My brother, Jacob, picked me up outside the prison gates. All I had with me was a small bag containing my lighter, my cigarettes and the messy, torn notebook I always carried along. When he saw me, his jaw hit the floor.

"Who did this to you?" he hollered. Jacob was always hollering at someone. This time, he was referring to my blackened eye.

"It's nothing Jake," I said carelessly as I climbed onto the back of his bike. I was surprised be brought the bike instead of my old Camaro.

"Who did this?" he asked again.

"My cellmate, if you must know," I spat. Merle and I had gotten into it the night before and he hauled off and punched me, right in the eye. It wasn't a big deal. I was used to being roughed up. It came with the territory.

"This is about ma, ain't it?" he scoffed. Our mother had died two years prior. A month later I was waking up in a hospital bed, having overdosed on Heroin.

"This has nothing to do with mom!" I snapped.

"Katie, you know she'd disapprove of you runnin' 'round getting doped up and arrested and junk. 'Specially lettin' men beat up on ya," Jake sighed. Jake was three years older than me, but he was a loser. He didn't have any street sense and wasn't book smart. Dumb as a doornail my daddy would say. Him an' Jake never saw eye to eye.

"Mom's dead," I shot back. Jake stiffened at my outburst. He knew I was right. Mom was good and dead and there was no bringing her back.

"Heroin'll kill ya," he said softly.

"So will livin'," I argued.

"You're wrong…"

xxx

"Eleven years sober," I said proudly as I kissed Blake, my husband, tenderly.

"I'm so proud of you," he said in a gentle, nurturing tone.

"As am I," I smiled up at him. His blue eyes shined brightly against the hue of the setting sun.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered.

"Happy anniversary," I chorused.

"You never did tell me how you got that scar," he murmured as he stroked the small scar under my eye.

"It's a long story, Blake," I said softly.

"We've got time," he murmured.

That was a week before the outbreak.

Angel

Katie moaned in her coma like state for the millionth time. I felt my heart break into a million pieces as I watched her toss and turn, my mind failing to think of a way to comfort her. It'd been a couple days since she came galloping in on the back of that mangy stallion with Daryl strapped to the saddle. I couldn't even bring myself to wonder what had happened out there.

Hershel was convinced she'd wake up. He was always the optimistic type. Rick wasn't taking any chances. Her right arm was handcuffed to the bedrail. She'd love that when she woke up.

She had to wake up.

Daryl's fever wasn't going down no matter what we tried. His leg, which Hershel assumed he cut open when he fell, was still bleeding. It was like his blood just wouldn't clot. Hershel and Rick had talked about doing a blood transfusion to try and save him, but no one knew his blood type. And no one was O-. No one other than Katie.

But god, Katie was so weak.

"If she wakes up, you know she'll do it," Rick said softly as he walked into the cell, leaning against the far wall. "She has a thing for Daryl."

"She'll die if she does," I countered. "Rick, she's so weak right now…"

"Hershel thinks it's just a concussion," Rick argued.

"Nothing is just anymore, Rick," I said softly. "Patrick just had the flu. Mackenzie just had Scarlet Fever. Daryl just collapsed from exhaustion. Two of the four already died, others too," I said. My hand was linked in Katie's left hand. I felt her fingers twitch under my touch.

"Kate?" I called softly. I heard her moan again. This time, she began to stir.

"Careful, Ang," Rick said softly. I don't know why he was suddenly on my side. A week ago, he was ready to kill me.

"Merle…stop…" she groaned. Rick and I shared a concerned voice.

"Get up you dumb bitch!" Merle's cold, cruel tone rang like a dinner bell in our lonely, cold cell. He kicked me in the ribs, causing me to groan loudly.

"Merle…stop!" I pleaded.

"Get up!" he roared. "Get up! You have to get up!"

I groaned and rolled away from him, my back colliding with the cold, concrete wall.

"Go away, Merle," I gasped, my coursing through my body.

"You have to get up," this time the voice was different. This voice was one I'd never forget. It belonged to my mother.

"Mom?" I groaned.

"Katie Lyn, you have to get up," she soothed. "You have to wake up."

"You have to wake up," the chant continued. "You have to save him."

Another swift kick to the ribs sent me to my knees.

"You have to save my baby brother! He's gon' die if you don't!" Merle's voice screamed.

"Mommy, you have to wake up."

That voice…why was that voice here?

"Mackenzie?" I whispered.

"Mommy, it's okay. I'm with daddy and Ryan now. I'm okay. I like it here," she whispered. "Wake up. Wake up mommy."

