A/N: Fair warning – not a lot of dialogue in this. Hard to write. Probably even harder to read, lol. But I promise this is all necessary-ish. So bear with me! As always, I thank you guys so much for reading, following, etc. It means the world. (And I swear I will get back to reading you guys' stories as soon as I get past this Ebola-like cold. Ha.) Thanks, y'all! -Ashley

5 – Gotta Get Up, Life Is More Than Suicide

Michonne stood at the edge of the prison courtyard, watching the bus take off without her. It felt like the sky was falling. Her chest was burning, and so were her eyes as the threat of tears took over. Everything was such a mess. She was alone, feeling lost, with nowhere to go and no one to lean on. No one but Judith.

She looked at the baby, contorting in her arms, obviously just as frustrated and confused as she felt. What were they supposed to do? Rick and Carl hadn't made it to the bus, so she had to let it leave. But now she was questioning that decision, knowing that having Judith amid the approaching horde of walkers just wasn't a good idea. They needed to get out of there.

"Where the hell are you, Grimes?" she asked herself, scanning the huge yard for any sign of him. He was supposed to be finding Carl, and the fact that he hadn't resurfaced was beginning to terrify her. He wouldn't have left without her. She knew that much. Or at least, she thought she knew that much.

When she retreated from the prison with Judith, she saw that The Governor had been shot in the head. She wished she could've seen it herself. She probably would've stopped to give the person a hug. But getting the kids to safety was a much more important task, and she was just glad the man was fucking dead. He'd damaged them to their core, but at the very least, he couldn't hurt them anymore.

The walkers, on the other hand, were a different story. They were slowly but surely taking over the yard, and she was running out of ways to hide from them. "Shit," she whispered, pulling her katana from its sheath. She hoisted Judith's bag onto her shoulder, held the baby close to her side, and started to slowly make her way towards the outer edge of the prison. For the first time in a long time, she was supremely nervous as she walked through the throngs of corpses headed for her. If regular adults smelled like fresh meat to them, she could only imagine that the scent of a baby would drive them insane. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she prayed her way through, ready to slice anything that looked at her sideways. "We're okay," she exhaled coolly, talking to both herself and the infant. "We're gonna be just fine."

Her breathing got heavier, the closer they got to the outside. Something about the gates, even broken, made her feel safe. But she was on the cusp of being on her own, and it was frightening. "Just breathe," she whispered.

Either Judith understood the direness of their situation, or she felt the tension in Michonne's body. But just as they reached the end of the prison driveway, the baby began to cry. Loudly. "Shit, shit, shit." Michonne looked back to see a row of zombies turn in her direction. She had no choice but to run.

Rick hobbled through the empty prison, not entirely sure of what he was looking for. Carl was his priority, obviously, but his common sense told him that no one was left. The entire place was silent as a tomb. And with the way he felt, he wasn't far off from needing one. He and Michonne had agreed to find the kids and then meet at the bus, but his plans were thwarted when The Governor stopped him in the prison yard, holding him at gunpoint. A brutal battle ensued, but Rick managed to get away by shooting him in the stomach before ending him once and for all.

But his wounds were catching up to him. He no longer had the adrenaline of fighting for his life to keep his mind off of the pain. Among his wounds were at least two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and worst of all, a missing son. "Carl!" he called out desperately, only hearing his own echo reverberating in the walls. Soon, the walkers would be following his screams and raiding the inside of the prison. The Governor's tank shot enough holes in the place to make it utterly useless. "Carl!"

Silence.

As quickly as his body would move, he searched their cellblock for any sign of his child. He went to Carl's cell, finding his drawers were empty, his backpack gone. At the very least, he knew he'd gotten out of the place. He didn't know where he'd gone, but at least he was alive. That was a small win in the many, many losses he'd endured that day. The weight of it all came crashing down on him, and he sat down on Carl's bed with a giant, wheezing sigh, letting his tears fall.

It literally hurt him to cry. His salty tears burned when they hit his wounds. And he was so unbelievably tired. Rick wanted to give up. Everything in his body was telling him to just lie down and let the world do what it wanted to him. His family was gone, his home was gone, and whatever faith he'd had left in the world had just been shot to hell by a military tank. What was the point anymore? To keep pushing forward in a world constantly trying to pull you back was nearly impossible.

But then, giving up wasn't an option either. Not when he knew Carl had gotten out. Not when he saw that Judith was gone, along with her bag, which meant Michonne, or perhaps some other kind soul, had gotten her out as well. Just as he'd searched for Lori and Carl at the beginning of all this, just as he forced himself to keep moving forward after Lori died, he was going to make himself get off of that bed and find his family.

