Jaywalking

by Vexel

Jaywalking: (intransitive) to cross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner. "The creature fell on top of him and latched onto Danny's clavicle, its rotten teeth forcing their way through his flesh like a blunt, rusted knife. He screamed."

5. Hop

Chapter 5: Hop

Jaywalking: (intransitive) to cross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner.

…

Her dad was frowning in his sleep again, Jazz noted. He hadn't done that since they first lost mum.

Carefully, she leaned over the bed that dipped under his ginormous frame and ran a smoothing thumb over the creases. There were lines on his face she'd never seen before – crows-feet and haggard lines marred his forehead in the weak morning light. There was a cheap polyester sheet tangled around his feet which she tugged free to drape gently over him, tucking it under his chin. The week had been a difficult one for the both of them; Jack hadn't spoken much since Rick and the others had allowed them sanctuary at the prison – his brash and booming voice had petered out to less than a whisper, damaged from stress and exhaustion. Jazz had to confiscate Danny's photo from him to stop him from bursting into fresh rounds of tears.

The picture now lived wedged between the bedframe and the wall of her cell so it would be the first thing she saw in the morning – the Fentons united as one big happy family. It was a lie, but a nice one all the same. There was a tightness in her chest that didn't seem to be going away. It had been lingering ever since she'd been told about Danny. Her bloodshot eyes itched but she was too drained to even muster up the tears anymore.

She could hear the others muttering from outside the cell; Glenn was crouched down, sketching a blueprint onto the floor with a piece of chalk and speaking in hushed, direct tones. The others didn't seem as enthused; Maggie seemed especially upset, not even looking in his direction.

The scratching of the chalk stopped, "Who's on watch?" Jazz jumped at Glenn's loud curse, knocking her elbow into the metal bed frame with a loud clang.

She snatched at her arm with a hiss. Jack jolted awake at the sound with a nervous shake before recognition swept through the haze to give her a weak grin. She tried to ignore her throbbing arm as she replied with her own grim smile.

"Hey," she said softly, "You get enough sleep?"

Jack ignored her question, sitting up and patting the side of the bed, motioning for Jazz to sit. She did so carefully, not even daring to breathe as she waited. Eventually, he croaked out, "I've been thinking…"

"About what?"

"Your brother. And your mum. And this place."

Jazz frowned at him, watching his face carefully. He didn't really look sad or angry – just sort of… there.

He let out a deep sigh, "You know you'll always have me, right, Jazz? And that I love you?"

"Of course," she said instantly, "I love you too."

"It's been just the two of us for over a year now – we've had each other's backs that whole time and it's been enough." Jack seemed to look everywhere except at Jazz, wringing his wrists, "Maybe… maybe it'll always be enough."

"What?" Jazz gasped, "Dad, you don't mean that! Mum—"

"I don't think I have the strength in me, Jazzy-pants," Jack said in a low tone, "Losing your brother… I don't know if I can go through that again with Maddie. I think we should talk to Rick about our contribution to the prison, maybe make it our new home."

"But we've always talked about looking for her!" Jazz's brain was going into overdrive – this was a textbook case of moral denial, she couldn't just let her dad's insecurities stop them from finding what was left of their family – "We can't give up! She's probably out there right now looking for us!"

"But what if she's not?" he spat out, his fingers flexing, "What if all we're doing is chasing after ghosts? Or worse; biters."

Jazz leapt to her feet, "Mum is strong. She's out there, I know it."

Jack paused for a long time before he muttered sadly, "Danny was strong."

Her chest constricted even tighter, forcing the air out of her lungs like a blow to the gut. Her dad seemed to catch his words with a scared look, "I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did."

…

The little nook that the prison had labelled as the library was a haven for quiet. Jazz sat hidden behind the one bookshelf, shuffling the dirt strewn on the floor with her feet, feebly making patterns as she tossed her dad's words around in her head. The tears she had thought had all dried up hadn't stopped in the hours that she had sat on the cold flagstone floor, and she felt empty and exhausted, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

The library door creaked open and Jazz peeked her head through the narrow shelves. Beth was making her way carefully to the bookcase, her arms cradling a bundle of cloth that cooed softly.

"Hi," she called out, stopping a few feet away.

Jazz swiped her hands across her face, trying to banish any evidence of her crying, "Hey," she replied thickly.

"I was just comin' down to find a book to read to Judith. She always enjoys a story right before nap time, but if I hafta read 'The Ugly Duckling' one more time my head's gonna explode," she giggled, bouncing the bundle lovingly before running a hand on the lone bookshelf, "Got any suggestions?"

Jazz glanced solemnly at the books before pulling one at random, turning the cover in her hands, "How's 'Of Mice and Men' for some light reading?" she asked sardonically.

"Hm, that might be a little too advanced, might have to wait until she's at least three," Beth said, carefully sitting herself down on the floor next to Jazz. There was barely any space between the pair with how narrow the sectional was. Jazz glanced down at Judith's face, amazed even at the sight of a healthy, happy baby in these times.

"Wanna hold her?" Beth asked.

Jazz mutely held out her arms and soon Judith was staring up at her with her big blue eyes.

"I used to hold Danny like this," Jazz said, "It was one of my first memories – I was only two. He hated being held by anyone except my mum – he cried whenever dad picked him up, and he'd pull out my hair every time I tried. He was a nightmare."

Beth gave a watery laugh, "It hurts a lot… losing people. I lost my brother and my mum too. They got sick. We didn't know about the outbreak at the time – even when they turned we had hope that we could bring them back. It felt so raw to find out they weren't really there from the start."

"I'm sorry," Jazz offered hollowly.

Beth shrugged, "Just… you gotta know... the pain never really goes away, you just have to accept it."

Another wave of sadness flooded Jazz; she swept Judith up into the crook of her neck, trying to find what little comfort she could out of the warmth of her skin, "I was… I was so sure Danny was alive! I was so sure we'd find mum and that everything would be fine! That we would be fine."

Beth heaved a sigh, leaning over to tuck Jazz under her arm, "Sometimes it's better to leave happily ever after just for the stories."

The sound of gunfire jolted them from their thoughts. Beth leapt to her feet, thrusting out a hand for Jazz to take. With a rattled breath she let herself be hauled up, Judith tucked into the crook of her neck. They dashed from the library, narrowly avoiding hitting Maggie as she bounded through the cafeteria, a shotgun in hand as the others barrelled past.

"What's going on?" Beth called.

