Part II: The Rock

Day 5 - Morning

Deck The Halls

The Rock, Georgia

7:53 AM

"We were in the mountains of Afghanistan when we got the call," the man explained, his voice loud as he spoke over the roar of the jeep's engine.

Daryl sat in the passenger seat of the jeep, Carlos to his left behind the wheel. Both men held fully lit cigars between their fingers as they rode through the green hills of Georgia. Daryl listened to his childhood friend's story intently, but he could tell that it was not easy for Carlos to tell it.

"Chuckles, our commander, couldn't even believe his ears. They told us that we were on our own. Corporate was pulling out, ceasing all operations. Good luck. No plane home, no explanation. That was it," Carlos explained, "This was about two weeks before the outbreak got really bad, now. People had just started getting sick."

"They just abandoned you?" Daryl asked, wide eyed.

"Yeah, and believe me, we were pissed. There was five of us, and all we had were our guns, a few days' rations, and our copter," Carlos went on, "So, we start for Bagram Air Field, figure we'll catch a ride out with the good ol' United States Army. Our pilot, Evans, looked like he was about to piss himself."

The jeep in which the two rode was not alone. To their left and right, two identical Jeep Wranglers rode, each of the three decorated with their black paint and camouflage seats. Daryl hadn't seen a road in about twenty minutes and he was honestly starting to wonder where they were and how far from The Rock they'd gone.

"So, we're halfway for Bag- hold on," Carlos stopped, picking up a walkie from between the two. "Alright, we're in position. Bring it out."

The three jeeps came to a halt at the bottom of a slow-rising hill. Daryl couldn't see beyond the hill ahead, and everywhere he looked there was only green grass and more hills. Carlos cut the engine to the jeep and for the first time in half an hour, Daryl heard only silence.

Carlos said nothing.

"What are w-?"

"Shh," Carlos shushed him, "Listen…"

Daryl did as he was told and strained to try to hear something, anything. At first, he heard nothing, and he was just about to ask Carlos what he was trying to accomplish here when suddenly the sound started picking up, yes, just vaguely, the sound of something moving, roaring, like a great, mechanical machine, a beast moving up the hill ahead.

The noise only got louder and louder and Daryl's curiosity turned into a mild anxiety as his eyes waited for the source of this roaring to appear. After what seemed like an eternity, it did, and Daryl saw only green, but not the green of grass, no, but of a great beast indeed. At the top of the hill ahead, a massive tank had appeared, standing there in all its glory, plain as day. It was the first tank Daryl had seen since Atlanta, since Merle… His jaw dropped.

"You like her?" Carlos asked, a smirk on his face. "Picked her up about three months ago, during a supply raid in Atlanta. What do you think?"

"I think you have a fucking tank," Daryl replied, obviously impressed.

"What do you say…?" Carlos asked, "Want to drive?"

"Uh, is that even a question?"

Thomaston, Georgia

8:00 AM

Barnesville Highway ended where the wall began. It was quaint and artificial, the boundary they'd come upon. A beautiful house awaited just off to the side of the road, and once upon a time, you would have been able to stand in the front yard and look down the road at the trees and houses beyond. Now, the view was a great wall of colossal size. It was quite the intimidating structure.

They'd come upon it in the darkness of early morning some hours ago, and Rick had almost crashed straight into the thing. He likely would have, too, had a great fire not lit up along the wall when Rick and his caravan were maybe a quarter mile away. Rick had stopped the group then and there, and backtracked some number of miles to set up a camp.

However; now, the sun had risen and Rick needed to get answers. Daryl was alive. The Sheriff is alive. Shane is dead. His head had been a mess lately, and now was no exception. When he was alone and his guard was down, that was when it was at its worst. Leadership was his distraction. Focus was his savior. He needed to focus now.

