I rummaged through the bunker, looking for anything I could carry. All instinct told me to stop looking, to just lock the door behind me and do as my uncle always said. Stay put. But staying put wasn't in my nature. Staying put often led the more pain.
I had to go home. I had to go back to my childhood home and find out if my brother, if my little sister, if my father was still alive. As much pain as my family had brought me over the years, they were still just that, family.
I turned around at the sound of something growling. To my surprise, it was Beth, my uncle's old mutt. She growled at me for a moment, before realizing it was me rummaging through her home. She wagged her tail, running up to me eagerly. Though the old bitch was ancient, she still had life to her. When she pushed a little pup towards me, it changed my mood entirely.
The fluffy little dog looked at me as if I was the coolest thing he had ever seen. Instantly, he reminded me of my uncle's old hunting dog, Riley Canon. Right there, on the spot, I named the dog after the first dog I'd ever grown close to.
"It's you and me, Riley," I said to the dog, who cocked his head to listen. "Ready to face the world and all its horrors?"
I gave one last look around the bunker. It was secure. Why I didn't want to stay was far, far more complicated. Though the bunker was well crafted, secure, and full of enough supplies to last me quite some time, it didn't feel right. This was my uncle's dream. This was where he wanted to keep us kids safe if the world ever went to shit. Now he was dead and there was no more 'safety in numbers'. There was no way I was going to lock myself in the bunker and waste away waiting for the nation guard or army or president to arrive.
I locked the bunker with one swift movement, tucking the key into my pocket before picking the puppy up, making for the van. It was then that I knew I'd only return to the bunker if my life depended on it. And even then, I had no intentions of staying for long.
Weeks passed and I finally found a couple of likeminded people. Scott and his wife, Annabelle, neighbors from down the road, along with James, Pearla, and Henry. Together, the six of us, plus Riley, who had taken to hunting like a true bred hunting dog, all made the trek back to the bunker. Annabelle was pregnant and due to pop any day. It was a mutual decision, even if I wasn't too thrilled with it. Once there, all hell broke loose.
When Annabelle died in labor, no one had the courage to put her down. It wasn't my call and I sure fuck couldn't fend off four people, plus a zombie. So I left them to their own demise. I left them, along with all the rations, all the water, all the supplies that could have been so useful, to rot in the bunker. I locked them in, knowing that once the door was locked from either side, there was no escape. I slid the key onto my uncle's army dog tags and tucked them away in my bag, sparing only one final look over my shoulder as climbed into the van, Riley at my side. It was then that I knew I'd never trust people again.
"Harleigh, wake up," a gruff, tired voice begged. I groaned and shifted just slightly, too tired to open my eyes. I felt a hand reach for my forehead, causing me to flinch back, more out of instinct than anything else.
"She's warm," the voice said, filled with concern. "We can't move her like this."
"We can't stay here, baby brother, we had an agreement," another voice growled.
"Mommy? Mommy, wake up," a young, beautiful voice begged. I groaned again, this time forcing my eyes open. My vision blurred against the bright sunlight, but eventually I was able to make out the faces of Daryl, Merle and Alana.
"Morning already?" I asked, my voice hoarse. Daryl passed me a bottle of water, concern written all over his face.
"Yeah," he nodded, his eyes watching every movement as I slowly sat up, taking tiny sips from the bottle. My stomach twisted in knots the moment the cool liquid hit it. I felt like shit. Every inch of my body hurt and I knew it would only take one more accident before my body went into total shock. I allowed Daryl to put his hand back on my forehead. His face twisted with an unexplainable emotion.
"How're you feeling?" he asked, a hand on my shoulder.
"Like hell," I murmured. I could barely see straight. I knew it was an effect of the concussion. It wasn't the first time I hit my head hard enough to knock a few screws loose.
"Do you think…?" he looked torn. "Do you think you can walk at all?"
