This gets real dark real quick.
I do not own anything to do with The Walking Dead. If I did, there would be lots more hot Caryl action. But not in this chapter.
No. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. Surely this was some nightmare left over from her concussion. Carol stumbled forward, knife in hand, squinting through smoke and tears. Her lungs burned, and she coughed, trying to get the air she needed, but the air was on fire. She couldn't stay here, but she couldn't leave until she knew – until she saw for herself. There was a flurry of movement to her left, and she lunged forward to sink her blade into the walker's eye socket. When it went down, she went with it, crashing hard onto her knee and elbow. She and the unmoving corpse were face to face, tangled together on the ground like lovers.
The decision to return with Daryl to the prison did not sit easily with her. After their talk, they'd decided to load up the car with some of the food and supplies she'd gathered as a sort of peace offering to Rick and the others. In the morning they would drive to the prison and ask their family to consider another way to deal with what Carol had done. She'd smiled and reassured Daryl that it was what she wanted, though privately she didn't expect it to go well. All night long, she'd turned it over in her mind, the fear and anxiety not allowing her to sleep. She knew Tyreese would never accept her back and may very well kill her, and Rick would never see her as family again. Her heart still hurt where his words had cut her. They hurt even though she knew they were true – because she knew they were true.
At dawn, she was lying under the blanket with her back to Daryl's chest, his arm around her waist, holding her tight to him even in his sleep. She savored the weight of his arm on her and the soft tickle of his breath on the back of her neck. Whatever today would bring, at least she had this.
The light coming in the little half-windows of their basement was dim and grey. She supposed it was overcast, which felt appropriate somehow. She even thought she heard the booming of thunder far in the distance. When Daryl began to stir, she slipped out from his embrace and dressed. She found some breakfast for them while he loaded the last of their gear into the car. They ate in silence, both of them anxious about what would come – despite Daryl's outward optimism, he clearly had his own doubts.
When they went to the car, she saw it was indeed a dark, overcast day, though it wasn't yet raining like she'd expected. Thunder rumbled again. The sky seemed darker to the north, toward the prison. She tried to ignore the ominous feeling the heavy sky gave her, but acid still churned in her stomach.
"You ready?" he asked, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
She took a deep breath and nodded, though she was far from sure she would ever be ready for this.
She started the car and pulled through the gate he'd opened for her. She waited while he brought his bike through and closed the gate after. Together they made their way out of the little neighborhood and headed up the highway toward the prison.
There wasn't enough air for her to scream, but that didn't stop the screaming in her head. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. She yanked her knife from the corpse's eye and kicked herself free of its dead weight. It rolled onto its back, and Carol stared into the face in horror. She scrambled back on her hands and knees, as if distance would make it less real. But no matter how far away she got, Rick's dead face stared back at her.
It wasn't true. It couldn't be.
As they topped the hill, Daryl brought his bike to a sudden stop. She pulled alongside him and rolled down her window, eyes wide as she saw what had stopped him. The darkness to the north wasn't just storm clouds. It was thick, black smoke boiling up from somewhere ahead – from where the prison was.
"That's not coming from the prison," she said, hoping he'd tell her she had her directions all wrong, and surely it was just a brushfire.
Another deep boom sounded. That wasn't thunder.
He looked grim. "Let's get up there – see what the fuck's goin' on. We'll cover the last mile or so on foot."
With that, he roared down the road toward the black column of smoke. Her heart pounded in her ears as she followed him, pushing the car faster than she should on the deteriorated asphalt. A short way out from the prison gates, he slowed and took his bike onto a side road. They went just out of sight of the highway before parking off the side of the road. They could smell the smoke and hear the crack of gunfire from here.
"C'mon!" Pulling his crossbow from his back, he headed into the woods, knowing she would follow.
They ran through the forest as quickly as they could, and Carol's lungs were screaming. As they finally approached the edge of the woods, she realized the gunfire had stopped. She crashed into Daryl's back when he lurched to a stop in front of her. Gasping for air, she peered through the last of the trees, but couldn't believe what she saw.