He and T-Dog had left the Ram some mile away, well hidden off to the side of the road. They'd come the rest of the way on foot, just the two of them, and had been careful not to be seen, which was quite the feat now that Rick had a closer look at the wall. The wall itself had to be at least fifty feet tall and it seemed to span for several miles in either direction. More incredibly, some sort of giant pit seemed to surround the wall, perhaps in its entirety, crossable only at certain spots - such as here on this road - by a bridge that seemed to be retractable, made of wooden planks from the look of it. Atop of the wall, there seemed to be buildings with glass windows, watch stations perhaps, though Rick could not tell if the one nearest this entrance was currently occupied or not.

The two men had taken shelter in the house just outside The Rock. From the window, Rick had a good view of the gate heading into The Rock, which seemed to be maybe a side or back entrance of some sorts. They'd been here an hour and the gate had only opened once, to let a truck full of watermelons in. It had closed as quickly as it had opened, and the truck had not re-emerged.

As Rick watched from the front window of the house they'd occupied, T-Dog was doing a search of the house for food and other goods they could take back to camp. He was always the fairly silent man, but occasionally he would pop his head into the front living room where Rick sat and report on his findings. This had been the situation for forty five minutes now.

Rick's eyes threatened to close. He hadn't slept, hadn't had the time, and the quiet did not help him. No, Rick. You have to stay awake. He tried to concentrate on the sound of T-Dog, rustling through drawers in the other room. He tried to focus his eyes on the wall before them. You can't sleep yet.

Things had been crazy, the last few weeks. He'd killed his best friend, and everyone seemed to hate him for it. Honestly, part of him hated himself for it. He hadn't had a choice, that's what they didn't understand. Rick had watched him, watched Shane descend into the madness. Madness. How could it have happened? How could it have happened to Shane, of all people, his best friend, the boy who he'd raised hell in high school with, the man who he'd raised hell in bars with? Why did it have to be you, Shane?

And the others didn't understand. The old rules, they didn't apply anymore. What mattered was survival, and only survival. Shane had gotten that part right all along, as it turned out. Carl, Lori, that was all that mattered. And for them to survive, for him to survive, they all had to survive, they had to stop playing by the old rules, they had to do whatever it took, they had to adapt, they had to… Do things like killing your best friend? Is that it, Rick?

Rick let out a sigh. Survive. Even that hadn't been going as well as one could hope. Rick had led the group of ragband survivors into a war zone, back there before. Meagan, Michael… He wondered what it all meant. Michael, especially. Where had he been all these years? What did he have to do with Evans? Where was Evans now?

And then there was this business with The Sheriff. Honestly, Rick hadn't seen him in five years, since he'd retired and made way for newer blood. To hear that he was alive, and somehow associated with this… whatever this place was… Well, it made Rick wonder what he was getting himself into. Why did The Sheriff have Daryl? Who built this wall, and how? What was up with the helicopter they'd seen last night?

Too many questions, and not enough answers. Lori, Carl. Wherever you are, I hope you're safe. That's right. He hadn't even done this part, the most important part, as well as he should have, as well as he swore to himself that he would. The group had been split up. And Lori and Carl are missing… Please… Let them be okay.

Still, Rick had a sizable group, and they were still with him, ready to follow him into battle, surprisingly enough. They were going to get Daryl back. Find the others. Reunite everyone. He, and Glenn. Maggie. Carol… T-Dog. T-Dog. Quiet… Too quiet. It was only now that he noticed that the noise of T-Dog, rumbling through the kitchen, had ceased, and it was quiet. Too quiet, even for T-Dog.

Rick started to reach for the pistol to his side, but just a bit too late. He heard the cocking of the gun, felt the hard jab of the cold metal behind him as someone pointed a gun at his head. We've really got to stop getting caught in traps.

"Found us, did ya?" Rick asked.

The voice behind him was familiar and sent a chill through Rick's body.

"You should have known we would, Rick. We saw you from a mile away," came Evan's pointed reply.

"Yeah, well," Rick responded, "You can't blame me for trying."

Key Hill Valley, Georgia - Key Hill Valley Mental Institution

8:30 AM

Hershel had figured that the rooms would be padded, but interestingly enough, they were not.

His room was small and sparse, bare save for a bed, toilet, and a small bookshelf which had kept Hershel sane in this mental institution. He'd been here, what, one, two days now? Honestly, he wasn't sure how much time had passed. He'd learned little of his current situation.