He wiped the tears and the anguish from his face, said goodbye to what had been Carl's room for the past 8 months, and started to gather his own supplies. Water, flashlights and batteries, food, any bullets he could find. He gathered everything with the assumption he would be finding Carl and Judith soon, so he packed a lot. He made a bag as heavy as his one good arm could carry, and then exited the prison. This was it. Goodbye to his first post-apocalyptic home. The place they'd made for themselves was burning to the ground, and his only choice was to not look back.

Carl was smack dab in the middle of the prison courtyard, his blue eyes frantically searching through the wreckage for any sign of life. He saw nothing but dead bodies littering the ground, and undead bodies walking his way. His dad was nowhere to be found. Michonne was nowhere to be found. No Daryl, no Maggie, no Tyreese. It seemed that he was on his own.

On the one hand, he didn't see any of their bodies on the ground, which meant they had to have gotten out. What didn't make sense to him was that his dad would've gone anywhere without him. It went against everything he knew about him. But by the time Carl had made it inside to find Judith, she was already gone. So he wondered if perhaps she was the priority, and his dad was trusting him to get out on his own. Could that have been right?

He didn't know what to think, but he knew he had to think quickly. He could see the prison bus headed down the road in the distance, and wondered if he should follow it. But no. Rick would've held Miss Jeanette, or any other driver, at gunpoint before allowing them to drive off without him.

"Shit," he shook his head, realizing that he was at a loss. Their enemies were dead, but where were their friends? Where was anybody? He quickly wiped the tears that had fallen from his eyes, pulled his gun from his holster, and began to maneuver his way through the many, many walkers that had begun to invade the yard. He did everything in his power to not have to use his gun, which was a tall order. But he'd never taken down a full walker with just a knife, and he wasn't sure he could with his giant backpack on. His only advantage here was that he was quick, and he was going to use it. You shoot or you run.

He made it down the gravel walkway as quickly as his feet would carry him. He kept his eyes on the outer gates, knowing that was his first landmark. He had to make it there before he could conceive his next move. And that was how he would get through this. One step at a time. One walker at a time. But he noticed a crowd of them forming, right at the exit to the road, and his heart begin to race. He couldn't use his last bullets this early.

"Shit."

He did a quick count of how many he would have to get through. It was twelve at the moment, but by the time he reached the end of the trail, it could be more than fifteen. He didn't have nearly that many bullets, and certainly not enough agility to take down even half of them.

He couldn't help but wish his dad was there, but even more so, he wished he could see his mom. He didn't miss her often, but when it hit him, it did so in a giant wave, crashing through his brain. It crippled him. And he couldn't afford to be crippled in that moment. He inhaled sharply and looked up to the sky, where he knew she was watching over him. His tears rolled backward and down his neck as he made his quiet plea. "Mom, I don't know what to do. Please just give me something."

He closed his eyes for just a second, waiting for something to will him in one direction or another. And he didn't know whether it was actually his mom, or if fear had shown itself, but since he couldn't shoot, his body made the decision to run. Not towards the pileup that had formed, but in the opposite direction, towards the woods. He ran through the thigh high grass and mud, his vision blurred by tears, past all the arms reaching for him, out of breath, saying a silent prayer that he'd made the right decision.

And his prayers were answered when he paused to catch his breath and found a pacifier on the ground at his feet. He smiled to himself, knowing it was Judith's, and glanced up at the sky again. "Thanks, Mom."

"You okay?" Sasha asked softly as she noticed that Beth's sobs had come to a cease. They had been sitting on the steps outside of a funeral home, as it was the first safe-looking place they'd come across after escaping the prison. It was also the first chance they'd had to process everything that had happened, and it brought them both to tears.

"I'm okay," Beth returned with a sniffle. "He died so that we could live. So that's what we gotta do."

Sasha wiped her own tear away as she tried to brush away the image of Hershel being beheaded. It was the only thing she could remember about the day, and it played in her mind over and over again. "Your father was a good man," she nodded. "He didn't deserve that."

"Nobody gets what they deserve anymore."

"That's true…"

"But like, maybe it's a good thing he doesn't have to be in this awful world anymore," Beth pondered quietly. "The prison was good for him, but maybe it's good that the last thing he had in his life was a home, with me and Maggie there, and Glenn and Rick were like sons to him…" Her words trailed off into silence as she realized that they were probably dead too.

