The problem of what to do with the eighteen prisoners is debated in Council; Carol and Daryl try to deal with Deanna's refusal to change their living arrangements, and a vital decision about the Wolves is made.
The Eighteenth Man
"I don't agree." Morgan said, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning back in his chair at the other end of the table from Deanna.
"Big surprise." Rick said with disgust. He was beside the ASZ leader, at her right hand.
"What alternatives do we have?" Deanna asked from the head of the table. "That's what we're here to discuss."
"You banished Davidson once before..." Aaron said from his perch leaning against the wall, all of the chairs already taken when he'd arrived, late, and then added wryly, "Didn't take."
"And keeping eighteen angry men locked up long term isn't an option. It's a drain on our resources and keeps them within striking distance. It's a recipe for disaster." Michonne said from her seat next to Rick.
"We've been through this before—how many times?" Carol asked, looking to Rick, then Maggie and Glenn, seated across the table from her next to Michonne, and to Daryl, sitting next to her, the core group who had been together since the Farm.
"This time we don't have the option of just taking them eight miles out or giving them a week's worth of supplies and a car and sending them on their way" Carol said, becoming more emotional as she continued. "This time they are not someone with just the potential to do harm! This time we know exactly what they are capable of. Ask Sasha, ask Tobin's sister, ask those boys who buried their mother yesterday. They came in here to kill us all—or worse—we all just watched Yang's testimony."
Everyone shifted uneasily. The account Erin had given of what she had witnessed during her time with the Wolves had been horrific. The depravity and violence, the disregard for anything resembling basic humanity had been sickening. What Glenn, Rick and Daryl had seen at Terminus when they'd been taken and lined up at that trough for butchering came closest to it, but Yang had lived among those kinds of people for half a year. It was remarkable she had come through it with her sanity intact.
"You still need to talk to them." Morgan insisted. "They deserve the chance to speak for themselves."
After hearing Yang's story, Deanna had started to reconsider her traditional policy of interviewing all new arrivals. She'd called this emergency Council meeting to get some input on how to proceed.
"You a lawyer before?" Daryl scowled at Jones, "Think we should Mirandize 'em and give 'em all a Public Defender?" he grunted, "Probably all just take the Fifth..."
"Wouldn't you want a chance to defend yourself? Explain your actions? If it was you captured by someone?" Morgan asked Daryl.
Daryl bristled, remembering how it had felt to be paraded out in front of the jeering crowd in the arena at Woodbury, accused of terrorism when all he had been doing was trying to rescue his friends.
"Or if you were caught doing something that looked wrong?" Maggie added, her eyes moving to Carol and back to Daryl meaningfully.
Daryl's eyes narrowed dangerously at her. He felt Carol's hand gently touch the back of his, resting on his thigh, and brought his thumb up and over her fingers to keep it there.
"Ain't none of us lily white. We've all done something, but this? This is war. They are war criminals." Abraham said, pointing at the TV screen where they'd seen Erin's testimony. "Last I heard they declared martial law in this country." and then he looked around the room for agreement.
"Is this still the United States? Do we still operate under the Constitution and the rule of law if there is no central government?" Deanna asked, her hands steepled in front of her on the table. "It's our task to decide what the rules are now, Abraham. Do we run this as a criminal court? A military tribunal? We're here to hear everyone's opinions before we make a decision."
"Look, you can play Twelve Angry Men all you want, but the bottom line is we have to do what's best for this community." Rick said, his head dipping toward his shoulder, his right hand gesturing to Deanna. "You already decided that meant Alexander Davidson had to go. He was told that if he ever came back he would be put to death. If we back off on that decision, everything starts to fall apart. People need to know who is in charge here."
"And just who is that, Rick?" Morgan asked, leaning forward and pinning Rick with his gaze. "Already saw you and her conduct one public execution since I got here." His eyes shifted to Deanna. "Didn't see anyone read him his rights before you had your man put a bullet in his brain."
"Maybe I should've just waited until after he killed my kids—no wait—that's you." Rick said, quiet and ugly, his face flushed.
"Rick!" Michonne gasped. Rick had told her Morgan's story, how he'd been unable to kill his wife, how her walker had killed their son. She knew what a truly terrible thing that was to lay at his feet. It had driven him insane for a time...just like Rick had been after he'd lost his own wife.
Morgan's faced looked carved from ebony; cold and silently seething, holding onto his control with sheer will.
Carol stared at Rick, sick with the recognition that the man who had left her alone in that dead town, the side of him that she had hoped he'd left behind; the frighteningly self-righteous would-be leader was still there, simmering below the surface.