"The Governor's attacking!" she screeched out, heading for the back courtyard, "Grab a gun and come on!"

"Now?"

"No time like the present, right?" Beth gave her an uneasy smile as she gently pulled the baby from her grasp, "I've got to put Judith in her crib, I'll meet you out there."

Before Jazz could reply Beth had swept her way into the cell block. A haggard-looking Daryl narrowly dodged past her, armed to the teeth. Catching sight of Jazz he rushed over, shoving a rifle into her hands along with a box of bullets, "Here. Head to the walkway, keep yer head down unless y'wanna lose it."

He shoved her in the direction of the overpass before dashing out the door Maggie escaped from. Jazz could barely keep her grip on the rifle as she stumbled her way out to the platform. She was surprised to find Jack already hunched low behind a pile of wooden pallets and scrap metal, a shotgun held securely in his hands.

Jack jumped at the sound of her footsteps, before his expression turned to one of worry, "Hey, hey! What do you think you're doing?" he nearly bellowed, yanking her down to the ground. Her knees scraped across the concrete as she gave him a sharp glare that probably looked pathetic with her red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm coming to help!"

"It's dangerous out here – you'll get hurt!" Jack argued.

"It's dangerous no matter what, dad. Like you said, if we want this to be our home, the least we could do is help. The group's already down with Glenn on patrol and Rick gone. Besides, it's the Governor out there – after everything he's done, we can't just let him get away!"

There was another short flurry of bullets and Jazz could spot the others down on the ground tucked away behind walls and flipped-over metal tables. Michonne was trapped out in the fields by the upturned bus, while Hershel was splayed out, hidden in the long grass a hundred yards away. On the far side of the prison fence sat a four-wheel drive, the Governor stood preening, a semi-automatic sitting snugly in his arms.

Jazz could feel the loathing boiling through her at the sight of the man. She could still feel his grip on her throat like a searing sunburn.

There was a revving of an engine that echoed throughout the courtyard, and Jack and Jazz watched helplessly as an orange armoured van zipped up the dirt path, ramming its way through the gate, smashing the metal and sending it flying across the yard. Jack watched with his heart in his throat as it zipped carelessly past Michonne to slow to a stop in the middle of the field.

The brakes creaked and all Jazz could hear was the distant rumble of the engine. Jazz fumbled for the rifle, shifting it into the crook of her shoulder with a shaky hand like she had seen in the movies, staring intently at the idle van. There was a loud click that echoed through the field, followed by a deep creak as the hatch on the back of the van fell open to crash into the dirt revealing a narrow walkway. Jazz gave a gasp as biters hungrily stumbled their way onto the field and Jack watched tensely as they lumbered toward a struggling Hershel, groaning greedily.

"Hershel!" Rick's voice suddenly echoed out across the field. She turned her scope to the outskirts of the prison, spying the sheriff tucked low in the dirt by the fence, "Get out of there!"

Gunfire flew through the air again from both sides. Jazz squeaked and flattened herself to the floor, locking her elbows tightly. There was a shift of movement in the corner of her eye and she angled the scope to a nearby watchtower. A masked man stood threateningly, firing down on her friends with a semi-automatic with blatant disregard. She watched as the others scattered for cover before setting her teeth. She didn't dare breathe as she locked her elbows, staring intently at the man in the crosshairs as he let off another threatening round of bullets. Her eyes watered from the dry Georgia air but she refused to blink, her finger twitching over the trigger.

"Jazzy-pants?" Jack muttered from next to her.

She jolted at the sound of his voice, her hand twitching, and with horror, she saw the guard slumped down to the ground like a rag doll.

Jack yanked the gun from her grip as she let out a shuddering breath. Her insides felt like they were strangling her as she stared at the unmoving body laying on the platform. Jack shoved her head into his chest, and she couldn't help but cling to his shirt, taking in his familiar scent.

"Oh, my gosh. I killed him." She muttered, frantic.

She could hear the frown in her dad's voice as he struggled to comfort her, "It was either us or him." he finally muttered, gripping her shoulder with a shaky hand of his own.

They tucked themselves lower to the walkway as the Governor let loose a final stray round of bullets, seemingly satisfied with the onslaught of biters stumbling out of the forest to join their brethren for a feast, before ducking into his four-wheel drive with a tap to the door to signal their escape — Jazz didn't have to make out his face to know he was smirking. He probably didn't even care that one of his own had died. Killed by her hand.

She gritted her teeth furiously as the Governor and his team quickly disappeared in the dust when Glenn's silver truck swept its way frantically into the field, side-swiping biters as he sped his way across the field to reach Hershel. Not feeling any less tense, Jazz watched as Jack filled his cartridge with practised ease, trying to hit the biters that Michonne failed to slice down with her sword as she raced for the safety of Glenn's car. It wasn't long before she and Hershel were safely tucked into the truck and speeding up to the courtyard where the others stood, ready to seal the safety doors shut from the field of walkers.

Both the Fentons let out a sigh of relief, and Jack let the gun slide from his grip with a clatter onto the platform. He placed a comforting hand on Jazz's shoulder, to which she replied with a quivering smile, "Come on, let's meet them on the ground."

Carefully, Jack hauled her to her wobbly feet, pulling her gently into the safety behind the prison walls. She didn't say anything as Jack propped her rifle and his shotgun beside the door, waiting patiently as he emptied the cartridges and secured the safeties. Her heart sat lodged in her throat as Jack turned to her to lead her down to meet the others congregated in the cafeteria, whispering heatedly to each other.

"We're not leavin'," Rick announced stubbornly as they made their way into the room.

Hershel looked unimpressed in return, leaning heavily against the table to relieve his aching leg, "We can't stay here."

"What if there's another sniper? It's a miracle that Jack and Jazz were able to take him out so fast."

"We can't even go outside," Beth argued, nodding her head to the windows that overlooked the yard, now full to the brim with biters.

"Not in the daylight," Carol confirmed.

Glenn, as stubborn as ever said, "If Rick says we're not running, we're not running."

"Doesn't anyone else get a say in this?" Jazz frowned, frustrated that nobody was allowed a word of reason.

"You want to leave, be my guest. But you'll be going out alone." Glenn snarled defensively. He'd been moody since the attack. Jazz summed it up to some sort of twisted version of survivor's guilt.

She didn't have time for his tantrums, "I'm just saying that we need to discuss this. We can't just sit here like… like…"

"Like a pack of rats," came a snort.

