Daryl entered the kitchen and immediately froze, startled to find Carol sweeping up locks of hair into a singed pile. He looked up in shock to see her shorn head, reminding him so strongly of the first time he saw her all those years before.

He knew what her hair meant to her – it was attached to her feelings for Fort Sophia, tied up tightly to how she viewed herself as a mother and a woman. The new Carol had was born here had been burned away, just as it had been after the attack on the prison.

She faced him with a look of defiance, confronting him with her new appearance. He had just finished inspecting the devastated wreckage of their town, trying to rehouse displaced civilians – to suppress the gut-wrenching despair that threatened to take over. He came to her seeking comfort, but in place of his lover he saw a stranger.

'Carol…' he began.

'Shh.' She held out her hand to him. 'Come with me.'

He followed her up to the bathroom where she had filled the ancient tub with boiling water. She helped him undress before quickly shedding her own ragged and burnt clothes. As they climbed into the water he felt a strange kind of communion between them – one that went beyond words.

They gently washed one another, removing the physical traces of their ordeal. What they could not wash away was the sorrow that weighed them both down – the accumulated pain of all the loved ones lost, all the excruciating choices made.

'I gotta move forward,' Carol murmured as Daryl lathered her newly-cropped hair. She tried to persuade herself it wasn't a penance – remembering the tonsured heads of nuns she had seen as a girl. 'I can't… I can't…'

He shushed her, pulling her into his arms. 'I got you baby.' And then, 'She was our little girl.'

That was all it took for the floodgates to open. Carol began to heave great gasping sobs of anguish, her whole body shaking.

In all the years they had been together, Daryl had never seen her break down so completely. Her grief seemed never-ending, flowing from her like a torrent – almost frightening in its intensity. It was not just Pip she mourned, it was Sophia, Lizzie and Mika and all those she loved who had been taken from her. It amazed him that the woman who had built an image of herself as a fearless warrior and leader could shatter like this.

He held her tightly, hoping that his strength alone could keep her whole, knowing that he needed her courage, her wisdom and her guidance to steady him and keep him sane. The fearful image of Carol without hope, a broken shell of herself, had haunted him since their abortive mission to Atlanta to rescue Beth. He had seen flashes of what she might become without a reason to continue, allowing herself to sink into all-consuming numbness.

He had to keep her going. He needed her.

The water slowly cooled around them and Carol's breathing began to normalise. Eventually they climbed out and Daryl drained the tub, watching the sooty water sluice away. Carol allowed herself to be led into the bedroom where Daryl went to work with a towel, drying her limbs with care.

Not for the first time he wished that he had the words to comfort her, to tell her that the losses they had suffered had held some meaning. He once believed it too. At least then he could look at Fort Sophia and see the result of all of their hard work and pain. He could see a reason for leaving the relative safety of Alexandria, leaving Rick and all those they knew and loved for the unknown. Now all he could see was ashes.

'Carol…' he murmured, as if reassure himself that she was still there. She gripped his arms, pulling him into her embrace. They kissed deeply, gently caressing each other in silent communication. It was their own private ritual, their way of saying without words that they were still alive.

Daryl fell into an exhausted and dreamless sleep as soon as they had finished making love. Carol lay awake watching him until she could no longer avoid the inevitable.

The sun had risen and so must she. She dressed warmly and prepared to face the Harrowers once more.

Rick felt sick to his stomach as the jeep lurched along the empty country road that led to the arranged meeting point.

There was an air of wildness here that unnerved him – it made him fear that there were more than just Walkers hiding among the trees ready to devour him. He had heard tales of bears and mountain lions prowling the woods for unsuspecting travellers now that much of the smaller prey had starved or been eaten.

He felt out of control – his head woozy and his thoughts diffuse. His plan had seemed so logical and tricksy when he had laid it out to the tired and heartbroken residents of Fort Sophia, but in the light if day there were too many variables, too many unknowns.

It was clear that Cheryl and her followers were ruthless and bloodthirsty, but they also believed their cause was righteous. Strong belief suggested emotionality, and emotions could be exploited.

It had all been so easy to rationalise when he was behind high walls but now, as they neared the crossroads, Rick had the feeling of a lamb being led to the slaughter.

He looked down at his old tattered sheriff's hat clutched in his fingers – the one Carl had worn all those years. Judith had pressed it into his hands as he was leaving, earnestly saying 'Always remember, Dad.'

What had she meant? She was gone before he could question her. Fear settled in his stomach like icy pitch at the thought that he might not see her again. He struggled to remember his last words to her, but they were lost in the mess and confusion of Fort Sophia after the attack.

The memory of Carl cradling his children with relief made his heart contract with grief. The love and unity between them was devastating when realised that he was excluded from it – that what Judith had done more for Carl meant more than anything he had done for his son.

He tried to take comfort in his plan – his precious plan that depended so much on other people for its success. For all his bluster, he was completely in the hands of fate, he realised with wonder.

No, that wasn't true. He was in the hands of his friends.

Carol crunched the gears, reminding him of where they were and what their mission was. He felt horribly exposed out here with only her for company, besides the fact that he knew in his bones that she hated him. He wondered what she had planned for him if they got out of this alive. It struck him that in truth, he thoroughly merited whatever plan of revenge she had in store for him.

He was finally able to admit to himself that between the Harrowers and Carol, he was owed a big slice of retribution.

The roadblock came into sight, making his hands clench reflexively. He felt like a man going to his own execution, despite the veneer of unshakeable confidence that had become his defining characteristic. Truth was, he was terrified. Terrified of dying, of leaving his family to fend for themselves in this godforsaken world. Worst of all, he was scared of what he had done and what it meant for his soul.