I felt a heavy weight in my chest. I coughed bitterly, my body jerking upright. My right arm held me back. Panic rose in my chest. What the hell?

"Easy, Katie, breathe," a familiar voice soothed. I turned my head and saw Angel at my side. She slid a bucket under my chin as I dry heaved violently. I felt my right arm loosen. Angel kept her arm behind me, supporting my weight.

"Breathe, Katie, easy now," she said softly, her voice almost angelic after Merle's angry outburst.

I tried to catch my breath but it was hopeless. Instead, I forced out a single word.

"Daryl?"

One week later

"Take as much blood as he needs," I said for the 3rd time that week. Hershel was taking my vitals while Angel paced back and forth in front of me. We had done a grand total of three transfusions since I woke up. Each time left me feeling weaker and weaker, but we could see Daryl growing stronger every day.

"His blood's starting to clot again," Hershel muttered, glancing at our broke friend.

"He's strong," I nodded slightly, fighting against the dizziness that was beginning to become part of my everyday life. "He'll wake up any day now."

"Don't be so sure," Angel said with a sad shake of her head. "We thought the same thing with-,"

"Don't," Rick said softly. He was standing by the doorway, a look of concern on his face. Since I woke up to find not only my daughter being dead, but Daryl being extremely sick, Rick had taken extra precautions to avoid making me upset.

"It's okay," I said softly. Hershel took another pint of blood before telling me to lie down. Angel helped me lean back against the wall, her arm behind me for support.

"You think it's gonna work?" she asked Hershel who was carefully sticking the needle in Daryl's vein.

"It's gotten him this far," I spoke up. "I trust Hershel."

"But it still might not work," Hershel said softly. "Daryl was practically dead when you two came through those gates."

"But he wasn't, not yet," I pushed.

"True," Angel said softly, seeing the fear cross my face. "Daryl's a fighter, just like that hard-headed brother of his."

"Exactly," I nodded, letting my eyes close against the dizziness.

"Hey, Kate, stay with us now," Rick's rough voice rang. I felt someone press something against my forehead, but I was too foggy to comprehend what it was. "Talk to me," he begged.

"When…when I saw 'im lying there…" I murmured. Every word felt like a huge effort. "My firs...my first thought was he was dead…" I felt heavy, like the entire world was crashing down around me. "The…that damn horse…ya know what….what he did?" Why did I feel so weak this time? Last time I was fine… "He came up and kneel…kneeled down so…so we could…get…" I felt sick. I groaned softly, my head falling forward.

"Hershel!" Rick's panicked cry chimed. I felt someone put something on my lap. Just barely.

I gagged, my stomach emptying the contents of my already empty stomach.

"Breath, Katie," Angel said softly. I barely registered her words. "Breathe."

I gagged again. Every inch of my body ached.

"No," I moaned. I felt heavy, like I was being drowned. I gagged again, this time choking on my own spit. The coughing hurt. It made everything hurt. I couldn't force my eyes open.

"She's going into shock," Hershel said in a low tone.

I coughed and coughed, unable to catch my breath. Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt?

Angel

Her body went limp against mine. It took all my strength not to burst into tears. I'd been against her giving blood for the last week. She just grew weaker and weaker. It broke my heart. Now this?

"Katie, come back to me," I whispered. I felt like I was losing my best friend. I put my hand against her face, willing her back to me.

"Get her lying down," Hershel ordered. With Rick's help, we managed to get her lying down, her head rested in my lap. She shivered violently, her pale face twisted in a look of pain.

"Hershel," I said, looking up at the elderly man.

"I…" he couldn't find words to say what he was thinking, but it was written all over his face. He hadn't considered how weak she was. He had been so wrapped up in saving Daryl, Daryl who was the provider of the group, who had saved so many lives, who without knowing it, had saved more people than he'd ever really realize, that he had forgotten to consider Katie's wellbeing. Just because she was willing to donate blood didn't mean she was physically ready to.

"If she dies…" I looked up at him, tears in my eyes.

"She won't," Rick reassured me. "She'll pull through this, just like everything else."

"And if she doesn't?" I growled.

"Then we'll deal."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. He really didn't care about her. All he cared about was saving that stupid redneck. That stupid man that could have gotten my best friend killed.

"You're a monster, Rick Grimes. A coldblooded monster," I spat with pure disgust. Katie twitched on my lap. I looked down at her and saw just how weak she really was. She looked so frail. So breakable. "If she dies, it's your head I'll be after," I growled.