up, and held out her hand. "Let's go," she said.
Carl looked up at Michonne, nodded, and took her hand. They walked past Sora's severed head and his corpse, and they walked down the stage's steps. They continued towards the front row of seats; Michonne leaned her katana against a chair, put on her hooded cape, picked up her scabbard, sheathed her katana, and slung the weapon over her back.
Carl turned around and glared at Sora's decapitated head. You may be Japanese, but you're just like the Governor, Carl thought, you promised your people that you'd protect them, but you stole from and blamed others for it. You threatened to kill my dad and my friends! You threatened to kill me too, and use my body to get into the prison. Would you have taken over the prison, and kill everyone one-by-one? Would you have killed my sister Judith? I bet you would've. I'm glad you're dead.
Michonne put a hand on Carl's shoulder and he looked up at her. She nodded and he returned it. They walked to their left, and at the end of the front row of seats they walked up the aisle to the top of the auditorium. In the middle of the island was a set of wooden doors; the main entrance. Michonne opened one door, and she and Carl walked out of the Moctezuma Theater, leaving on the stage the decapitated head of Sora Miyaguchi.
•••
Daryl, clad in his Navajo print poncho, and holding his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow tightly, continued to lie on his stomach in the middle of the parking lot. His plan to distract the herd by igniting a Humvee's gas tank had worked, and now he was hiding beside a Mercedes-Benz while the last of the herd staggered and bumped into the opposite side of the luxury car on their way to surround the burning wreck a few feet away.
Daryl had considered his options and decided it was better to wait for Rick, Carl, and Michonne to run out of the El Dorado before he got up and made a break for the other survivors lying down on the adjoining courtyard. If Daryl made his presence known to the herd, they'd forget all about the burning Humvee, and stagger back to the casino, and overrun the survivors.
If only Merle could see me now, Daryl thought. He'd probably say, "There you go again, little brother, riskin' your ass for a bunch of pansy-asses, niggers, and Democrats."
Daryl grinned. I always hated when Merle was right.
There was a loud bump at the front of the Mercedes-Benz, and Daryl saw a foot clad in a torn sock step in front of him followed by a second foot wearing an Air Jordan sneaker. Daryl raised his head and saw a black walker wearing a baggy pair of jeans and an unbuttoned satin jacket, it had gold chains around its neck, and it wore a baseball cap on its head; in the middle of its T-shirt were two bullet wounds, revealing that it's death was not caused by a walker bite.
The black walker saw Daryl and it staggered back as if it were surprised to see a live human being, but it recovered and growled at him angrily.
Oh, fuck! Daryl thought.
Daryl raised his crossbow, took aim at the black walker, and pulled the trigger.
THUNK!
The arrow Daryl shot was loosed at such a close range that it tore through the black walker's forehead and exited out the back of its head. The bloody arrow continued on—weighed down somewhat by blood and bits of brain matter—and struck the windshield of a Toyota Avalon parked in the next row of cars. The black walker wobbled back and forth until it fell onto its back, dead.
The growling from the tail end of the herd stopped, and Daryl looked to his left nervously. A moment later there was a thud on the hood of the Mercedes-Benz, and a young Japanese walker with spiked hair, wearing jeans, a T-shirt with the Rising Sun of Japan printed on it, and a leather biker jacket appeared in view. The Japanese walker saw Daryl and growled angrily.
"Shit!" Daryl grumbled as he placed his hands on the parking lot and raised his upper body.
The Japanese walker growled again and leapt off the hood. Daryl rolled to his right, while the Japanese walker landed face first on the spot where Daryl had been lying. Daryl wound up on his back; he moved his crossbow to his left hand, tossed the hem of his poncho over his chest, and unsheathed his Busse Team Gemini knife. The Japanese walker started to push itself up from the ground, but Daryl plunged the tip of his knife into the back of the Japanese walker's head.
WHUKK!
The Japanese walker's upper body fell back onto the parking lot, dead.
Daryl pulled his knife out of the dead walker's skull, sat up, and looked at the Mercedes-Benz again: there were several walkers standing on the opposite side and looking down at him.
"Shit!" Daryl repeated.
The walkers growled and started to climb over the Mercedes-Benz to reach Daryl.
