Tyrese didn't like this place. Too quiet. Too vacant. Moment they entered the gates, passing the sign that made Sasha shiver, he knew nothing good lay before them. Daryl walked ahead. He knew the convoy wouldn't be here. It was too simple, too merciful. He promised Carol he'd be back soon, kissed her on the cheek firmly, avoiding the dark bruises still lingering from the hospital. They didn't talk much lately, spent most of their time taking acre of Judith while Rick planned ahead, but Tyrese knew the moment they were safe, he'd tell her. He'd tell Carol how he felt. Didn't matter if she refused him, he had to tell her. A woman that strong, that brave, that fearless... Yet timid as a deer in headlights the moment someone tried to take care of her. After the Greene girl died, he'd walked Carol out and held onto her, worried about how violently she shook, how distraught she was. Tyrese liked Beth, sweet and kind, knew she meant a lot to the people who knew her well, but her death didn't hit him as hard as the others. That's why he took it upon himself to watch out for everyone. Cut back on rations, take Judith, watch Carol, guard with Daryl. Hell, he'd never known much of Daryl, but the guy had broken down and cried his heart out when he carried Beth outta the hospital. Between his tears and Maggie's screams, Tyrese barely slept a night without waking up afraid it might be Carol or Sasha next. Damn this world. Always taking away the good and making you fear losing what you couldn't live without.

"Hold up, somethin' up ahead."

Daryl's voice was wary, cross bow aimed at the house ahead. Place was full of houses, all identical, but this one had a van pulled up outside. There was blood on the window, a dent too. He knew that me at a walker had been hit. Blood wasn't dry either. A recent hit. They ducked down behind the nearest hedge, Sasha aiming the rifle at the door while Daryl studied the place, looking for signs of who might be around. Door opened and they all stared at the shadowy figure merging. When Daryl swore, Tyrese squinted, doubting what he was seeing to be true.

A walker with a gun. No. A man in a walker. Tyrese repeated Daryl's sworn oath. The man was wearing a walkers skin, the head almost like a hood, the appearance sickening. Sasha gave Daryl a questioning look but before he could answer, a bullet skimmed past them, just cutting Daryl's arm, though he didn't do much but wince. He was on his feet, hurrying them into the cover of the nearest house, his eyes darkening as he glanced over to the car. Five men emerged. All armed. All covered in walker skins. As if by santan's request, the low groan of the dead could be heard. Tyrese glanced over his shoulder, fear rising. The rest of the group were running toward them...walkers close behind.

...

The cold left her skin numb, aching, longing for a warmth that couldn't be found. Winter had fallen upon them fast and Beth was sure snow was on the way. There was already a thick frost, coating every building, blurring every window, icing every road. She stood in the car park, a hand resting on the stair rail. Morgan had already slipped, landing on his ass luckily, all too aware of Beth's giggle. The smiles soon faded when he saw the car. Buried beneath a hard frost. Morgan had been fighting to keep the engine working before the cold set it, and now, as he tried to start it, he was forced to accept that his luck was out.

Beth had woken him as night fell, warning him of the car that was scouring the area. Her idea of heading to the school didn't sound much safer, but as he commanded her to sleep till dawn, he watched the roads. No sign of any cars all night. All he did notice was how cold it was. He was breathing smoke and shivering till the sun began to rise. Beth spent most of the night beneath four blankets and even then he heard her gentle breathing interrupted by her teeth chattering. It wasn't much better by day. The wind had died down, and for that he was thankful, but he only had to glance at Beth to know the winter bite was as fierce as ever. Her pale cheeks were red with frostbite, her thin frame trembling beneath the oversize jacket she wore. Beth didn't let it show, didn't let him see her falter as she chilled to the bone. There was that steely determination in her expression, her steps firm and strong as she lifted the hood of the car. He joined her, cursing. Damn engine was dead. He knew it was hopeless to even try playing around with it but he did it anyway, for Beth.

"I'm gonna move them."

Her statement made his fingers still, holding the engine wire in mid air, frowning as she nodded toward the pile of frozen walkers by the gate. She could read the look he gave her in a heartbeat. He didn't approve but Beth wasn't in the habit of letting someone else control her. Not anymore.

Beth wasn't about to let him argue,"Let me shift them over there, behind the trash cans. They won't know we were here."

Morgan sighed, "fine but watch the road."

She nodded, already untying the gate, scanning the area around her. Desolate. A few walkers were roaming in the distance. Slower than usual. Beth had figured the weather would start slowing them down but she'd never had the chance to see her theory proven right. As if to show her how right she was, one of them turned toward her, the rattle of the gate summoning it, it's feet slipping on the frost, falling to the floor, crawling. She almost smiled. This was an advantage. Although soon enough she and Morgan would have the same struggle with the frost and cold. The Temperature was dropping by the day and soon enough they would be in the same condition as the mound of walkers by her feet.