Sasha imagined Hershel probably died in fear that his daughters were at the end of their lives, but she didn't say anything to that effect. The man did live on hope, and that could've been how he died. That's what she hoped for him, anyway.

"I know I sound crazy," she went on before Sasha could respond. "I guess I'd just rather look at the bright side of this. And not the fact that I have no idea whether my sister is alive."

"Oh god," Sasha sighed. She gently stroked the teenager's head, letting it fall to her lap, as she obviously needed the comfort. They both did, if she were being honest with herself. "I don't know where Tyreese is either. But I do think we were the last three to leave, so… maybe they're alive and together somewhere."

Beth felt a small smile forming on her face. "Maybe they're all somewhere waitin' for us. Maggie, Tyreese, Glenn, Rick, Carl… everyone."

"Maybe so." Sasha never considered herself an optimist of any kind, but she wanted to believe that so badly. It sounded ridiculous in her head, really, but her heart ached for that tiny bit of hope.

"Yeah, and maybe I'm the Queen of England." Daryl's gruff voice of dissent interrupted their bonding session. "Y'all gonna stay out here all night cryin'?"

Sasha turned towards the door, where he stood in the threshold, frowning at his entire demeanor. "So what if we do?"

"It ain't gonna bring any of 'em back."

"Neither is your drinking until you pass out."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with tryin' to numb this shitty ass pain for a night."

"And there's nothin' wrong with us hopin' that our family is somewhere out there," Beth piped up, sitting up to look at him as well.

"Yeah, 'til you realize you ain't never gonna see them again."

"Fuck you," Sasha spat back.

"Fuck you," he retorted with a shaky exhale, eyeing the two of them. He wasn't sure why he had such an incensed reaction to their conversation, but he couldn't stop himself. He was hurt, and he was going to take it out on the nearest person available.

"Look. Beth and I were having a perfectly fine evening out here, and you seemed to be enjoying your whiskey, so… let's just go back to minding our own business."

"Fair enough," he relented, turning to head back into the strange home.

Sasha rolled her eyes as their friend disappeared, then looked to Beth to make sure she was still all right. "Ignore him."

She attempted to nod, but her eyes conveyed nothing but worry. "Is he right?"

"No." She answered so quickly, she hadn't even considered the question. "I don't know," she appended with a long sigh. "Nobody's right. Nobody's wrong. The way we feel is the way we feel."

Beth accepted this as fact, but couldn't help but still feel bothered by Daryl's attitude. "Why is he drinking right now? We need to figure out where we're gonna go from here."

"It's easier than feeling," Sasha frowned. That much, she understood. "We can figure it out in the morning."

They sat in silence for a few moments, gazing at the scenery in front of them. It was a small cemetery, seemingly consisting of mainly one family, from what they could tell. Sasha imagined they all probably died before any of this mess happened, and she couldn't help but think how lucky they were.

"Maybe we should go on in and get some rest," she suggested to Beth. She was starting to feel like she could use a swig of something herself.

"Hold on," she stopped Sasha before she could leave, pointing toward the outer edge of the property. "Are those walkers?"

It was hard to tell in the dark, but it definitely looked like a small group of them, headed their way. "Shit," she shook her head as she stood from her seat. "You got your knife?"

Beth stood as well. "Yeah."

"All right, let's do this real quick. And let's hope there's not a bunch of them following behind."

With a nod, the two of them ran into the yard and began to dispatch the walkers as they so adeptly tended to do. Sasha had quietly taken down three of them with her blade, and had kicked down another one when she noticed that six more were on their way. It was so dark, there might have been even more.

Beth could also see them coming, and immediately wondered, "Should we call for Daryl?"

Making noise seemed like a bad idea, but they certainly could have used the help of his crossbow right about then. She continued to stick and move as she made her decision. "Daryl, we need you!" she shouted loudly.

They began to run for the other small pack when a car came barreling down the road. It was a dark-colored station wagon that went running into Sasha before either of the women could blink.

"Sasha!" Beth screamed when she saw her fall to the ground. She motioned to keep the approaching walkers from touching her friend, but two people hopped out of the vehicle silently – one of them went straight for Sasha, and the other grabbed her. "Dar—" The sound of her cry for Daryl was muffled as the stranger quickly threw her in the back of the car.

Daryl made it outside with his crossbow at the tail end of the chaos. Just in time to see a dark Dodge with a white cross painted on its back window. Just in time to watch it peel away. Just in time to see Beth and Sasha were gone.