Soul. It was an odd phrase – a remnant of times past when religion was the guiding arbiter of moral decisions instead of bleak, ghastly circumstance. It was a long time since he had worried about the condition of his soul, but Maggie's words returned to haunt him.

'I'm not asking you to find God, Rick. I'm asking you to find yourself, before it's too late.'

And then it hit him – the meaning behind Judith's cryptic words. She was asking him to remember the man he once was, the stranger who still dogged his heels at times, confronting him with his guilt. Rick Grimes – Officer Friendly.

He heard the hiss of a bullhorn spitting to life and snapped to attention. 'That's far enough, lady.' The smooth, crisp tones of Cheryl's voice were chilling in their lack of emotion.

Carol pulled over, allowing Rick to assess the force that lay ahead of them. The road was blocked by a fleet of armoured trucks and cars with a host of women displaying their weapons to full effect. It was an impressive sight, but what truly made Rick's jaw drop was the fire engine that was parked behind them. It was plated with armour like the other vehicles, but the hoses had been strapped together on the roof, hooked up to a huge gas canister and fitted with a pilot light.

They had constructed an enormous mobile flame thrower. Rick had to shake his head with awe and respect. He was no longer surprised at their ability to spread terror and destruction wherever they went. In a world where fear was power, it was the ultimate weapon.

Cheryl stepped down from her perch on the lead vehicle. The years that had elapsed since he cast her out of Alexandria hadn't altered her beauty. It shocked him how lovely she was despite everything that had happened, but there was a cold, abstracted look in her eyes that hinted at untold horrors.

'Rick Grimes,' she intoned. 'I wish I could say well met, but we've gone beyond pleasantries, wouldn't you say?'

'You're the woman who's responsible for destroying my home,' Carol said without preamble.

Cheryl eyed her with curiosity. 'I assure you that it was nothing personal. You had something I wanted – him.' She spoke simply and without a hint of apology, as if her words bore an innate logic that should be obvious to anyone.

'So you terrorised and murdered my friends.' Carol kept her voice neutral, but Rick would tell that under the surface, she was seething with hatred.

Cheryl looked impatient. 'That's the world now, isn't it?' She kept her eyes trained on Rick as she spoke.

'Tell me,' Carol persisted. 'What do you plan to do with Rick once I hand him over – kill him? And then what? Will you just go around burning towns, trying to sate your thirst for blood? Can you create anything or merely destroy?'

Cheryl cast her cold eyes over the other woman for the first time. There was irritation in her expression, but as she spoke Rick saw a manifestation of the deep loathing that she felt for him.

'Good question,' she replied meditatively. 'When Rick sold us back into slavery we were raped almost every day.'

Rick flinched at the casual horror of her words. Somewhere deep down, he must have known the fate he had condemned those women to when he sent them back to Burke. It had been all too easy to justify his actions – to tell himself that it was worth it for the sake of his people. Now he felt clothed in guilt and shame and regret.

Cheryl continued her brutal confession. 'I went into labour on Christmas Eve. It was breach and none of the women knew what to do. The men were blind drunk and the only doctor was in the next town. Burke couldn't be bothered to send for him when all his men were having such a fine time. The baby was born dead and I was almost taken with it. I was told I'd never have another child – it was a relief to me that I'd never be forced to go through that again. Can you believe that?'

She looked at Carol as if this was a normal conversation and she was truly seeking her opinion. Then she remembered herself. 'Yes, a relief. It was so perverse that I began to hate myself, but slowly my anger turned towards those who deserved it. They paid for their crimes and so must you.' She regarded Rick as one might a dead rodent that needed to be swept from a doorstep.

'And the rest of us?' Carol enquired. 'What about the innocent lives you've taken? You killed a little girl that I loved. She was seven years old.' She almost spat the words, such was the contempt that she felt. She was moved by her plight but unable to forgive her.

Cheryl held her in a penetrating stare before shrugging. 'In this world, the innocent die. But in reparation for your loss, I will allow you to return to your home and promise not to interfere with you again.'

She paused, her lips curling into a sinister grin. 'And to answer your question, I don't intend to kill your friend. He is going to suffer as we were forced to.'

Rick glanced at Carol in confusion. Surely she didn't mean…?

'Unlike me, many of the women in my group are fertile, and there's a lack of good breeding stock among us. We have to think of the future.'

A mounting horror threaten to overwhelm Rick at her words. Already he felt bile rising in his throat.

Two women stepped forward to bundle him into the back of one of the armoured cars. He saw Carol's white and drawn face as she weighed up her options. Slowly she turned and got back into the jeep.

Rick breathed deeply to calm himself. Stick to the plan, the mantra reverberated around his brain. Everything will be alright as long as you stick to the plan. His old sheriff's hat dangled between his fingers.

He guessed that two hours elapsed before the sound of rushing water reached his ears. On assessing his surroundings, he realised that they were entering a steep-sided river valley. The fields that ran alongside the dirt road were lush and green.

It was the perfect location for a settlement. It was also the perfect location for an ambush. As they drove further into the valley, Rick felt and increasing sense of alarm.

He saw women and girls emerging from wood and corrugated iron huts to watch the convoy approach. Hunger and poverty was etched into their faces, but instead of pity Rick felt only disgust and terror. The vague question of where the men were flitted through his mind.

He was hauled from the car and the first thing he felt was a stinging pain as his knees hit the dirt. Jeering faces gathered around to laugh and mock his prone figure while feet kicked him in the ribs and back.

A terrible realisation gripped his mind with every blow that landed. Nobody was coming. His friends had abandoned him.