"Great way to start the day," she muttered to herself, taking hold of the hand of the walker atop the pile, the ice covering it's body making it feel more like a snowman than a once living being. She pulled, too hard, as the hand broke off and almost caused her to fall backwards. Beth cursed under her breath, trying again, holding it's leg, straining as she pulled it along the sidewalk, dragging it behind the dumpster. The next one moved easier, a thinner female walker, already missing an arm. Beth moved another. Then another. As she moved them, she thought of Snow. He hadn't come back and that made her feel guilty. Not just for Jess. Beth herself had a love for the one eyed dog who had saved her and kept her smiling in the dark times. He wasn't around but she prayed for him to be safe. To find her, or at least find someone who could look after him.

After a few minutes, she was done, wiping her hands furiously with the rag in her pocket, looking up to Morgan, saddened to see him walking toward her, carrying their bags. The car was gone and she was sad to know they didn't have the advantage of it speed and it's safety. And it's warmth. That was what she loved about cars. Your own home on wheels. A naive sentiment she knew was misplaced these days. There was no such thing as home. Home was a permanent fixture, and nothing these days ever lasted long enough to be permanent.

Morgan was giving her a small smile, passing her a bag,"Where'd you learn that, hiding the trail. Smart thinking."

Glancing at the frost by her feet, she could almost feel the arrow in her belt weighing her down, reminding her of who she was yet to return it to. Beth was surprised by how uneven and tremulous her tone was when she answered.

"Daryl Dixon."

...

"Damn Beth, be careful."

Morgan groaned as she ignored him, climbing higher, using the uneven bricks of the wall to climb up to the top. The wall was twice as tall as he was and if she fell, he'd be in trouble. Letting her get hurt again was something he'd sworn would never happen. Beth didn't seem to notice how red and blistered her fingers were from the cold, the frost lingering on each inch of the wall having little bite to her already numb skin. As she swung her leg over the top, she was able to sit on the wall, staring down at the play field. A large empty stretch of icy concrete, leading up to a single storey building with an angle roof. There was a door in but it was closed, windows untouched, no sign of anyone ever instructing upon it. She took that as a good sign. Looking down past her feet, she sighed in relief. A sturdy metal she'd was beneath her.

"There's a way down from here. Go to the gate, I'll let you in."

He began to object but she slipped down and left him arguing with the air. As she landed on the roof, the frost caused her to slip, rolling off the edge onto the cement, unable to breath for a moment as her stomach clenched in pain. Luckily, she'd landed on her side, right arm aching but not injured. Bruised. Nothing she didn't already have marked upon her skin. Groaning, she rose, looking at the play ground. Empty. A few abandoned bikes. A basket ball hoop. Her eyes briefly lingered on the abandoned swing set. Images of her father pushing her on their swing set at the barn began to race before her, a phantom image forming in the icy mist. She asked to go higher, crying out with glee as he pushed her, lifting her up so high she would swear she was flying...

"Beth?!"

Running to the gate, she shook away the image, meeting Morgan, studying the iron gate. A chain ran between each gate, locked together from the inside. He swore under his breath but Beth wasn't willing to give up, studying the look, ignoring the complaints of her companion. It was a combination lock, and with a slight spin of the first wheel of numbers, it opened. Someone had been in a hurry and failed to jumble the numbers. Dumb luck maybe, but Beth let herself glance up at Morgan with a victorious smile. He chuckled.

"Another miracle from Saint Beth."

She rolled her eyes, taking her bag, heaving it onto her shoulders, suddenly aware of how weak she'd grown in the chill of the winter air, "Careful, might get so good I won't need you at all."

The words were accompanied by a small intake of breath, her mind suddenly forcing her backwards, back to the Forrest, a cross bow in her arms, the warmth of a friend behind her. Beth wiped her eyes suddenly, angry at herself. Of course she recognised her own words. She'd said them to Daryl before. Before she was taken. Before she lost him. As Morgan broke open the school door, Beth regretted ever considering herself able to survive alone. She sure as hell could protect herself, but the fear of being lost... She'd rather be forced back into the prison fighting off walkers and the governors men, if it meant she could be beside the people she loved. Beth Greene wasn't afraid of the dead or the living, she was afraid of being alone.

...