Merle was leaning lazily against the locked cell block, watching the group with a wide, sardonic grin. Jazz flinched at the sight of him as she did every time. His arrival at the prison just days earlier had left her feeling more than a little on edge, no matter how much his brother vouched for him. She knew her dad was feeling the same as his grip tightened around her shoulders.

Rick looked at him unimpressed, "You got any better ideas?"

"Yeah, we shoulda slid out of here last night and lived to fight another day. But we lost that window, didn't we?" He gave a shrug, "I'm sure he's got scouts on ev'ry road outta this place by now."

"We ain't scared of that prick," came a huff. Daryl in all his dirty-flannel glory strode down the walkway overhead as he scanned the skyline, arms cradling his crossbow.

"Y'all should be. That truck through the fence thing, that's just him ringing the doorbell. We might have some thick walls to hide behind, but he's got the guns and the numbers," Merle emphasized gesturing to where Jazz and Jack stood by the stairway, "Ask Red and the brute over there, I ain't lyin'."

Jack nodded reluctantly, ignoring the nickname, "Woodbury was a haven, not just because of the people; it's probably the most enforced place in the whole state."

"The Governor isn't exactly forgiving either. His idea of the moral high ground would be to just starve us out," Jazz said mournfully.

Maggie gave them an ugly look, "If they're not going to help, let's just put them in the other cell block."

Jazz growled, "We're just telling you the truth. You don't know the Governor."

Daryl nodded in agreement, "She's got a point."

Maggie stomped her foot and turned to Merle, screaming, "This is all you, you started this!"

"Psh! Was not!"

"What's the difference whose fault it was?" Beth called out, exasperated, "What do we do?"

"I said we should leave," Hershel emphasised, "Now Axel's dead. We can't just sit here."

Rick simply gave the old man an apathetic look before turning away. Hershel looked furious as he leapt to his crutches, bellowing, "Get back here!"

Rick stopped but didn't turn around. Jazz felt her heart constrict in her chest as she exchanged worried looks with Jack, who was looking more and more like he was regretting their decision to stay.

Hershel carried himself to Rick, crutches in hand and stated, "You're slipping Rick. We've all seen it. We understand why…"

Jazz turned to look at the baby tucked in the plastic tub labelled Ass Kicker, before glancing at Beth who nodded solemnly.

"But now is not the time." Hershel continued, "You once said that this isn't a democracy, now you have to own up to that. I put my family's life in your hands – we all did. So, get your head clear and do something."

…

"Y'know, I didn' really expect your pretty lil' head t' make it all the way out here," Merle said as Jazz reached for a few of the protein bars stacked up on their dwindling supplies in the canteen, "Thought you and yer daddy were goners the momen' you stepped outside tha' fence line the way you were livin' it up at the Gov'nor's."

Jazz glared at him, piling up a few more granolas to ration for the group.

Merle gave a cocky grin at her silence, trying to jam the blade of a box cutter into the metal plinth on his arm, "How'd you end up here anyway? Thought Rick and his crew weren't taking no guests after he went all cuckoo crazy."

Jazz stared adamantly at the shelves that worked as the prison's pantry, before softly admitting, "I was hoping my brother would be here."

Merle groaned, "Shoulda known. All you god-damn Fenton's ever talked about was yer perfect lil' family. Yer the god-damn poster-kid of white picket fences. What was yer brother's name again? Damien?"

"Danny. His name was Danny."

"Was?" Merle leaned back, clicking his tongue curiously like he was watching some drama-ridden midday talk show. "Danny Fenton," he drawled, rolling the name around his tongue. "Danny Fenton. Daniel Fenton. Daniel Fenton."

"Stop saying his name!" Jazz hissed.

He ignored her, face frowning deep in thought, "Y'know, he sounds real familiar. Overheard the Gov'nor mention it a few times to his lackey, Milton. Mentioned a prison too. Now, why's that?"

Jazz froze, mind flashing back to The Governor's sadistic grin as he shoved the officiated papers in her face – the warrants of arrest and the orders for detainment to commit invasive experimentation.

"Now I wouldn't think it's too far a leap that The Governor thinks that Danny-boy is locked away nice and safe behind these walls. And I reckon that might give him a motive for another welcoming neighbourly visit," Merle leaned forward, abandoning his attempts to attach the box cutter. "So, what makes yer brother the man of the hour, huh?"

There was a loud creak as the cell-block door opened and the man with the crossbow strode through, "Whatchu doin', Merle? Leave the girl alone."

"Aw, come on, Daryl," Merle opened his arms invitingly with a cocky grin, "We was just havin' a chat about what a pain in the ass lil' brothers are. Ain't that right, sweetheart?"

"My brother is not a pain in the ass!" Jazz growled out.

Merle shrugged, "I dunno, seems like lil' Fenton Junior is the reason you've got that target on yer back."

"Shut up!" she roared, dropping the protein bars and hurling a soup can at Merle. He ducked and the can slammed against the concrete wall, the metal denting.

"Watch where you're throwing that, lil' girl!" Merle went to stand but Daryl strode forward and shoved him back into his seat, "What the hell, man?"

"Stop," Daryl simply said, glancing at Jazz with a pinched expression.

"Don't talk about my brother or my family. You don't know anything!" Jazz cried, storming past Daryl, leaving the bars scattered across the floor.

…

"Hey, Jazz?" Beth called from the entrance of their shared cell, "Are you okay?"

Jazz shuffled herself further back against the wall, cramming her nose further into the dog-eared novella to hide her blotchy red face. She had been staring adamantly at the same sentence for over an hour, trying to force her mind to think of anything but what Merle had said.

"I'm fine." She said, her voice raw.

Beth shuffled closer to the bed and lowered herself onto the thin foam mattress, placing a soothing hand on her back, "It's okay to be sad. When mum and Shawn died, It didn't really hit me until weeks after... "

Jazz's jaw clenched tightly and she rolled over onto her side to glare at Beth, "Mum's not dead." She nearly snarled, "She's not."

But Beth just gave her a sympathetic smile, "That's what I thought too."

Jazz bit her lip in an attempt to stem the rage that was boiling up in her. It wasn't Beth's fault she didn't understand. Her mum was a survivor — she was made for this sort of thing. More than she ever was.

"What do you want?" She eventually bit out, fighting furiously to keep her voice from shaking.

"Andrea's here." Beth stood and wandered over to the makeshift bassinet in the corner of the room, picking up a gurgling Judith.

"What?" Jazz sat up, "How? When?"