Daryl's hand tightened on hers and she looked over at him, his face equally disappointed and concerned. The rest of the table had similar expressions of unease and distaste, unsure of what to do or say to get the derailed discussion back on track.
"I think we all need a break, we've been at this for hours." Deanna said evenly, breaking the tension. "We'll reconvene in an hour." Then in a much firmer tone she added, "Rick, Michonne? If you could stay, I have some questions about setting up new patrol rotations."
Morgan was the first out of his chair, leaving the room without a backward glance.
Carol stood, intending to go after him, but Abraham was already up and heading for the door.
"I got this." Abe said, his features somehow both grim and sympathetic. At Carol, Maggie and Glenn's questioning look he added softly, "I lived this." and headed out after Morgan.
"He had kids?" Daryl asked Glenn and Maggie in recognition that they had spent more time with Abe's group before Grady.
"I guess—he never said." Maggie told them, wondering how many others around her tried to just bury their past lives and go on living on top of the rubble.
"Beth asked me once—how come we got names for widows and orphans, but there's no name for someone who lost their kids..." Michonne said, her voice steady and warm but blinking back tears, surprising them all.
Rick looked at her. Like Carl and Judith, Beth had been everyone's child; his eyes went next to Carol and Deanna, whose children he'd also seen buried, and then he lowered his head.
"Quiet down there—kids all watching a movie?" Carol asked, putting down the book she'd been reading when Daryl came into their room. She was sitting up in bed, propped up by a couple of pillows, a pair of readers perched at the end of her nose. The nightstand lamp was on, giving her a little light to read by, but it was after seven o'clock and almost full dark outside so the rest of the room was in shadow.
"Rick let 'em go over to the boys' house to get some game they left over there that they just had to have and remember? Enid's helping deliver the casseroles tonight." Daryl said, leaning his crutches up against the wall by the door and then placing his crossbow next to Carol's sniper rifle on top of the dresser.
"Oh right." Carol said absently. The girl had volunteered to take on the duty when Carol had been assigned to the Clinic. It was only today that the regular routine of deliveries had started up again.
"Your head feelin' any better?" Daryl asked solicitously, limping over to the bed and sitting down on the side, facing her. After the marathon Council meeting today she'd gotten the flashes and tunnel vision that signaled the onset of a migraine.
"I'm fine Daryl." Carol told him, lifting her book to resume reading, but he could see that pinched vertical line between her brows was more pronounced and she was squinting.
"Shouldn't really be readin' without a good light; s'hard on your eyes." Daryl told her bluntly.
"And thank you, Dr. Dixon." She said crossly, reaching over and pulling the small lamp closer to her on the nightstand, in the process knocking the condom box off onto the floor.
"You tryin' to tell me something?" Daryl asked, bending down to get the box.
"Isn't I have a headache considered enough of an excuse these days?" Carol grouched.
"Shit!" Daryl bit out and tried to scoop the spilled packets back into the box but they were slithery slick against one another and kept slipping out of his fingers. He was leaning so far over to reach them that he knocked into the nightstand, upsetting the lamp.
"Oh for Christ's sake, what are you doing?" Carol said, fed up. She threw the book down and glared at him.
"Tryin' to pick up the fuckin' condoms you knocked off—that all right with you?" Daryl grouched right back.
"Just leave them." Carol said icily. "You're not going to need them tonight." And then she righted the lamp, pulling it right to the edge to give the maximum amount of light so she could go back to her book.
Daryl slowly sat up. He waited for her to acknowledge him, but she ignored his expectant posture and stare.
"I tried Carol. I asked her—spoke to her in person—she wouldn't budge." He finally said, knowing what she was freezing him out about. After the meeting today he'd told her Deanna's negative decision on their housing request.
She didn't respond.
"You can try talking to her yourself." Daryl tried, "It's just... she sees how much the boy...she said she can see he wants—"
"You said you'd do what I wanted." Carol rounded on him, taking off the reading glasses and throwing the book down so she could meet his eyes.
"Well..." Daryl said, his hand plucking nervously at his chin whiskers, "...maybe want you want and what you need are two different things this time."
Carol's gaze flashed with anger, fear and something else that he recognized as betrayal.
"I told you I can't do this, Daryl." She said, her voice shaking. She pulled the blanket off of her and slid down the bed around him and off to stand beside it. She was dressed, wearing the same clothes she'd been in all day. She quickly went to the closet and stood up on her tiptoes to retrieve a small packed duffle bag off a shelf and then went to the dresser to grab her trench knife and triage bag.
"Runnin' away again?" Daryl asked, his gravel laced voice full of controlled pain.