"Uh-huh, ya heard Merle, we had an agreement," I nodded my head, but only slightly. Even that tiny movement sent a wave of nausea through my stomach. I fought against the feeling, carefully standing up, one hand resting on Daryl's arm to keep myself level. "Gon' have'ta go slow though," I muttered. I felt my stomach twist at the thought of running around all day. I leaned heavily against Daryl, my entire body going numb.
"When I went down, I didn't get bit, right?" I asked nervously. Something wasn't right. I'd had my fair share of concussions growing up. Shit, I'd fallen outta trees and whacked my head a lot harder than this and I back up in 'em the next day. This was different. This felt completely unnatural. I groaned as my insides twisted again, doubling over in pain. Daryl supported my weight as he pushed me back onto the couch, his free hand on my forehead.
"You're warm," he muttered. I groaned and threw a glance at Merle.
"Take 'Lana outside. Let Blade run 'round or somethin'," I barely managed to get out before another wave of nausea hit me, this time causing me to double over, dry heaving violently. Much to my surprise, Merle obeyed.
"C'mon, lil' lady, let's go get some sunshine," I heard him say. A moment later, I heard the door close as the trio made for the yard. Daryl squatted in front of me, his hands on my shoulders.
"Harleigh, talk to me," he murmured softly, a hand brushing my cheek. I groaned and leaned towards him, needing to feel something solid. Something real. My head throbbed. My stomach was in knots. Every movement sent a new burst of torture through my body.
"Was I bit?" I asked, tears in my eyes, fear causing my heart to race. My breathing started to come in rushed, panicked gasped. I struggled to get enough air which made me feel even more lightheaded.
"Harleigh, you need'ta calm down," Daryl coaxed. This was out of his comfort zone. He didn't know what to do to help. "Easy, breathe," he murmured, his hand still on my cheek. "Breathe."
I took several deep, shaky breaths before I was able to breathe normally again. The entire situation left me feeling weak and helpless, a feeling I certainly wasn't used to. Once Daryl was sure I wasn't going to hyperventilate again, he stood up, shaking his head as if he was lost as to what to do.
"Was I bit?" I asked again. Daryl had been avoiding the question for far too long.
She wasn't bit. Daryl knew that without a doubt. He and Merle both had made sure of that the second they closed the door to the damn cabin. They'd spent a good two hours inspecting every inch of her body to make sure she wasn't bit.
Daryl watched as she doubled over again, dry heaving violently. He was at a loss of words. He'd never seen anyone sick for no reason before. Could it just be from the concussion? Surely this wasn't just a normal bump on the head. Had she been scratched? They'd dug a lot of dirt and rocks outta various scratches the night before, but they both summed them up to being road rash more than anything else. She'd been dragged a good handful of feet before the bike came to a stop afterall. Surely…
No. Daryl didn't want to give himself, or her, any false hope. Something was clearly wrong and he had to do something about it. He refused to lose anyone else. He knelt next to her, taking her head in his hands. She was burning up. Her face was paler than he'd ever seen before. She was shaking, her muscles twitching every few moments. It bothered him. It made him feel caged, but he didn't know why.
"Need ya to lie down," he finally said, forcing her to lean back. She groaned, her face twisting as another wave of nausea hit. He kept one hand on her face, hoping it would bring some sense of comfort, before lifting her shirt. Much to his dismay, her wounded side was slick with ooze and dried blood.
"Shit," he hissed, his hand hovering over the wound. That explained everything.
Harleigh groaned again, this time, her body twitching more violently under his hands. Daryl brought his other hand to her face, trying to get her to tell him what hurt. But it was useless. She looked at him with terrified eyes, her lips going a terrifying shade of blue. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.
Daryl retrieved Merle and told Alana to go wait in the kitchen. The little girl obeyed the order without any complaints. When Merle saw the sound, his expression hardened.
"I've seen shit like this before," he said softly, his tone set. "An infection like that's gon' kill 'er before sunset if we don't act fast."