"She used a walker to make it through to the front gate." Beth shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "You know, to cover her scent," she gestured for Jazz to follow. She could hear voices as they headed down the stairs, more distinct now as they slipped through into the makeshift cafeteria where most of the group stood in various states of confusion and anger.

Andrea, despite being drenched in sweat from the Georgia heat, looked well put together, her hair clean and clothes not fully stained brown with blood and muck. Jazz wondered how she must have first appeared to the group back at the surgery with her own pressed dress pants and ballet flats.

"I didn't even know you were in Woodbury until after the shoot-up!" Andrea argued at a glowering Glenn. Her voice rattled a little in her throat, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion.

"That was days ago," Glenn spat back.

"I told you, I came as soon as I could." She stated adamantly. She was met with cold silence that left Jazz shifting her feet. Andrea turned to Michonne, "What have you told them?"

"Nothing," Michonne replied coolly.

Andrea looked a little shocked as she turned to the group, eyes scanning over each of them, "I don't get it. I left Atlanta with you people, and now I'm the odd man out?"

Glenn gave a hiss, "He almost killed Michonne and he would have killed us."

Andrea pointed wildly at Merle, "With his finger on the trigger! Isn't he the one who kidnapped you, who beat you?" she pinched the bridge of her nose before letting out a sigh, "I cannot excuse or explain what Philip has done, but I am here trying to bring us together. We have to work this out."

"There's nothing to work out." Rick strode forward adamantly, "We're gonna kill 'im. I don't know how or when, but we will."

"We can settle this." Andrea argued meekly, "There is room at Woodbury for all of you."

Merle gave a chuckle nodding at Jazz, "You know better than that. You're forgettin' that the good ol' Gov'ner tried to feed Red over there to a pack of walkers as an appetizer for our midnight rumble?"

Andrea was shocked to see her standing there, "Jazz — when did you get here? How?"

"Me and dad barely made it out of Woodbury alive," She shook her head solemnly, "There's no way the Governor would take us back. You know he's not one for bargaining."

Hershel leaned heavily on his crutch, "Did he say he'd be willing to negotiate?"

Andrea stared petulantly at the ground, "No."

"Then why'd you come 'ere?" Rick asked.

"Because he's gearing up for war. The people are terrified — they see you as killers. They're training to attack."

"I'll tell you what. Next time y'see Philip, you tell 'im I'm gonna take his other eye." Daryl stated, crossbow tucked over his shoulder. Jazz couldn't help the chills that ran up her spine at his statement, she had no doubts that Daryl was the type of man that followed through with his promises.

"We've taken shit for too long. If he wants a war, he's got one." Glenn crossed his arms firmly.

"Jazz," Andrea moved closer, resting a calloused hand on her shoulder, "You've seen what Woodbury is like, it's safe. You need to talk to these guys – make them see reason. If we don't act now people are going to die. He has a whole town ready to fight."

Jazz simply stared at her, she wondered if she had had the same expression just a few weeks ago when she had first met Michonne and Andrea; the nervous discontent of trying to act as if you were in control of a situation that was so obviously spiralling.

"If we meet, we're meeting on even grounds." Rick finally said.

…

The barn house wasn't well insulated, Philip noted. Despite being one of the more secure buildings outside of the perimeter of Woodbury, the walls were flimsy and thin — he could hear his men talking under their breath nearby. Milton, ever the analytical, had pitched up a conversation with the old man of the group while Andrea huffed angrily about her rounds. Martinez in his cool confidence was already throwing barbs with Merle's neanderthal brother as the others stood around like cattle outside waiting for the slaughter. Sometimes he couldn't even believe himself, humouring these creatures — as mindless and dense as the filthy biters that wandered outside his windows at night.

Rick Grimes, for all the noise he had heard about him, was not much of an impressive man. His face was streaked with filth and his hair was slicked back with grease and oil. Overall he looked tired, and tired people tended to do stupid things. Philip grinned broadly as Grimes reluctantly sunk himself further into the chair opposite with a glare.

"Two fingers?" Philip offered, gesturing to the whiskey bottle. Grimes simply shoved the glass closer.

Unscrewing the top he poured out two even glasses of liquid gold, "I'd offer you ice, but your little crew decided to knock out our generators during your little rampage."

He offered the glass to Rick who seemed to be waiting for Philip to take the first sip. In an act of good showmanship, he took a swig, swilling the whiskey around in his mouth before he swallowed, feeling the satisfying burn run down his throat.

"I care about my people and don't take their deaths lightly, and I know you don't either," Philip continued, "In a way, this fight… it's a failure of leadership."

Rick took a sip of his own, "Then leave us alone."

Philip chuckled, "Well, now, that would be an even bigger failure. You've moved into our backyard. You shot up Main Street. If I let that threat persist, I look weak and… well, the whole thing crumbles."

"Well, that's your problem."

"Your choice," he shrugged, "Now isn't that why we're here? Choice. If we choose to destroy everything we've fought for over the past year we're gonna kill everyone we know. At your prison. Back at Woodbury. People we love, Rick."

Philip gave a forlorn sigh as memories flitted past his consciousness. It had been so long now he was struggling to remember the faces, "I was at work one day, taking shit from a boss half my age and an IQ even lower. And the phone rang. My wife had been in an accident. 'Sorry, Mr Blake, we did everything we could.' I sat there holding that phone, knowing that I would never see her again." He fought to keep his voice from shaking, "Gone. It was just an accident. No one's fault. She left a voicemail asking me to call her, but I hadn't had a chance yet. I sat there clutching that phone thinking, 'What did she want? Just to check in? Ask me to pick something up for dinner? What did she want?'"

Rick didn't offer condolences, tipping his head back to swallow the rest of the whiskey.

Philip eyed him carefully before muttering, "You know, the truth is, I didn't want any of this. They chose me because there was nobody else around. And they still think that I'm the man that can keep them safe. They still think I know what I'm doing. I know you got guns. That was quite a stash you brought back the other day. Now, my people, they're not combat-tested like yours are, but I've got more of them. So this fight, it will go down to the last man."

He leaned forward in his seat, his one eye staring deeply into Rick's own, "So let's end it. Today. Let's not do this. We can walk away. You have something that I want. One thing that makes this all right."

"I'm not giving up the prison." Rick snapped back.

Philip could have laughed, "No. No, I— I don't want your prison. That doesn't sound safe at all. I mean, you lost your wife, another man."

Rick rebuffed, "We're not moving on."

"What good would that do me?" Philip scoffed, "Best you stay where I can keep my one good eye on you. No, you're going to hand over the boy. Turn him over and this all goes away. Is a kid worth all those lives at your prison?"