"I want you with me Daryl, but I can't stay here." Carol said, her look pleading with him to understand. "I'll be at Aaron and Eric's. There's room for you there too."
"You sure?" Daryl asked bitingly and he picked up the small green book she had been reading and held it out to her.
Carol stared at him, tears filling her eyes at his jealous insecurity and then she shook her head at him in sorrow. She came close enough to take Morgan's Zen book out of his hand and unzipped her duffle to put it inside.
Daryl grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
"Don't leave me." He said with soft desperation, thinking of all the times he'd almost lost her, had been too stubborn or insecure to just claim her—no, to tell her how he felt about her.
"I'm not leaving you." Carol said. She dropped the book and the bag, pulled her wrist from his grip, lifted her hands to cup his face gently, and leaned in to kiss him tenderly.
When she lifted her mouth from his, she pushed his ridiculously long bangs off of his face and looked into his watery blue burning eyes.
"I love you, Daryl," Carol said, her tears spilling over, "but if I stay in this house and let myself love that boy it will kill me when he dies."
"Carol! Daryl! We got a Code Red!" Carl shouted from the hall, pounding on their door.
Leaving her duffle on the floor Carol ran and got Daryl's crutches for him and then they both grabbed their weapons and headed out the door.
The campfire felt hot on his face, the smell of smoke heavy and oppressive—had he fallen asleep too close to the center of the circle of exhausted people sleeping around the low fire?
Abraham felt woozy, muddle-headed, like he was coming off a week long bender. That rot gut shit 5th of whiskey he'd scrounged outa an abandoned car two days ago was gone—why the fuck did he have a fucking hang over? He rolled up into a crouch, feeling the pavement hard on his hands and knees, felt his stomach roil and vomited, throwing himself back into a sitting position when he was done.
The sound of breaking glass drew his head up with a snap and he saw a house—a burning house—illuminating the night sky directly in front of him. The fire was well engaged with flames leaping up and out of the windows. He looked around wildly and saw another body lying in the street a few feet away and half crawled, half walked to it, turning it over.
"Eugene!" Abe shouted and shook the other man and then checked his pulse—strong but slow. Abraham slapped him hard and he began to stir, groggy and confused.
"Abe! What the hell happened?" Michonne yelled, running down the street towards him, katana raised. "Code Red is the prison houses! Code Red!" she yelled into her walkie talkie.
She wore her constable's uniform; Abe frowned, thinking that he missed her form fitting vest; missed Carol's cleavage and grabable ass hidden under her Junior League shit, missed Rosita's bare belly on display regular-like... Alexandria was hell on the women's wardrobes.
"Alexandria..." Abe muttered, shaking his head to clear it, looking around him. They were behind the Zone walls, safe. He was pulling night guard duty over the prisoners; him and Eugene.
"Abraham!" Michonne yelled again.
"Don't know...I...don't know..." Abe looked over at Eugene again and he was rousing, looking around, just as confused.
"Oh my god—you're safe—oh thank god!" Rosita cried, tackling Abe where he sat. Spencer had already called the fire in from the tower outside the walls and the general alarm had sounded, bringing everyone running.
Tara and the new woman, the doctor, were right behind her, carrying the same triage backpacks as Carol. Tara went to Eugene, fussing over him as well while the doctor knelt beside Abraham. Rosita released her strangle hold on her lover so he could be examined.
"How did you get out? Did you inhale any smoke?" Erin asked, holding his chin and using a pen light to check his pupil reactions.
"Dunno—woke up here in the middle of the goddam street!" Abe said, still feeling dazed.
"You're dilated a bit..." Erin said, frowning. "Open up." she ordered and then checked his airways.
She moved over to check Eugene and found him in the same state.
"Are they all right?" Carol asked, running up, out of breath and sliding to a stop beside Abraham. She had her medical bag and was trailed by Carl, Enid and Ron. Daryl had stayed back at the house with Sam and Judith.
"I think they were drugged." Erin said, looking up at Rick who had just ran up with Deanna. "No sign of smoke inhalation and they didn't make it out of there on their own steam—someone got them out...just them..."
Rick glanced at Carol and she held his eyes and gave him a tiny back and forth shake of her head.
More people arrived and Sasha supervised the running of several garden hoses from nearby houses to try and contain the blaze, but the best they could do in the end was water down the roofs and sides of the houses to either side of the two that were burning out of control.
The two houses that held the Wolves.
In the morning Deanna, Morgan, Daryl, Rick and Abraham watched as Eugene poked through the smoking ruins, taking samples. The bodies had already been removed; the few that had reanimated were put down and all of them laid out in a row on the street in a make-shift morgue, covered by tarps and old sheets, being examined one at a time by Yang with assistance from Carol, in a white plastic tent set up in the front yard of the house next door. There were the same number of bodies as there had been captives in each house, a total of eighteen.