Every few hours, the door to Hershel's room opened and a young boy brought him his meal, which was the same every time, applesauce and crackers. Hershel had tried to ask the boy questions, but the boy refused to speak even a single word. Hershel had no idea how many people were here, when he'd gotten here, or even how he had come to be in this small room. All he knew was that his meal came every few hours.

The last thing he could remember before the room was a conversation with George, while walking the perimeter of camp, but when that'd been Hershel could not say. The next thing he'd known, he was waking up here, in this room, with a head that was pounding in a way that it hadn't since he'd given up the bottle. Maggie, Beth. Stay safe.

So, he'd done the only things he'd known how to do. He'd prayed, and when he was done with his prayer, he'd said another and another. He read. He'd found a classic on the bookshelf, a work by Alexandre Dumas. The Count of Monte Cristo. He'd read it once before, and yet, it kept him good company in the poorly lit room that had become his cell.

Interestingly enough, the book was about a man falsely imprisoned, moved to the point of desperation and forced to escape his cell. Hershel laughed at the irony of the situation, but hoped he would not befall the same fate as the main character of the novel. The main character, after all, set forth on a warpath after his escape, hell bent on getting revenge, and the results were disastrous for all. It was not a trait Hershel hoped to show with The Count of Monte Cristo.

Hershel was well in, some hundred pages, and was just about to turn the page of the novel when the door of his small cell silently squeaked open. Closing his book, Hershel's eyes raised from his hard bed to the shape of the young boy entering his room with a tray of applesauce and crackers. Time for another meal.

Hershel was silent. He'd tried time and time again to get information out of this boy, but it'd become obvious that he would learn nothing. The boy reached out towards Hershel, offering him the tray. Hershel sat up, taking the tray from the boy and nodding his head towards the youth.

"Thank you," Hershel kindly greeted the boy, who'd already begun his retreat for the doorway. "Please send your r-"

As Hershel started to pick up the paper cup of water on his tray, he lost his grasp. The cup fell to the floor, splattering water all over the floor and Hershel's shoes both. The man groaned and started to speak, but by the time it was all done, the boy had already left the room and Hershel couldn't ask for another cup of water. Great.

How long were things going to go on like this?

Jackson, Georgia

9:00 AM

Lori's eyes opened and she felt… peaceful.

The soft mattress beneath her was a welcome alternative to the hard, cold ground she'd grown so used to sleeping on, and for a moment, she forgot everything.

Turning to lie on her back, she looked over and noticed Carl and Beth beside her on the king sized bed, both well asleep. All around them, on beds just like the one they had slept on, others were sleeping or waking up besides, all around the store. The group had made camp in a Bed, Bath, and Beyond that seemed fairly in tact for a store after the end of the world.

There were a total of thirty six people in the party. Lori, Carl, and Beth made three, Vinny and his family another three as well. Sixteen others had made it to the Evacuation Site, yesterday morning after the ambush. Alex had found them there, along with his own thirteen, and basically forced the larger but less armed group to join him. That had been hours ago, and Lori had know idea what had happened to her husband or the others in the time that they'd been gone.

Alex seemed to be a gentleman, though hideously scarred as it were. Lori had learned that he had been one of Michael's men. Of his thirteen, six were beautiful young women, the rest hunters, like Alex, probably from Michael's party as well. The men carried enough guns that the larger twenty two - mostly women and children, as it were - did not try to make a move.

Still, Alex himself seemed to be a good and kind leader, Lori had noticed, and starkly contrasted everything she knew about Michael and his men. He had frequently made stops for the party time and time again and had found them a more than suitable place to rest. He did not speak with words of malicious intent. It seemed like it was possible that he was even a genuinely good person, besides the fact that he was holding several women and children hostage at gunpoint.

The day was beginning. Lori needed to get her child and Beth out of here, back to the others. More importantly, she needed information. Today, she intended to get it.

We will get out of here. That's a promise. We will.

However; it was easier said than done.