"There's no way you're getting Carl!" Rick growled. Philip looked up at him unimpressed.

"Now what in all the counties would I want with your son? No, I want the Fenton boy. I know you've been hiding him behind those flimsy bars of yours. You've made quite a collection of Fentons from what Andrea tells me, both Jack and Jazmine tucked away sweetly."

Rick looked shocked as he lowered himself back into the chair, "Danny? Why Danny? How d'you know him?"

"How I know him doesn't matter. You could save your son. Save your daughter. Everyone you know. All you need to do is hand Daniel over."

Rick shook his head softly, "Danny's gone. He was killed by walkers months before we even made it to the prison…"

"Don't lie to me!" Philip roared, ramming a fist against the table before shoving a menacing finger into Rick's face, all pretence of complicity gone, "He's alive, and we both know it!"

Rick was staring at him intently now, speaking slowly, "Danny is gone."

Rage was building up in Philip's body, the glass in his hand creaking under his grip. Rick was lying. The papers proved that – Daniel Fenton could withstand a walker's bite. He was immune. He was the cure. The answer to everything – and this bohunk sheriff was trying to play a fast one on him by keeping that cure all for himself and his pathetic little posse.

Philip's teeth ground painfully, his patience already thin. With a sharp shove, the bottle crashed onto the floor, sending glass and whiskey in every direction. Philip lurched forward with a hiss, eye narrowed on Rick's shocked face, "Now I want you to think very carefully on my offer because you've just raised the stakes. You can have everything you want. I told you, I don't care about you. You think about it. Two days. You're gonna get me that boy and just because you've pissed me off, I want Michonne too, capisce? I'll be back here at noon."

…

"Too damn stupid t' be true." Carol heard Merle mutter with a snort.

"What's too stupid?" She asked. The man had been standing by the bay window for over twenty minutes, huffing under his breath, muttering to himself. Despite the warnings from the rest of the group, bar Daryl, she honestly found him more infuriating than threatening; she'd been forced to recount the group's ammo supply three times now because of all his grumbling. She hadn't even bothered rationing the medical supplies yet.

Merle turned his head from the window to look down at her with alarmingly sharp eyes for a man forced to go cold turkey. She'd been witness to the slew of mattresses he'd destroyed in his pursuit of a good hit and could tell by his short temper that he wasn't taking the withdrawals well.

"Y'ever wonder if someone's survived a walker bite an' just not said anythin'?" Merle drawled thickly, "I remember some of the recruits back in Woodbury gloatin' that they'd probably not turn or somethin'."

Carol sent him a glare as she expertly slid six bullets into a magazine before laying it aside and reaching for the next packet, "Shut up. You shouldn't joke about things like that."

Merle gave her an easy grin, "No joke, jus' curious. If someone was bit and made it, where d'you think they'd be headed?"

"Not here, obviously," Carol bit back.

"Obviously…" Crooked teeth grinned at her before he pushed himself away from the window to make his way down the walkway toward her, an eyebrow quirked as he watched her. "Y'know, ya ain't the same woman from back at the camp."

Carol didn't offer a reply, but Merle didn't seem to care, rocking on the balls of his feet, "Somethin's different. You ain't acting like a mouse scared o' its own shadow no more."

She couldn't help but scoff, the image of her dead husband's bloated face scuttled through the forefront of her mind. She couldn't help the small tingle of happiness that trilled down her spine at the memory, "It wasn't my shadow I was scared of."

"But'choo ain't scared no more?"

"No, nothing scares me anymore." She said proudly.

Merle dropped himself to the seat next to her with a heavy thud, making her nose wrinkle in disgust. It was obvious that he hadn't taken advantage of the rain bucket they shared for bathing since he'd arrived at the prison.

"Nothin'?" Merle's grin twisted, "That's not what my lil' brother told me. Said 'choo seemed awfully scared after what happened to Danny – torn apart like a rag doll, yeah? Did ya watch?"

The breath caught in her throat and her fingers slipped against the bullet carton, sending cartridges scattering across the table. "What did Daryl tell you?" She hissed, sending a nervous glance toward the courtyard doors where she knew Jack and Jazz were helping clean up the shrapnel from the Governor's attack.

Merle shrugged, looked far too pleased with himself, "Kid's name has been poppin' up a lot lately is all. Darylina's pretty sure the Gov'ner got this thought in his head that he's still kickin'."

Carol's mind twisted from the satisfying memory of her dead husband to the desperate face of Danny as the walker slammed into him, sending him tumbling out of sight. She could practically taste the smoke in the air. Could still hear his screams as the hordes of walkers flooded the doorway.

"He's not," Carol bit out firmly. Merle was staring at her, but she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact as she leapt from her seat, slamming the gate after her.

…

"He gave me a choice. A way out." Rick's voice echoed from the overpass.

"What does he want?" Hershel asked as he clambered onto the walkway behind Rick.

"He wants Michonne… and the Fenton kid."

"Jazmine?"

"No, Danny."

Jazz's ears pricked at her brother's name. Carefully she folded another shirt and placed it onto the growing pile of dry clothes and linen hanging from the broken fence under the walkway. Tucked safely behind a bundle of drying sheets, she heard Rick groan, "I don't get it. How does he even know about him? He wasn't even from Georgia."

"I think that we can both agree that the Governor isn't in his right mind, this might simply be retribution over Jack and Jazz abandoning Woodbury." Hershel offered.

"An eye for an eye." Rick stated, "Maybe. But he seemed adamant that Danny was still around..." He gave a heaving sigh, "I should've grabbed him. I had the chance, but... I just… I should've saved him."

"There's no way to know if that's true, Rick. You had your own boy to care about. Danny knew the risks."

Jazz's lungs seemed to seize up inside of her. Rick and the others had never gone into detail on what had happened to Danny, just that the farm they had been hunkering down at had been overwhelmed and he was trapped.

Hershel's voice was firm, "I get that it hurts, Rick. I have my own guilt over how it ended. But there's no point mulling over ghosts of the past. Right now we need to think how we're going to handle the Governor."

"I've already talked to Merle."

"Merle? Why would you— Oh, Rick no. You can't."

Rick didn't reply and Jazz was thankful for the moment of silence to let her thoughts process. Her little brother had been kicked to the curb and left behind the moment things had gotten tough. A distant part of her brain recognised how unfair that logic was, but the part that so desperately missed her little brother was reeling in injustice. How could it have been fair that she and her dad had been so close to being reunited with Danny, only for the same group they found to have been the ones to abandon him?