"Anything to report?" Deanna asked.
Eugene was wearing a surgical mask, light blue CSI style coverall and vinyl gloves and was carrying a wire basket with corked test tubes and screw top sample jars. He pulled down the mask before speaking.
"Need to get it back to my lab, but I am 99.1 percent confident that I will be able to show that an accelerant was used." Eugene said.
"So someone definitely set the fires." Deanna sighed.
Erin came out of the tent, pulling off her face mask and gloves, and walked over to the knot of observers.
"They all show signs of smoke inhalation. I'm pretty sure that's what killed them—they were dead before the fire got to them." Yang said. The scrubs she wore were a cream yellow and marred with traces of ash, blood and other fluids.
"Think they used the same stuff as on me n' Eugene? Drugged them?" Abe asked.
"There are several kinds of anesthetic agents that don't leave a chemical trace. It could've been introduced as a gas, through ingestion or injection. I'll do what tests I can on the lung and tissue samples from the victims...I don't really have a lab...maybe I can talk to Mr. Porter and see what equipment he's gathered?" Erin looked at Eugene and smiled.
"Any way in which I may be of service, ma'am." Eugene responded in his usual wooden tone, but then, looking shy, ducked his head and nodded.
"So you're investigating these as murders?" Morgan asked, sounding skeptical.
"Are you saying we shouldn't?" Rick asked coldly, knowing his integrity was being questioned.
"You planned to execute them all—why not just write it off as a job well done?" Morgan shrugged, and then added sarcastically, "That's what you do around here, isn't it? That's what passes as justice in the Alexandria Free Zone? No one left alive to question it?"
"They're not all dead." Deanna said flatly.
Rick looked at her sharply.
"But there are eighteen bodies." Dr. Yang protested. "That's how many Wolves you took."
"Deanna." Rick cautioned.
"They need to know." Deanna disagreed. "Rick and I were questioning Davidson last night. He wasn't here when the fire started. We have him in lock down at a secret location."
"What?" Erin said, looking horrified. "The Lupus Dei is still alive?"
"Then who is the eighteenth man?" Eugene asked, his puzzlement mirrored in the faces of those around him.
"Maggie and Glenn are doing a door to door today to see if we're missing any one," Deanna said, "We're telling people it's just a precaution, making sure people have fire extinguishers after last night reminded us of that vulnerability."
Erin and Morgan, the two newest arrivals looked a bit shell shocked at the ease with which these people practiced subterfuge, but Daryl, Abe and Eugene nodded along with what the ASZ leader was saying.
"Run us through everything you remember from last night." Rick asked the two survivors of the incident.
While Rick continued questioning Eugene and Abraham, Daryl worked his way over to the tent where Carol working labeling the samples that had been taken from the burned bodies. The irony of it was lost on neither of them.
Carol had an odd look on her face and was shaking her head at something she was looking at on the folding table in front of her.
"What's wrong?" Daryl asked, frowning at her. "You okay?" he asked.
She'd come back to the house with Rick and the kids to try and get a few hours of sleep last night when the fire was finally out. Exhausted from the night's events, she'd simply curled herself around him on the couch where he'd held vigil waiting for them to return, and had fallen asleep in his arms.
Sam carefully poking them announcing breakfast was ready had her waking and looking at up him with the saddest small smile Daryl had ever seen.
"What do these look like to you?" Carol indicated a plastic container filled with lumps of burnt black flesh.
"Barbeque." Daryl drawled.
Carol glared at him.
"Sorry, but I ain't gonna get all broke up over a bunch of murderin' rapin' assholes gettin' taken out and solvin' our problem for us." Daryl shrugged, and then felt a pang of regret, recalling that one of the dead might be one of their own. He was about to reveal that tidbit of information when she called him over.
"Come here." Carol said, backing over to the final body which was still on the exam table. She lifted the sheet and Daryl grimaced at the blackened corpse which had curled into fetal position.
"I'm lookin'—what am I supposed to be seeing here?" Daryl asked. He could see where samples had been excised from the skin to determine the degree of burn in a few locations, but not much else.
"What's not there?" Carol asked.
Daryl looked closer.
"She cut off his dick?" His eyes went wide and then he looked over at Carol.
"She cut off all of them." Carol told him, "There are eighteen in that container."
"Oh Holy Shit."
AN: Yes, it got a bit angsty for Caryl & now we have a murder mystery. So many possible suspects, eh? Who do you think is responsible? And who is the 18th man?
Mwahahaha!