5th Life

We're all going to die. It's just a matter of when.

She blinked in the darkness, knowing it was useless to even keep her eyes open. But keeping her eyes open meant she was staying awake, and with the throbbing in her head, she knew she very likely had a concussion, and she knew falling asleep wasn't the smartest thing to do in that situation.

She couldn't remember all of it. She remembered running. She remembered T-Dog urging her to run. She remembered all the blood when T-Dog got bit, and she remembered the sinking feeling in her stomach when she realized that such a good friend was about to die.

She remembered running, calling out, crying for help. And then she was in the dark, and she could hear a walker coming toward her. She remembered feeling its cold, bloody hands on her, tugging the scarf off of her head. And then she'd been backed up against a door that budged as she pressed herself against it. Wedging herself inside, she closed the door, shutting herself inside, and then she'd collapsed onto the floor in exhaustion and terror.

Hours passed. Possibly days. She didn't know. She was thirsty. She'd used the corner of the small room as a bathroom, and she knew she must have run out of food in her stomach to vomit up, because after the vomiting came the dry heaving, and now she just lay curled up next to the door, body aching, stomach rumbling with ache and hunger, and all she could think of was how her friend T-Dog was dead and how the rest of them very well could be, too.

All she could hear were walkers in the hall. All she could hear was her own life winding down.

The darkness was painful. She had tried calling for help, to no avail. Her throat was now hoarse, and it hurt to even attempt to speak.

Lori needs me. What about the baby? I've been practicing.

She thought about Sophia, about how she'd wanted to give up the moment her daughter walked out of that barn. The only reason she hadn't given up before then was because Daryl hadn't. Daryl had gone out looking for Sophia, putting his own life on the line. He hadn't given up, so she hadn't either. But when Sophia had stepped out of that barn, it was like the world dropped out from under her, and she'd wanted to just curl up and die right along with her. He'd been strong for her, and when all hope was lost, she'd struggled to find her footing and keep herself standing.

Somehow, she'd managed. And she was stronger now. But she hadn't even the energy to push the door open. Something lay blocking it. Banging on the door was of no use.

She drifted off, hours passing, possibly only minutes. Gunfire echoed through the corridors, and a glimmer of hope remained. She pushed against the door, and it gave way, briefly. Her hands were heavy as lead, her legs unmoving.

Is this what it feels like to die?

A while later, her eyelids fluttered open. The stead tink-tink-tink of metal against concrete stirring her from her half-sleep, half-death. She moaned softly, her neck aching as she turned her face toward the sound, parting her parched lips to cry out, only finding a raspy breath escaping.

It took every bit of her strength to put her hand against the door and push a couple of inches, only to find the door come swinging back toward her. She sighed and tried again. And again. The sound of metal against concrete grew louder, more violent, and then she heard shuffling footsteps, pacing footsteps.

Who's there? Sophia?

And then a loud bang, and the steel door groaned against its hinges. Her head lolled forward, and she felt herself slipping under again.

I'm sorry, Sophia. I'm sorry. I'll see you soon.

And then a rush of cool, fresh air poured over her, and light filtered into the dark compartment. She heard the hiss of a blade through the air, stopping short. Then a hitched gasp. She turned her head toward him, and she squinted into the light, her lips parting an attempt at a thanks. His eyes bore into hers, and he blinked a couple of times, as if he wasn't sure she was real.

Daryl.

His fingertips gently guided her chin, and she reached up, curling her fingers around his wrist.

"Oh God." The words came out choked, and he knelt down, pressing his fingers against her wrist to feel her thread pulse. "Let's get ya outta here. Can ya walk?" Her head lolled to the side again, and she closed her eyes.

Ain't nobody's damn hero.

You're mine.

"There you go again," she said weakly.

"What ?" he asked, scooping her up gently into his arms. She snuggled against him, her head resting against his shoulder. And she was out without an answer. The last thing she felt before passing out was his arms hugging her close as he carried her away from her tomb.