"What can we do?" Daryl asked, his voice barely audible.
"We uh…" Merle had a pained look on his face as he studied the wound. He'd seen wounds like this back in Woodbury. Idiots who acted without thinking. "We have to cut the dead flesh away and hope it'll be enough."
"Sure wish Hershel was here right now," Daryl sighed.
"Wait, ol' vet, he was on our side, right?" Merle asked, a doubtful expression on his face.
"He's got one leg, man, he can't come out this far without anyone else. No one else is gon' care if she dies," Daryl sighed sadly. "We gotta do it ourselves."
"Aw, shit, baby brother," Merle said, his only working hand gingerly pressing against Harleigh's forehead. "We gotta act fast."
Merle gave Daryl simple instructions as the younger of the two began hacking away at the dead flesh and muscle. Daryl couldn't believe that it got no reaction from the woman. She was completely still, her eyes closed, her breathing coming in uneven gasps. Once all the dead flesh was removed, Merle told Daryl to stitch it together as best he could. Daryl did so with careful hands. Once finished, Merle went up to the second floor of the cabin in search of something that could be used to dress the wound. A few minutes later, he returned with a clean bandage.
Once the wound was dressed, they waited. It was all they could do. Merle started to complain about how Harleigh was slowing them down, how the two of them should just leave and say fuck it, but Daryl would have none of it. He defended the woman until Merle finally backed off. The cabin grew silent after that, the only sound coming from Harleigh's weak, raspy breaths.
Glenn looked over at Maggie, who was still pissed about the whole situation. She wouldn't say it out right, but she had made it very clear that she hadn't agreed with the group's decision. Carl, on the other hand, openly made his opinion known.
"Are you stupid?" he had screamed at his father, his hands balled into fists. "Sending them away like that? Are you that fucking stupid?"
"Enough!" Rick said tiredly. The entire situation had worn the ex-sheriff out. "Enough."
"We did what we had to," Glenn said confidently, earning him a hateful glare from Maggie.
"We acted rashly," Hershel mussed. "We should have taken more time to discuss this."
"There wasn't time, Hershel, there's never enough time!" Rick boomed.
"I'm going after them," Michonne said lightly, her eyes narrow. "They're better people than you lot are." That was the most the mysterious woman had said since returning to the prison. Rick glared at her but made no move to stop her. Deep down, he knew it would have been pointless.
Michonne left without another word, taking to the trees with ease and skill. It didn't take her long to pick up on their trail.
It took the whole day to finally reach the point where the motorcycle had collided with the van. Michonne's first instinct was that they were dead, or at least injured, but at closer inspection, she realized they all must have made it out in one piece. Or so she hoped.
To her left, she heard the sound of something growling. She drew her katana, her stance guarded. She blinked when the familiar looking dog, drenched in blood, came limping towards her. The red reflector was gripped in his mouth. Michonne's attention shifted. Something wasn't right. She could feel it.
"Where are they?" she hissed to the dog, who looked at her with hopeful eyes before limping off into the trees. It was then that she saw the deep, open wound in the dog's side. There was no way that dog should still be standing. Michonne shook her head in amazement. Now she understood why Harleigh kept that dog close. That dog wouldn't die till she did. She followed him through the trees, her pace quickening as she picked up a messy, easy to follow trail. Wherever they were, they had went there in a hurry. It made her even more uneasy to know they had to travel on foot. Harleigh was still injured, though she masked it well, and that little girl couldn't go for more than a few hours at a time. As she followed the dog, her heart began to sink. There was no way they were all still alive. She had a sick feeling she wasn't going to like what she stumbled upon.
A/n – I couldn't sleep so you all got another chapter outta me, how's that? :D Anyway, haha, yeah had to give you guys a little taste of what was going on in the prison. And because I've always been a faithful Michonne fan, of course I had to send her off to be with the rebels. :) Let me know what you all think! Keep in mind, italics are used for flashbacks/dreams. :)