Numbly, she recognised that Hershel was talking again, his tone stern, "This ain't right, Rick. You can't give the Governor whatever he wants. Michonne is one of us now! And Jack… he just found out his son is dead and you want to tear that poor family up even more?"

"I'm doing this for the greater good!" Rick snarled back.

"This isn't you, Rick. You're better than this. If you don't drop it now, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life."

"I ain't risking no one else over this," Rick stated, his shoes clacking against the stone walkway as he stormed off.

Jazz waited with bated breath as Hershel let out a disapproving hum before shuffling after Rick. She was pressed deep in the sheets, a denim vest gripped tightly in her hands as she struggled to keep from hyperventilating. Rick and his group could have saved Danny but didn't.

Her breath was coming out in sharper bursts now and her vision was wavering – a turbulent mixture of sorrow and anger was roiling through her, but fury was quickly overwhelming the despair, leaving her whole body shaking as she struggled for air. She gripped the shirt in her hands so tightly the worn seams ripped.

"Watch it! That's my favourite," Came a sharp bark from behind her. Daryl stalked his way over, snatching the vest from her grip to inspect it for damage. Jazz glared daggers at him, her whole body vibrating.

"Did you know?" she hiccupped.

"Know what?"

"About Danny. About how you all left him to take on a swarm of biters by himself."

Darl's face dropped at the accusation, "Where's this comin' from, girly? You accusin' me of somethin'?"

"I don't know, have you got something you want to admit? How about leaving my brother to die while the rest of you hightailed it out of there?" Jazz's voice was steadily growing louder and her eyes stung with salt, "Used him as live bait to save your own backsides?"

"The hell you talkin' 'bout? Danny was one of us!" Daryl snarled back at Jazz. But she wasn't having any of it, ripping his damp vest from his grip to fling it onto the dirty concrete, punctuating each word with a grinding stomp.

"I heard what Rick said – he could have saved him! You could have saved him!"

"Don't you think I would've tried?" Daryl roared back, spittle flying from his mouth, "If I'd known he was there I woulda dragged him out of that god-damned shed by tha' stupid white hair of his!"

The sheer intensity of Daryl's anger halted her from where she was grinding dirt into the seams of his vest. She'd never seen him show such conviction before. The fire fizzled out of Jazz; she was so tired of being angry at everything. Daryl seemed to share the same sentiment, staring furiously down at his torn vest, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

"Do ya think any of us were happy t' hear he was still stuck on the farm? If I'd known he was still there… Hell, Carol wouldn't speak for a week after. She still hasn't told anyone what happened," Daryl gave a derisive snort, "He was… he was a good kid. But he's gone now, and no matter how much I – we – wished he ain't, there's no way to bring him back... Just gotta… just gotta keep moving on."

He reached down and snatched his vest from where it was planted under Jazz's foot, causing her to stumble, "I get that yer mad. I'd be too, but I ain't no god-damn babysitter, girl. So stop actin' like ya need one."

Jazz felt overwhelmed, her skin glowed hot under the Georgia sun, but her insides felt like they'd been doused in ice water. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, instead snatching up the wash basket and bolting for the laundry room with less than an apology.

It was thankfully silent, the others having taken advantage of the cooler afternoon hours to take down some of the lurking biters out on the field. Gracelessly, she dropped the basket onto a nearby table with stinging eyes. Her emotions were in a tumultuous whirlwind to the point where she wouldn't have even been able to diagnose what she was feeling if she still had her psychology books.

A sharp clang made her jolt and a voice crooned. "Ah, just the girly I've been hoping to find."

Jazz swivelled on the spot to find Merle leaning against the line of defunct driers, grinning widely at her. Her eyes couldn't help glancing down at his metal stump. He'd obviously been raiding the cutlery drawer. There was a whole collection of kitchen knives taped to it that looked more than a little threatening.

He caught Jazz eyeing it and gave it a wave. "Y'like it, Red? Not half-bad? Thought I'd go ahead and make some upgrades."

Jazz remained tight-lipped, but Merle didn't seem to care as he hefted himself off the driers, lumbering his way over to her. Her senses were caught in a swift battle of fight or flight, leaving her legs paralysed in place. Before her body could choose a stance, Merle was crowding her space, sending her stumbling back into the low table as he leaned over her, bloodshot eyes staring furiously into hers. She could feel his breath on her face sending shivers down her spine, and her breath caught in her throat.

Merle grinned at her with crooked teeth, raising his knife-ridden stub to her face leaving her to stare cross-eyed at the blades that threatened to pierce her cheek, "I'll take that as a yes," he chuckled, "Now, yer gonna come all quiet-like. I've got a car parked 'round back, past the old cells. You let out even a squeak and it's not only yer pretty lil' head that gets it but yer old man's too. Got it?"

Jazz gave a fervent nod as Merle leaned back and pulled out a thick cord tucked inside the drum of a disused washing machine, gesturing for her to hold her hands out.

"Now, ya gotta be really still here – I only got one hand. One false slip and there goes the wrist!" Merle chuckled to himself as he wound the ropes tightly around her hands. Jazz couldn't stop the trembling in her shoulders though, and she gave a yelp as one of the smaller blades nicked her palm.

Merle ignored her, giving another sharp tug to the cord. Her hands were turning numb as the circulation was cut off. Merle gave a hum of satisfaction. "It ain't personal or anythin'," he drawled as he tore off a short strip of Jazz's washing with his knifed arm, "Jus' followin' boss-man Rick's orders and all that. I mean, the Gov'ner wanted yer brother but I don't think that's gonna happen any time soon – unless he's walking about as one of those lame-brains – so I gotta offer the next best thing."

Jazz couldn't stop shaking as Merle dragged her from the laundry room. Desperately she hoped that one of the others would spot them, but the brief glimpses she captured through barred windows showed her dad and the others methodically ramming rust-ridden pipes through biters' heads by the gates, oblivious to what was happening inside their own walls.

Merle dragged her deeper into the hallways and Jazz recognised them as the tombs that the others had labelled as off-limits. Fresh biter corpses littered the walls, and more than once Merle forced her to stop as he shanked a biter before snatching up the rope to wander deeper. She was shocked to find a large hole punctured through one of the south-facing walls, the blinding midday sun streaming through. Merle didn't offer an explanation as he shoved her forward, sending her stumbling over the loose bricks that littered the ground. A blue sedan was parked nearby, sitting innocently on the lawn that Merle quickly dragged her to with a fervent glance behind him, yanking open the door and shoving her inside.