Daryl stood up, spun around, and ran towards the courtyard. A male walker with a broken right arm, and wearing a torn shirt, staggered out from the front of the Mercedes-Benz and blocked Daryl's path; it growled angrily.
Daryl twirled the knife in his hand so the bloody blade was forward and thrust it at the male walker.
SHUKK!
Daryl's knife cut through the side of the male walker's neck and severed the brain stem, killing the male walker just as effectively as destroying its brain. Daryl pulled his knife out of the dead male walker's neck and it fell beside the dead black walker. Daryl ran towards the courtyard with his poncho billowing behind him like a raccoon's tail on the antenna of a Hot Rod. The walkers that made up the tail end of the herd jumped off the Mercedes-Benz and staggered after Daryl.
•••
The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group were still lying down on the courtyard to avoid being seen by the herd, and waiting for Rick to run out of the El Dorado with his son and Michonne.
"Something's got those diablos mad," Alonso said as he rose up slightly to look at the herd surrounding the burning Humvee.
"Maybe the cavalry's arrived," Tyreese quipped as he looked to his right and his left.
"Does he count?" Karen asked as she pointed towards the burning Humvee.
Tyreese and the other survivors looked and saw Daryl, running towards them with his crossbow in one hand, and his knife in the other.
"Son of a bitch," John said with admiration as he sat up and watched Daryl running towards the survivors.
As Daryl stepped onto the courtyard, he saw Carl's battered Stetson hat and Beretta 92FS pistol on the ground. He knelt down, picked up the hat and pistol, stood up again, and ran over to the survivors.
"They ain't back yet?" Daryl asked he knelt down beside John.
"I'm afraid not," John answered.
Daryl grimaced, but said nothing. He put the weapons and Carl's Stetson on the ground and took inventory: he picked up Carl's pistol, found that Julia (who'd taken the pistol from Carl earlier) had kept the safety in the "on" position, and tucked it at the small of his back (beside his Colt Official Police revolver). He picked up his knife with his left hand, and pulled out his new cleaning rag (which he took from the El Dorado's tavern) from his back pocket, wiped the blade clean, and returned it to its sheath. He picked up his crossbow, stood up, and placed the crossbow's barrel on the ground; he slipped his foot through the crossbow's stirrup, pulled the string back until it was cocked, then he slipped his foot out of the stirrup, held the crossbow in his hands, took an arrow from the attached quiver, loaded it onto the flight groove, and flicked the safety to the "on" position.
"Did you blow up a damn truck?" John asked.
Daryl grunted the affirmative, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder.
John smiled. "Good thinking, son."
Daryl nodded his thanks and knelt down beside John again.
"We thought you were dead," Julia admitted with a smile.
Daryl remembered staggering back to the Greene farm, wounded and exhausted from his search for Carol's lost daughter Sophia. Andrea was on guard duty, mistook him for a walker and fired a shot that almost killed him. "I've heard that before," he smiled as his fingertips traced the grazing scar across his left temple.
"Excuse me, but can we all just get the fuck out of here?!" Sam shouted.
Daryl looked over his shoulder and glared at Sam. "Not without Rick and the others," he said coldly.
Sam's defiance evaporated under Daryl's glare and he looked down at the courtyard.
"We'll wait till hell freezes over, but our hosts don't have any transportation," John pointed out.
Daryl looked at John in disbelief. "Are you shittin' me?" he asked.
John shook his head.
Daryl looked at the Woodbury group and the El Dorado group. "Don't any of you know how to hotwire a damn car?"
The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group glanced at each other, looked back at Daryl, and mutterings of "No," "Nope," and "Unh-uh," drifted through the courtyard.
Daryl clenched his fist, and spat onto the courtyard in disgust.
Karen glanced to her right, her eyes widened and she sat up. "Biters!" she shouted while pointing.
Everyone looked to Karen's right, and saw the small group of walkers that had followed Daryl were now staggering towards them.
"Hold 'em back while I hotwire a car!" Daryl ordered as he stood up and ran along the courtyard.
"I heard Harold say he picked out a Dodge Grand Caravan," Alonso said as he stood up while clutching his M16A4 assault rifle in his hands.