The hallway was littered with abandoned bags, filled with books, papers littering the floor. Lockers bore the names of their long lost owners, some open to reveal the lives of the ghosts that lingered here. Beth could feel the warmth of the place, the energy of life, the remnants of the innocence that once filled this place. Children left marks behind. Their laughter, their games, their presence. No amount of abandonment could erase what had been here before. Pictures adorned the hallways walls, changing as they advanced further down. Crayon drawings of green dogs and pink castles changed to early stories and winning paintings. Eventually she came across some photos. Boys and girls, younger than she was, smiling for the camera. Something unnerved her, something in their happy faces and shining eyes. She wondered if they ever had an idea of what was coming. Had they been as clueless as she had been. Did they think the fun and love and light would last forever?

"Careful."

Morgan mumbled as she neared a heap of chairs, broken and splintered, as though someone had broken them on purpose. For what reason, she didn't know, but a lot of the chair legs were missing. Looking up, she neared the first class room whose door didn't have a window to look through. Easing it open, she flashed her light inside. The blinds were drawn, desks lined up ready for students who would never come, the white board still bearing the remnants of a lesson long since taught. Math. Beth smiled sadly. Her worst subject and yet she missed it. Morgan walked in, sifting through the desk. It almost felt wrong, looking through the class, scavenging for supplies. It shouldn't feel any different from when she looted the gas station or the apartment, but here, amongst children's books and stationary and abandoned book bags, it felt cruel. It felt like stealing.

Morgan was trying to ignore every sign of what the room had once been, ignoring the fact that his own son's class had been almost identical to this one. He'd come here to get him. He'd come here for parent teacher meetings. Jenny would always be by his side, his boy eager to leave his friends and run to his parents... Pain. Morgan swiftly walked out of the room, unable to stand the sharp pain rupturing through his chest. Beth noticed but left him to deal with whatever he felt. She knew too well Morgan wasn't one to find comfort on discussing his feelings. Carefully, she walked through the desks, glancing at the window. However these kids got out, it wasn't by the window. In fact, the dead hadn't even attacked is place, thanks to the wall. Thirty desks, theory children who might be out there, living, safe. Maybe they all got out and were safely living in whatever sanctuary Rick was heading to. The thought helped her move on from the class, closing the door carefully, remembering how she'd done so in her school, her teacher hating the commotion a slammed door made. The memory made her sigh but she pressed on, catching up to Morgan as he headed to the double doors that must have lead to the hall. Even before they took hold of the door handles, the soft cries of the dead could be heard, muffled and feint but there.

The room was dark, windows covered by heavy curtains, the only light source being her torch. As she let it roam the room, the light caught sight of something on the floor close by her. A white bundle, shuffling, swaying as muffled cries came from inside. It took Beth a moment to realise it was a walker. A small walker. A child. Wrapped in dirty, blood stained cloth, bound so tight it couldn't move. A piece of wood penetrated the shuddering bundle, keeping it anchored. Beth felt nauseous, remembering why it seemed so strange for the chairs to be missing legs. Legs. Plural. Taking an unsteady breath, she let the light hit the floor, a strangled sob escaping from her as she saw how many small bodies lay before her. Her eyes watered and made counting hard but she knew from how carefully the rows were set out that there were thirty. Thirty exactly.

Morgan didn't speak, he just covered his eyes, rubbing them, as though trying to wipe the image away, gods name on his lips. She slipped her hands into his and he squeezed it hard, cold fingertips biting her palm. Then, he began to walk in, retrieving a match packet from his jacket as Beth stood rooted to the spot, alone, lost. Carefully, she walked toward the closest bundle. A name was written across the cloth in marker. Clary Hewitt. She glanced at the body beside her. The name was a little less clear. Timothy Miller. The size of their bodies made it hard to look on them. Her mind begged her to move away and run, run far and never look back... But she knew what needed to be done. As Morgan lit the candles lying around the room, Beth retrieved her knife, hesitating.

"What the hell?!"

Morgans breathless exclamation made her dart up, staring at him, following so lone of vision to the heightened stage... Where there hung a woman. A rope tied to the rafters above holding her, noose right around her neck, her eyes grey, mouth open and releasing a weak groan. She wore a nuns dress, a crucifix around her neck, prayer beads tied to her limp wrist. Beth didn't want to piece together whatever story lay behind the hanging woman and her children. The images of the dead children at the store resurfacing, her hand pressed to her temples as she tried to push back her human reactions to the horror around her, trying to force herself to be strong and impervious to what lay by her feet. Morgan walked up to the stage, standing on the stool that was kicked to the side of the hanging woman, balancing on top of it as he cut her free. The harsh thud of her body hitting the wood made him wince, silencing her gasps quickly with his knife.

Morgan saw Beth and worried, his own stomach turning as his eyes took in the tragedy that they had entered, his voice gentle as he spoke to Beth, "We should go."

