This chapter took forever to get up, I know. At first I was having tons of writer's block. I just didn't feel like writing, and everything was coming out like crap. Then I finally hit a pocket of motivation, and BOOM! Everything gets deleted and I have to write it all over again. Anyway, this is the penultimate chapter—next one and the story is finished. So enjoy!

Carl's grip tightened and Carol's heart raced. Never had she seen so many of them congregated in one place. During the grueling winter, they'd experienced a few herds more akin to small armies; hundreds of hunched, snarling figures shuffling their way across the terrain, almost as if they had thronged together to migrate to warmer weather. During one instance in particular, she, Lori and Carl had been forced to pile up in the trunk of their car and endure an excruciating wait. Even after the swarm had passed, they dared not emerge, recalling all-too-vividly what had happened to Sophia. When Rick finally tapped the window to alert them that the coast was clear, they nearly jumped out of their skin. Carol never forgot that distinct, dreadful feeling of raw, overwhelming terror gripping her mind, seizing her muscles and coursing through her veins. That very same feeling had returned, no duller than before, except she and Carl were under very different circumstances: there was nowhere to hide.

Initially, only a few walkers seemed to notice their arrival. Their heads turned slowly and awkwardly, as if they were no longer accustomed to moving their necks, but it was not long before others became aware of their presence as well, and before she knew it, she had latched onto Carl's wrist and they were running for their lives.

Carol spotted a building approximately fifty yards away. The moon's light seemed unable to reach its walls, thus most of its details were left obscured in the shadows, but from what she could make out, it seemed like their only hope. It was blockish and frumpy in structure and desperately in need of fresh paint—at least to cover up the layer of dry, crusty blood. The windows were boarded up with planks of moldy wood and the nails had developed scabs of rust. The door, however, was not ajar, which lead to Carol's assumption that walkers had not yet infiltrated the interior. Even if there were a few corpses lurking inside, nothing could be worse than what they faced outside.

Carol was able to achieve a few decent headshots, thanks to the pale shafts of moonlight. Carl mirrored her actions, firing with as much accuracy as she did. The two made a remarkable team and before long, they had cleared themselves a path leading straight to their refuge.

Carol raced up to the door, twisting the knob with such strength she nearly snapped it off. But alas, things were not as promising as they had once seemed—it was locked from the inside. She swore briskly under her breath, giving the doorknob a violent rattle in a sudden fit of frustration.

"It won't open?"

Carl's voice broke Carol's heart. It had been a long time since he'd sounded so young and afraid. It only made her all the more desperate to find a way in. More walkers were beginning to gain on them, and Carl's accuracy was faltering. His bullets ripped through shoulders, necks and chests, but he was having a hell of a time accomplishing a proper headshot.

Carol mustered all her strength, took a running leap and rammed herself into the wood. The door barely even shuddered. She did not attain entrance, but a sore shoulder instead. It was then that Carl spent his final bullet. The empty shell clattered to the concrete, and no matter how hard he squeezed that trigger, his weapon was silent thenceforth—which made it particularly alarming when gunfire ignited in the near distance.

"Oh god…" she whimpered, and both of them froze. By the sound of it, the group was far too large to tackle, especially with only one functioning gun. For all Carol knew, it could have been a team assembled by the Governor himself. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. But she had to push the fear out of her mind; she had to make an important decision, and she had to make it lucidly.

Her hand dove into her bag and she fumbled with a metal button. Then she pulled out a red rag and held it towards Carl, urging him to take it.

"Carl, you have to leave now," she told him. "If you leave now and run, you can make it back to the prison by dawn."

"No!" he cried, dread already swelling up inside him. Carol was his second-mother. He was not about to abandon her so quickly. He couldn't. "I'm not leaving you to die!"

"I know it's not easy, Carl," she said, her voice beginning to crack. "But you gotta do it."

And with that, she pushed the rag into Carl's hands and drew him into an embrace. His hat made it a bit awkward, and so she removed it. His heart thudded loudly and he buried his face into her shirt, beginning to softly cry. She laid a light, gentle kiss atop his head. She used to that to Sophia. It always comforted her—comforted the both of them.

"Give the rag to Daryl. Don't let him come looking for me. If I'm not back in three days…" she took a deep breath. "…forget about me. Don't risk any more lives. Please."