"Why? Does it have a fuckin' moon roof?" Daryl quipped as he ran past his motorcycle and the vehicles from Rick's caravan.
Alonso ignored Daryl's question and caught up to him. "It's that way!" he shouted as he pointed at the forward portion of the parking lot.
"Wait for me!" Sam shouted.
Daryl looked over his shoulder and saw Sam running after him and Alonso; Sam had his Beretta 92FS pistol in his hand. Daryl grumbled and replied, "Vamos!"
Sam caught up to Daryl and Alonso, and the three men continued their run to the parking lot.
Karen sat up, raised her M4A1 rifle to her shoulder, and took aim on the lead walker staggering towards the survivors.
"Hold your fire!" John shouted.
Karen lowered her rifle and looked at John in disbelief.
"Those shots will just attract the herd; plus we have to conserve our ammo."
Karen lowered her rifle and looked at it with frustration. "Fuck!" she spat.
"If we can't shoot them, how are we going to kill them?" Nate asked worriedly.
"We'll have to take them hand-to-hand," John answered.
"You mean…knock them out?" Nate asked, holding his fists out like a boxer.
John put the palm of his left hand on his face and wiped it down in frustration. He looked at Nate and answered, "I mean grab a club, pick up a rock, and bash their fucking brains in!"
"Oh," Nate said in embarrassment as he put his hands back on the courtyard.
Karen put her M4A1 rifle down and unsheathed the hunting knife at her side. "Does anyone else have a knife?" she asked.
The remaining survivors lying on the courtyard patted themselves down and looked at Karen bashfully.
"Sorry," Nate said.
"Besides my 1911 pistol, my only weapon is my extensive vocabulary of strong language," John smiled.
"Well, that's not going to do us any good, John," Karen said.
"Fuck yeah, that shit won't help us," John grinned.
Tyreese put down his Mossberg 500 shotgun, stood up, and drew the framing hammer hanging at his side. "Time to get off the bench," he said.
The survivors watched as Tyreese walked passed them—hammer in hand—and towards the slowly approaching group of walkers.
"I've got your back!" Karen shouted as she stood up.
"No!" Tyreese shouted as he looked over his shoulder. "It's too dangerous."
"You're not going to stop me," Karen retorted as she ran towards the former NFL player.
Tyreese shook his head, but said nothing as he and Karen advanced on the walkers.
The lead walker wore a dress shirt (the collar was unbuttoned) and pants. A chunk of flesh was bitten out of his left arm and its grey tie was knotted around the upper part of the arm as a tourniquet.
Tyreese raised his framing hammer and brought it down on the businessman walker's head.
KRAK!
The framing hammer's head shattered the top of the businessman walker's skull and destroyed the brain, killing it instantly. The dead walker fell to its knees, and then it fell onto its right side.
A female walker in a torn red dress and with a rib bone sticking out of its left side growled at Karen, who thrust her knife at the female walker's face.
SVASSH!
The blade of Karen's knife plunged into the female walker's left eye and into its brain. The female walker's growl faded into a whisper, and when Karen pulled her knife free, it fell to the ground dead.
A young male walker wearing a T-shirt with the Batman symbol printed on it growled as it grasped wildly at Tyreese. The NFL player grabbed the young male by its neck, holding it at bay as he brought his framing hammer down on its head.
KRAK!
The blow destroyed the younger walker's brain just like it had the older one, and when Tyreese let go of the young walker's neck, it fell to the ground dead.
Tyreese looked down at the dead walker and shook his head with pity.
"Are you okay?" Karen asked worriedly.
Tyreese looked at Karen and answered, "This doesn't get any easier."
Karen looked at the rest of the small group of walkers staggering towards them. "I wish it would," she replied.
•••
Rick had been a sheriff's deputy in the small town of King County, GA. The one time he fired his service revolver in the line of duty was the same day he was shot and put in a coma. When Rick woke up in the hospital, the world he knew was gone, and the dead had taken over. He had seen horrifying and unimaginable sights, but he had never seen someone commit suicide. Rick had spent an undetermined amount of time staring at Harold's body siting on the sofa, with a bullet hole under his chin, the top of his head shot open, and his Glock 17 pistol clutched in his right hand.