She shook her head and he knew she wasn't going to let this go. Just like at the store. It was Beth who insisted she put the dead to peace. Just like Rebecca would have. Morgan knew deep down, if his boy had been left like this, he'd want him to be put out of his misery as soon as possible. Beth was right and as strong as she could be, he didn't want to hear her mutter the names of these children in her nightmares. It wasn't fair that someone so you ga and good and lost should be haunted by the sins of others. Carefully, he held out a hand, nodding to her knife. She shook her head with a small smile.

"We do it together."

He wanted to stop her but he just watched as she approached the first bundled body. Beth read the name aloud. Clary Hewitt. Tearing the cloth, careful to avoid the mouth region, she looked on the grey face of a small girl, barely eight years old, her eyes black, her blonde hair coated with dried blood. Clary gasped, too hungry and weak to make much notice, teeth biting the air as Beth looked at her, whispering a good bye before she lodged her pulled out the arrow from beneath her jacket, striking it between the girl eyes. The child's face froze, vacant, Beth's fingers slowly closing her open eyes. Around the girls neck was a necklace, a silver chain on which a small pair of angels wings were attached. Beth blinked tears away, thinking of Daryl. Is this how he felt when they buried her? Is this what he saw?

There was a piano, tucked away in the corner. Morgan had seen it too, watching her eyes it for a moment before continuing down the line of bodies. Beth was pale, jacket hanging of her thin frame, bloodied knife in hand. Yet Morgan could help but see her in her true form. Standing over the lost children, hair more gold than any halo, blue eyes shining out from the dark, sending the dead to a better place. Maybe he was just light headed from the cold or desperately seeking some divinity in the girl who was having to jam a knife into the heads of undead children. Either way, he couldn't stand to watch anymore. It hurt him to see her so sad. Carrying a candle over to the piano, he wiped some of the dust away, tapping a key, startling Beth as the sound echoed. Her eyes were wide as she looked over at him, skin so pale in the candle light.

"Play."

His one word was enough, his tone pleading yet firm. She silently handed him the knife, sitting on the stool, searching. Her mind for the right song. Gazing at the white bodies, she remembered the day she visited her mothers grave. Alone. Lost. Ready to leave the world and escape all the pain and fear. No one came to console her, no one sang a song for her or reminded her of heaven. Beth had stood there, staring at the grave, humming her own song for the moment. A song that had been on the radio when Shawn drove her home from school one summer, changing it swiftly when he complained it was too damn depressing. A sad song no one in her family liked hearing. Except for Beth. Remembering the lyrics, she started to play the opening on the piano, her mind filled with the faces of every good person she'd lost. Her mom. Her dad. Shawn. Maggie. Patricia. Otis. The store children. The children on the floor. As her voice filled the room, Beth closed her eyes and tried to put her mind somewhere else. Somewhere warm and safe where she was happy. In her mind, she was at Rebecca's house, with Jess, with Daryl, with Morgan. The lyrics flowed from her lips and with every word she felt closer to home.

'I've heard there was a secret chord

That David played, and it pleased the Lord

But you don't really care for music, do you?

It goes like this

The fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, the major lift

The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.'

Morgan had to stop his knife from striking another skull, collapsing to his knees as he heard the song, felt it resonate within him, breaking ever wall he'd ever built between himself and his grief. He could see them, Jenny, Dwayne. Standing by Beth, smiling at him, the song bringing all sorts of spirits back to his life. He swore he felt his moms hand on his shoulder. His fathers voice calling him from afar. Morgan closed his eyes. It was all he could do to stop himself from breaking down, right there, lost to an angels song. He wished she might stop and yet willed for her to go on. The pain mixed with bliss and he found himself frozen, fixated on the light of the nearest candle. Joyous memories flickered in the flame. The many birthday candles he'd blown out. The fires he'd lit on those winter evenings with his wife. The sun burning down on him as he took Dwayne to the park for soccer try outs. Despite the chill in the air, he felt warm, and he knew it was by some magic cast by Beth's voice, which grew stronger and more passionate with each verse.

'Baby I have been here before

I know this room, I've walked this floor

I used to live alone before I knew you.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah..."

Her voice faded and she played the rest of the song on the piano, unaware of how she had broken him apart with her voice, the word hallelujah echoing in his mind. Morgan swiftly finished his task, carefully saying the name of the last child, knowing he would never forget this moment however hard he might try. The boy cried out as he broke through his skull, eyes wide open, staring up at his killer. No. No, he hadn't killed the boy. He ended his misery. He killed what came after. The thing that took over your body. Isn't that what he told himself when he'd shot a bullet through Jenny's head. He shuddered, breathing into his hand as the room fell silent. Beth glanced toward him, smiling through tears. He smiled back, proud of her, building up his walls again. He wanted to say so much to her. Thank her for giving him a moment to feel again. Cry out to her, begging she never make him break apart the armour he'd contoured around his soul. Instead, he just smiled.

"Good song, kid."