She gave a muffled squeal as she slid painfully onto the floor, Merle wedging her feet in after her to slam the door shut. Rounding the front he slid into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition before reversing out of the busted prison fencing with the casual nature of a dad taking his bratty kids to soccer practice.

Jazz carefully pulled herself off the floor with a groan, sliding into a seat. Her wrists ached under the rough binding and her fingers struggled to wiggle under the constrictions.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it, Red? Ya had me worried for a momen', thought I was gonna have to knock ya out like our Nubian queen here." Merle barked out a laugh, but Jazz was horrified to see Michonne strapped tightly in her own bindings in the front seat, her head lolling placidly against her chest, eyes closed.

Jazz let out a squeak in terror as her clumsy, numb fingers grappled for the door, but a sharp click signified the parent lock had been activated, "Ain't gonna happen, sweetheart. Now, why don'choo just hold tight? Shouldn't be too long now."

…

"There's a pick-up spot just where we last met the Gov'ner. Old barn house, not a bad place to hole up while you wait for 'em… might even be clear of walkers if you can shut it long enough."

Jazz refused to rise to the bait, Merle had been heckling her for the better part of ten minutes, obviously bored of the hollow silence. She stared out the window feeling the rage boil through her, sharp eyes measuring the landscape. They were heading back in the direction of Woodbury, off one of the main roads.

The quiet permeated the air between them, before Merle let out a sharp whistle, "Y'know, I've been a bit curious 'bout that brother o' yers. I ain't ever seen the Gov'ner so invested in no one before."

Jazz glared at him through the reverse mirror. With her arms tied it wasn't nearly as threatening as she'd hoped.

Merle gave a sharp bark of laughter, "Aw, come on, ya ain't still mad at me, are ya? I told ya it ain't personal, sweetheart! The Gov'ner's willing to risk everythin' for a kid that ain't even kicking anymore. Y'know what'd happen if he got through those gates out there and you're lil' brother wasn't around? He'd kill each an' every one of us — slowly. Beth, Carl, the little ass-kicker. Hell, yer daddy would be the first."

Jazz gave a rattling breath, the image of her friends scattered across the exercise yard filled her with terror; baby Judith's crib coated in red; Her dad staring up at her with blank, unseeing eyes.

"This way, we don't seem like such assholes not giving a Fenton kid up. S'yer choice on who ya think got the shorter end o' the stick though, you or ya lil' brother. Honestly, my bets are on you – I want none o' what the Gov'ner's offerin'."

Jazz licked her chapped lips. Her throat burned with the overwhelming need to cry, but she forced it down to croak out, "He'll hit the prison anyway."

Merle raised an eyebrow at her through the mirror, "Oh, why ya say that, Red? Aren't ya supposed to be the sunshine and rainbows type?"

She didn't really know why she said it – maybe she was being petty, but before she could draw back her tongue she bit out, "The Governor thinks Danny was immune."

With squeaking brakes, the car rolled to a stop. Merle hauled the handbrake up with a sharp creak as he turned in his seat to stare at her, "'S'it true?"

"What? That he was immune? I… I don't know."

Merle's brow pinched, "If yer brother was bit and made it, where d'you think he'd be headed?"

Jazz was feeling more than a little confused as she stuttered out, "I don't know. I… Probably to find me and dad… and mum."

Merle seemed to mull over her words, staring at her with an intense look of frustration – she barely dared to breathe.

He swivelled back in his seat, huffing before popping the locks to kick open his door. Jazz barely had a chance to think when he yanked open her own. She let out a sharp squeal as he hauled her out of the car, shoving her onto the grass before he followed suit with Michonne. Hefting her over his shoulder he dumped her onto the ground next to Jazz, causing the woman to groan, her eyes shifting from under their lids. Merle tugged Michonne's katana from his belt, shoving the blade under the woman's chin.

"Ya tellin' me the truth?" He screamed at Jazz, the blade-edge glistening far too close to a carotid artery for her comfort, "Come on now – is it true?"

"Is what true?" Jazz screeched, "I don't know what you're asking! Please, don't hurt her!"

Merle rolled his eyes at her, "About yer lil' brother. Why's the Gov'nor think he's immune? Has he got proof?"

"Yes!" She screeched out, "The Governor kept documents in his office – they were in a safe! There were blood tests! Statements! Military warrants! Don't hurt her!"

Jazz was on the verge of hyperventilating. Michonne's lids were starting to flutter and she moaned in pain – one slight movement and she could slice her neck on her own sword. Without prompting, Merle rammed the blade down. Jazz can't help the sharp scream that erupts from her throat as the sword sank into the earth, barely an inch from Michonne's cheek.

"No way… Ain't gonna let the Gov'ner kill no one over somethin' so god-damn stupid." Merle snorted, "Dumbass thinkin' some nobody kid is immune. Waste o' my time."

Flinging the sheath onto the ground, Merle stormed over to the sedan and slipped into the driver's seat, the car flaring to life before he rammed his foot on the accelerator, the car speeding away.

…

"Daryl," Maggie called from the landing, "You got a minute? Rick wants to talk to everyone outside."

With a low hum in his throat, Daryl crawled out of the crow's nest, hefting his aching body down the ladder. Maggie didn't seem to be bothered with waiting around for him – not that he could blame her, she'd been a little off ever since they were able to sneak her back from Woodbury.

His bones ached in contempt at the thought of leaving the thin mattress tucked onto the floor of the security station; the night shifts in the watchtower were starting to catch up to him, and the demands the Governor had dropped on them had left him feeling more than a little bit rattled. None of it made any sense.

The midday sun beamed down into his eyes, leaving him squinting as he shuffled across the tarmac towards the group — it looked like practically everyone was here, the others seemed to look just as confused as himself, but Rick's face was drawn and hallowed much like Hershel's. Daryl distractedly looked around for Merle, but he was nowhere in sight. He noted that Michonne and the Fentons were missing too, but Rick didn't seem too concerned as he turned to the group.

"When we met yesterday, the Governor offered me a deal. He said… he said he would leave us alone if I gave him Michonne and Danny."

"What?" Carol hissed out, "Danny from the farm? But surely he knows that he's—"

"I told him, but he didn't want to listen."

"What are we gonna do?" Beth asked, "Surely we can't give up Michonne – she's family now!"