"What will you do after I leave?" he sniffled, wiping his dampened cheeks with the back of his wrist.

"I'm going to make a run for it; for the store. Maybe we get the formula after all; maybe they don't want any trouble. But I can't count on it. So you have to go, right now, while they're distracted. You have to go and you can't look back."

He nodded, taking a moment to calm down. She swept his hair away from his eyes and placed the hat back on his head.

"Do you know the way back to the prison?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Good. Here, take this," she handed him her gun. "There's no time to reload yours. Go on. I'll be alright without it."

He received her weapon, though not without a pang of guilt. It didn't feel right depriving her of protection, but he didn't have a choice: she paid no heed to his protests.

"This is suicide." He muttered.

"Sacrifice." She corrected, giving him a faint smile. And just like that, he was gone. He darted off into the shadows, ducking behind dumpsters and overgrown shrubs and anything else he could use to conceal himself with. She waited several agonizing minutes before making her move.

.:|:.

"Rise an' shine, asshole!"

Merle awoke to the sound of Daryl's gruff yelling and a slamming door. He scarcely had time to rub the grogginess from his eyes before Daryl wrenched his arm away. He felt handcuffs snap onto his wrists.

"Easy now, lil' brother," he drawled, the bleariness beginning to ebb, as he was yanked to his feet. "Ain't no need t' be rough."

"We got a damn nice place cleared for you, Merle," Daryl said, leading his older sibling across the room. "Ain't gotta worry 'bout anyone else botherin' you anymore, 'cause you're gonna be all alone."

"They puttin' me in isolation, huh?"

"Pretty much."

"And you's goin' along with it?"

Daryl stopped, spinning Merle around to face him.

"It coulda been different, man. All this shit coulda been avoided if you'da jus' left 'er alone. If you'da jus…" his voice faltered suddenly, without any real reason he could think of. "…y'know, forget it. Jus' c'mon."

And so they proceeded, through the doorway and down the hall, until they came to the entrance of Cell Block D. Daryl shoved Merle through the entrance, and then began working at the lock of the handcuffs with that tiny, silvery key. His fingers were sweaty, making the task far more difficult than it should have been.

"Maggie…y'know, she tol' me somethin' pretty interestin'."

"Yeah…s'funny, 'cause she still won't talk about what went down."

Merle snorted.

"Tha's cute, y'see, 'cause I was the one gettin' screamed at with a gun in my face."

"She musta been pretty upset then, huh?"

"Tha's an understatement. She was rabid. Ain't never seen a woman so worked up 'bout somethin'!" he laughed, recalling the cold sting of metal against his lips as he listened to her yelling and crying and rambling as if she knew anything about what he and Daryl had been through together. "But the funniest part is: she tol' me that the reason I did what I did, was 'because I was pissed off 'cause you love Peaches."

The key slipped and clanged to the ground, making a far louder noise than it should have. Daryl winced as the echo bounced off every surface.

"But you an' I both know that ain't true, right?"

Daryl leaned down to retrieve the key.

"Which part?"

Merle snickered.

"This you markin' your property, then?"

Daryl inserted the key into the lock once more and jerked it sideways. The handcuffs released. He stuck them in his pocket; the one he normally kept his rag in. The emptiness took a bit of adjustment. He could hardly recall ever being without it. But if he couldn't trust Carol, who could he trust?

"She ain't my property, man."

Merle cocked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up in amusement.

"Aww, ain't that cute," he cooed as Daryl turned to leave, his muscles noticeably clenched in irritation. "Only took the end o' the world."

"Fuck off."

Then the door banged shut, and for the first time in his life, Merle Dixon was truly alone.

.:|:.

Carol dashed. She leapt across a fallen body and dodged a lunging walker. It was a perilous twenty yards. All around her, guns fired and silhouettes dropped like flies. She was sprinting across a battlefield, and her shirt was already soaked to the skin with blood. It wasn't even her own. But in an instant, that changed.

It all happened so fast. The details morphed and melted together. All she knew was that one minute she was running, and the next, she was not. There was a blast behind her, and then she felt as if she had been plunged into icy water. There was stabbing pain in her abdomen, and when she looked down, all she saw was red—red on her shirt, on her hands, on the ground below her. She managed a few sharp breaths before her hearing grew muffled and her vision, dark. Then there was dirt in her mouth and blackness engulfed her mind.