Thomaston, Georgia

10:00 AM

They'd set up camp well off the road, and they'd only bothered to set up one of the tents for the time being. Rick and T-Dog had been tending the fire when Carol joined Glenn and Maggie in the tent, and that had been at four in the morning. If she had to guess, she would have said that they never slept, but at 6:00 that morning Carol's eyes had opened just long enough for her to watch Rick waking Glenn so he could take over the watch.

She'd woken again just an hour ago and had found Maggie still peacefully asleep in the tent as well. Glenn was outside, huddling over the last embers of the dying fire, shotgun in hand as he kept watch for walkers and man alike. Carol had inquired about the location of Rick and T-Dog before sending the poor boy to bed. He'd only had two hours of sleep and yesterday had been a long day for them all.

Today was going to be a long day too. Daryl was here, or near here, and they had to get him back. Had to get him back. She felt her heart race faster at the thought. Daryl, who had helped keep them all safe all this time. Sweet Daryl, who never gave up looking for Sophia. She could not turn her back on him, because he'd never turned his back on her, on them.

She was only a half hour into her watch when the men came. They appeared all at once, shadows darting from the trees, and Carol only had time to scream before they raised their machine guns at her. Eight men in all, they'd taken the small camp with impressive speed and synchronization, and there had simply been too many for Carol to take.

So, now, the three were all wide awake and standing out in the open, with eight men surrounding them. Maggie and Glenn both were scantily dressed, Glenn wearing just a shirt and boxers, Maggie a white tank top, no bra, and red pajama bottoms. They contrasted greatly to the eight men who'd taken their camp, who each wore full camouflage uniforms and looked like a small military unit of some kind. They act like it too, Carol thought, as she watched the well armed men discuss what to do about their new captives.

Carol quickly identified the man who seemed to be in charge. Slightly older, his black hair was turning grey, you could tell, though he kept most of it covered with his beret. She watched as the man approached her, purpose spelled upon his face.

"You will tell me your name," the leader demanded of her.

A wave of anger erupted within Carol. Submit to him and he won't hurt you. Maybe that's what the old her would have done, but Sophia was gone and she no longer had anything to lose. She wasn't the same person she once had been.

"I will not," Carol's reply came, simple and to the point.

"Oh, you will," the leader responded, "Or we'll cut off his head."

One of the men grabbed Glenn from behind, holding a knife to his throat and earning a yelping scream from Maggie, who frighteningly watched the display. Glenn tremored with fear as the man held the blade close to his throat. Panic filled Carol's heart.

"Okay, okay, I will!" Carol exclaimed, "Just put the knife down! I'm Carol, this is Glenn, and Maggie. Please, don't hurt us."

The man paused before briskly walking away from the scene. Carol watched as he walked into the trees beyond, holding a walkie talkie up to his mouth. She couldn't hear what he said from such a distance, but when he returned, there was a look of determination in his eyes.

"Okay!" He announced, "Let's move out."

"Move out?" Maggie questioned, incredulous. The man who'd held a blade at Glenn had backed off now, but she was still very frightened.

"Yes, you heard me," the leader announced, "You're expected."

"Expected… by who?" Glenn asked.

"The King!" The leader announced, enthusiastically. "His Majesty cordially invites you all to be his guests, tonight for dinner. What do you say?"

"Sounds… fun?" Glenn asked, still scared silly himself.

"Oh, believe me. It's going to be a ball."

A/N: Hi! Okay, so, yes, I've returned, and I have finally started Part II of my story! HOWEVER; I really would appreciate some input from all of you! So, if you will, please comment with your take on the following:

I'm thinking about making this story an AU story. The original plan was for, after 239 Days, the characters to end up where they were when Season 3 started, with the story serving as a bridge between the two seasons. However; if I make the story an Alternate Universe where Season 3 never happens and the characters never go to Woodbury, for instance, I can basically take my own path with character developments, relationships, etc. I'm highly conflicted on this one though so I want to hear what everyone thinks.

Should I raise the rating of the story? I'm somewhat interested in adding in more graphic scenes as well as perhaps some other adult content, but if you guys are opposed to this, I will refrain from doing so.

Thanks for reading!