Rick didn't say anything, staring intently at a blood-stained brick by their feet before muttering, "I was gonna offer a counter-deal… hopefully enough to stop him… to keep us safe. I spoke to Merle, but I changed my mind!"

"Then why are we here?" Maggie huffed, crossing her arms, "Where's Michonne?"

"Jazzy-pants?" Jack's voice echoed from across the yard. Daryl turned to watch with a sick feeling in his stomach as the giant man lumbered his way over to them, "Hey, have you seen Jazz at all? I can't find her – she's not in her room or the library..."

Daryl didn't have to look at Rick's face to recognise what he'd done. What Merle had done on his orders.

"I'm goin' after 'em." he grunted, turning on his heel to where a white Landcruiser was parked, "Carl, get the gate."

…

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jazz pressed, her hands hovering anxiously, "We can take a break if you want?"

Michonne huffed as she dragged herself to her feet, using her sheath as a crutch, "I'm fine." she grunted out sharply.

Jazz didn't lower her hands though, there was the immediate concern that the woman was suffering from a pretty bad concussion by the way she was swaying, if not swelling of the brain. They'd made slow progress on the road, having to stop every few feet. Jazz wrung her sore wrists, the circulation had quickly come back, leaving them feeling hot and irritated. She could only suppose Michonne's were feeling the same way; combined with her head she was surprised the woman hadn't snapped at her earlier.

The road was empty, bar a few corpses that littered the roadside in a heap of unmoving bones and flesh. Jazz had steered clear of them just in case. A car had zipped past them earlier, but Michonne had shoved her into a narrow ditch, only letting Jazz lift her head once the sounds of the exhaust had faded away in the same direction Merle had disappeared to.

Jazz shivered, if she never saw that psychotic man again it would be too soon. Even if he did have a sudden change of heart. She watched as Michonne stumbled forward again, thrusting her sword's sheath forward as they made the excruciatingly slow walk back to the prison. The pair had been in turmoil about returning, but there was no way Jazz could ever leave her dad without knowing whether she was alive or dead. Rick and his cronies be damned. She couldn't forgive him for casting Danny aside, but then to try and sacrifice her and Michonne under the premise of 'family loyalty' was too far.

With a determined huff, she trudged over to Michonne, ignoring the way the woman growled under her breath and wound an aching arm around her waist. Despite her initial arguments, Michonne fell heavily into her as they hobbled up onto the main road, carefully avoiding corpses with bated breath, cautious of any movements – Michonne was hardly in a state to fight and Jazz didn't know the first thing about wielding a sword.

"Is it true?" Michonne murmured behind drooping lids, "What you told Merle? About your brother?"

"You heard that?"

"I heard something about some files, not much else."

Jazz swallowed thickly, it was surprisingly painful to talk about when you weren't under the threat of someone being beheaded, "Yeah. The Governor… he pulled me into his study – I guess he was trying to use me as some sadistic method to guarantee that the paperwork was true. I couldn't read most of it, but the consensus claimed that he'd been bit but hadn't turned."

"Do you believe it?"

"What's it matter, from what the others said he was torn apart by biters anyway – nobody could survive that, even if they were immune."

"No, I guess they couldn't," Michonne muttered conclusively.

Jazz shook her vision clear of tears as she shoved another tired leg forward, following the soft melodious chirping of the birds at a motivational pace. Michonne was quickly becoming heavier as her legs dragged behind her, and Jazz could see out of the corner of her eye that her face was quickly becoming lax with exhaustion.

"Michonne?" She squeaked as Michonne's weak grip slipped from her shoulder, her head lolling on Jazz's shoulder as her legs crumpled limply beneath her. Jazz nearly dropped the limp body in fright, struggling under thin arms to hold up the dead weight, she clumsily lowered her to the ground hissing her name, "Michonne? Michonne, wake up!" She tapped fervently on her cheek hoping to receive any sort of response, but Michonne's eyelids only flickered and fell shut again.

There was a low hum beginning to echo through the trees Jazz distantly noted as she continued to smack softly at Michonne's cheek, hoping for any sign of consciousness. The sound was quickly growing louder, causing her to tear her face from Michonne's own slack one in the direction Merle had disappeared to; she could only hope he hadn't changed his mind, but with a heavy weight in her gut she spotted a car careening its way down the long strip of road towards them.

Jazz briefly let the selfish thought of ditching Michonne seep into her mind. It would be so easy to duck into the shadows of the forest, but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving her alone – it could be Merle for all she knew with a twisted change of heart and a need to prove himself, and she was sure Michonne was certain to get the shorter end of the stick between the two of them if the Governor ever got his hands on them. Snatching the katana off the ground, she clumsily threw the scabbard to the side and held it in front of her like she'd seen in the samurai movies Danny had loved.

The car was less than a hundred feet now, wrapped in a dirt-streaked white that she vaguely recognised. She hoped the driver couldn't see how much her arms were shaking as she held the sword in front of her, fingers clenched white around the hilt.

The car rolled to a standstill a few yards away. Jazz stared at it, feeling more than a little exposed. Suddenly the idea of seeing Merle again wasn't the worst possibility. Who was to say this wasn't one of the Governor's cronies sent to collect them personally?

She flinched as the engine cut off – the silence was even worse than any humming. She would have even been happy to hear the groans of biters right now. At least they were predictable. She shifted her weight in front of Michonne as the door creaked open, revealing steel-capped leather boots.

"Y-you can't have her!" Jazz stuttered out, waving the sword in front of her in what she hoped was a threatening manner, "I'll… I'll cut you if I have to!"

The figure inside the car let out a derisive snort, making Jazz frown.

"I mean it!" she bellowed out, false confidence feeding her ego, "If you even think of getting near— Daryl?"

Daryl's greasy mop of hair popped out from the driver's seat coated in fresh blood and she could see his narrow eyes were red like he'd been crying. Without a word he strode over to the pair, ignoring her to heft Michonne's prone body over his shoulder back over to the car, laying her across the back seat a lot more gently than his brother had. The door shut with a soft click and he nodded in the direction of the passenger side before sliding back in front of the wheel. Jazz hesitated, still holding the sword and scabbard in front of her.

Daryl leaned out the open window and huffed in a thick voice, "We're goin' with or without ya. Yer choice."

Glancing down the barren roads littered with bones and bodies, she tottered over to the car and lowered herself into the open seat. Hesitantly, she stared at the blood coating his hands and asked quietly, "Where's Merle?"

"Gone," Daryl sniffed as he turned the engine on and, without another word, sped off back in the direction of the prison.