He was too far gone, Rick thought. He lost whatever family he had when the dead started to walk, so he made the group in the El Dorado his surrogate family. But when he thought he lost them…he couldn't keep going.
I have a group too. They look to me for safety, food, answers, leadership! They're not strangers anymore, they're my family. But I barely know them! Glenn saved my life in Atlanta, but all I know about him is that he was a pizza delivery boy! Daryl's been my right hand since we left the farm, but if the world hadn't gone to shit, I'd have probably arrested him for speeding on his motorcycle! Hershel's our doctor and my advisor, but he's really just a farmer; as for his daughters, I don't know what college Maggie went to, or what Beth's favorite song is. And Michonne…the only thing I know about her is her name.
Lori's death nearly pushed me into the darkness. If I didn't have my children—Carl and Judith—I…I wouldn't have been able to come back. I would've done what Harold did.
Rick sighed wearily and took a step towards the stone staircase when a flash of light caught his attention: it was the handcuff he locked onto Harold's right wrist during their fight.
I can't leave those handcuffs on him, Rick thought.
Rick holstered his Colt Python revolver, and walked over to Harold's body; the closer view of the exit wound atop Harold's head made Rick nauseous, but he dug into his back pocket, took out the handcuff key, and unlocked the handcuff from Harold's right wrist. Rick placed the handcuffs in their pouch on his gun belt, returned the key to his back pocket, and found the resolve to look at Harold's face one last time.
"I'm sorry this happened to you," Rick said to Harold's body.
Harold's dead eyes stared back at Rick.
"Dad!" Carl's voice shouted happily.
Rick turned to his left and a small body ran into him and wrapped its arms around his waist. "Carl?" he asked in disbelief.
Carl hugged his father tighter and started to cry.
Rick wrapped his arms around Carl and returned the hug. "Carl," he cried as the tears ran down his face.
Rick broke the hug, knelt down and examined Carl's injuries: there was a superficial cut under his chin, and his left cheek was swollen. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Carl sniffled, but nodded.
Rick remembered his glimpse of Sora pulling Carl up the stone staircase while he fought with Harold. "How did you get away from Sora?"
"Michonne saved me," Carl answered.
Rick looked up and saw Michonne standing in front of the vaulted doorway with her sheathed katana slung over her back. Rick stood up and walked over to the swordswoman. "What happened?" he asked.
"I killed the son of a bitch," Michonne answered.
Rick wiped a hand through his hair, and put his hands on his hips while various emotions ran through his mind: relief that Carl was alive, guilt at letting him go along on this supply run; regret at not killing Sora when he stepped out of that elevator, anger at not being able to rescue Carl, and gratitude to Michonne for being the one who did.
A minute later Rick looked at Michonne, and wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you," he said.
Michonne's eyes widened as Rick hugged her. Not knowing how to react, she could only say, "Your welcome."
Rick broke the hug with Michonne, walked over to Carl, and knelt down again so he could look his son in the eyes. "We're going home," he said.
Carl looked around the lobby. "Where are Daryl and the others?" he asked.
"They're outside holding the herd back, and we better get going before another one shows up," Rick answered.
Carl touched his hair and realized his battered Stetson hat was gone. "My hat!" he cried.
Rick smiled and patted Carl's shoulder. "It's outside too. I'll bet you Daryl's taking good care of it."
Michonne looked to her left at Harold's body sitting on the sofa, and saw he was holding onto a Glock 17 pistol; Michonne walked over to Harold's body, and carefully pried the pistol out his dead hand.
Rick stood up and drew his Colt Python revolver. "Stay close to me, Carl," he said.
Carl looked up at his father and nodded.
Rick looked at Michonne and asked, "Are you ready?"
Michonne pulled the Glock 17's slide back slightly to check if there was a bullet in the chamber, and when she released the slide, it snapped forward. Michonne looked at Rick and answered, "I'm ready."
Rick nodded and looked at the lobby's entrance. "Let's go," he said.
Rick, Carl, and Michonne ran along the lobby and down the vestibule's small steps; they then ran through the open door and onto the courtyard, where they saw Tyreese and Karen fighting a small group of walkers.