The prison was gone - nothing but a smoking ruin. Their fences that had kept them safe for so long were torn down and flattened. The walls that had made up their home were crumbled and broken with fires raging inside and out. The thick, roiling smoke and ash obscured much of the courtyard, but they could clearly see bodies scattered all around and the shambling forms of walkers.
There was a fucking tank in the lower field, crushing the graves of their friends and family. It and several other vehicles were moving away, heading back toward the road. The massacre was over, and the victors were heading home.
Carol found herself crouched on the ground, head spinning as she tried to process what her eyes were telling her. She sucked in deep breaths, trying to stem the blackness that crept in to the edges of her vision. One hand clung to the rough bark of the tree next to her as she struggled to stay upright.
No.
It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
Their home, their family. Gone.
Gone.
"Fuck." Daryl's whisper centered her again. He was seeing it, too.
She closed her eyes, digging her fingers into the tree. She took a deep breath and stood. Daryl turned to meet her gaze. The shock and horror she saw in his eyes tore at her, and she knew he was seeing the same in her own face.
It couldn't all be gone. There had to be something left. Someone left.
She turned and bolted down the slope, heading for the downed fences. She had to find her family.
"Carol!" Daryl shouted after her, but she was already gone.
She ran across the bridge over the stream and leaped over the flattened tangle of razor wire from the top of the fence. The acrid smoke was thick, making it hard to breathe and harder to see. As she ran into the field, there were bodies on the ground – all strangers. A couple walkers took notice of her, turning to shuffle in her direction. As the first one reached her, a wild scream tore from her throat as she buried her knife in its face. After it fell, she lashed out with her boot heel until its head was nothing but pulp. A second walker approached and she sank her blade into its eye before racing up toward the courtyard. She had to find her family.
Daryl was still shouting for her, but when she looked back, she couldn't see him through the smoke. The roar of the fires became deafening as she got closer to the buildings. She found the inner fence and followed it until she reached a section that had been torn down. Coughing, she pulled her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose. She had to keep going. Find them.
Squinting into the smoke, she saw several shapes lined up in a row. Bodies. Bile rose in her throat, making her gag. No. This wasn't real. She scrubbed her burning eyes with the back of her hand, but the bodies were still there. They lay face down on the broken asphalt of the prison yard, hands bound behind them with heavy zip ties. Blood and brains were spattered from where they had each been shot in the back of the head.
Mark and Erin and Jeremy from the Decatur group.
Bob. Hershel. Maggie. Tyreese.
This had to be a nightmare. She'd fallen asleep, fearful of what the day would bring, and her mind had produced this horror. But her eyes burned and she gagged and coughed, but didn't wake up.
Fighting for air with knife in hand, she staggered forward.
A flurry of movement to her left caught her eye, and she lunged to pierce the walker's eye with her blade, falling with it when it went down. After untangling herself from the corpse, she stared at it in shock.
Rick.
It couldn't be real. She heard screaming, but she thought it must be in her head because there wasn't enough air to scream. She was on her hands and knees, staring back into the bloody face of the man who'd banished her from her home. His remaining eye was yellow and filmy, but it bored into her soul as though accusing her even in death, never to forgive.
Her stomach heaved, and she vomited until there was nothing left.
No. No no no.
"Carol!" Daryl's voice reached her over the roar of the fires. She crawled to her feet and staggered in the direction she thought it was coming from. The lack of air was making her dizzy, but she kept moving. She stumbled over something soft and fell, landing in a pile of... Oh, God no. That wasn't real. Not real, not real. Pushing herself to her feet again, she continued on, following the sound of Daryl's hoarse voice calling to her.
Wet. How did she get wet? She turned her face to the sky and felt raindrops. She closed her eyes and let the drops trickle down, washing away soot and tears and blood. Daryl's voice was still there, but the rain on her face made her forget.
Suddenly, he was there. His hand clamped around her wrist, pulling her arm over his shoulder as he dragged her back down the slope away from the nightmare behind them, into the cool silence of the forest.