Carol's head itched and felt oddly light and cool in the noonday sun. She had forgotten how unencumbered she could feel without her protective mane of hair. For all the act of cutting it off had been a symbolic break with the past, she still couldn't dislodge the tight sensation in her chest like a wad of pain and anger that she had not allowed herself to experience in a long time.
It was a feeling of powerlessness akin to being under Ed's thumb, to watching Sophia stumble out of the barn that awful day, to the realisation that nowhere on earth was safe without paying a price too dear for her sanity.
Rick had made her feel that way. Whatever way she cut it, his cruelty and greed had caused Cheryl and the Harrowers to hunger for revenge. The fact that he had fallen into their hands made her head swim with an overwhelming sense of justice.
How easy it would be to delay, to let him have a taste of what those women had suffered.
As satisfying as the idea felt she knew that it would not undo everything that his actions and decisions had caused. All it would do was make the circle keeping spinning.
It stuck in her craw that he was still controlling things. After all, it was Rick's plan that she was helping to execute. Who knew what betrayals he might spring on them as soon as he was cut loose? Her instincts screamed at her to let him hang, but then where would they go from there? Back to their ruined home to starve and rot.
Like so many times in the past she prayed for faith – not the comforting type she had once held in justness of God's will. Instead she sought the steady belief that Daryl had – the deep-seated conviction that everything would be alright as long as they had each other.
Sometimes this belief was sufficient for the two of them. It kept her clothed and fed and moving in a forward direction. Other times, the stubborn pain would return like an ache in her joints, reminding her that hope was a lie, that love was futile.
She had looked into Cheryl's face and felt a blinding hatred for her, but thinking back she was struck with pity for what the woman had endured. She felt a sense of kinship that was chilling. Perhaps she deserved her revenge. Perhaps Rick deserved to be punished, if only a little, if only as a reminder that he was mortal too.
We are none of us gods, Carol reminded herself. We are masters only of our own lives – if we are lucky.
Sophia, Lizzie, Pip – all those she had loved who had fallen victim to this cruel world – none of them had ever hurt a soul. They had remained innocent, if only because they had not survived long enough to be corrupted.
Carol could not claim innocence – she had far too much blood on her hands. Perhaps by making the difficult choice she could claw back some of that lost innocence and throw it into the world.
As exhausted as she felt, as heartsick as she was, she knew what she had to do.
He heard laughter ringing through the valley. It was the sound of triumph – the song of the victor over the vanquished. As Daryl sat astride his bike, he felt a hint of sadness that it would soon end, that their joyful celebration would turn to screams of terror.
Men had gone in on foot to recce the area and what they reported back made him cautiously hopeful. There were no scouts protecting the valley, and Daryl could only hope that it was a sign of their arrogance and not a ruse to draw them into a trap.
If they approached quickly and quietly enough, they would be in the perfect position for an ambush. However, one hint that they were moving in and the Harrowers would unleash their full wrath on the invaders, not the mention Rick.
He squinted up and the sky and saw that the sun was beginning to flag. It would soon be nightfall. Beside him, rows upon rows of trucks and armoured vehicles lay at his command. Among his allies he saw the faces of Abraham and Sasha, Michonne, Eugene and Rosita. Carl and some of the others from Fort Sophia insisted on riding on horseback. They had little experience in driving vehicles, let alone fighting in them.
Time was swiftly passing, but he knew they could not proceed without the others.
'We doin' this?' Abraham queried. 'Or we gonna sit here holding our privates?'
And then he heard it – the tell-tale rumble in the distance that made his heart soar. It was the noise of dozens of engines thundering towards them. The sound of victory. Soon the clamour would reach the ears of the Harrowers down below.
Daryl gave the signal. It was now or never.
Rick could feel the entire right side of his face thicken and swell. His eye was completely shut and blood was caked in his hair, the result of a vicious kick from a particularly nasty boot.
The pain was clarifying. He realised that he had long felt the leaden weight of responsibility combined with the supreme effort it took to deaden his conscience. It felt like nothing so much as boredom. He loved Michonne and the kids and would do anything for them, but every glance in the mirror at his handsome, well-fed exterior was a reminder of how much he had stolen from others, how much they had suffered for his prosperity.
What happened at Fort Sophia had brought home to him the cost of his survival. Now, every blow and kick that landed on him was a taste of the defeat that he had inflicted on so many others.
He saw himself as he used to be in those early days, so pure of intention, so clear in his mission to protect those he loved. He looked into the eyes of the younger man and asked with the utmost sincerity, 'How did we get here?'
'You walked us here, brother,' his other self replied. 'Step by step.'
After clinging so desperately to life for so long, all hope suddenly escaped him like an exhaled breath. He wondered if they would take pity on him in the end, or if they would force him to linger on as a Walker – the final ironic punishment. He prayed for a swift bullet to the head.
And then he heard it, a terrible cacophony the likes of which he recalled from distant memory – the sound of a hundred engines roaring in unison. Rick saw the Harrowers react in fear and confusion as vehicles came bursting into the encampment from all sides.
They were here. They had come.
He had no time to revel in the success of his plan, nor to indulge the temptation to sob in gratitude. Instead, he leapt to his feet and shouted:
'Harrowers – hear me speak. I know what you must think of me. I know you blame me for what happened to you. In many ways I am to blame. I turned my back on you when you needed my help. I turned you over to men who abused you. I am ashamed of what I did. I'm sorry –'
As he spoke, Rick realised that it was true. He was sorry. For once his words didn't have an ulterior motive. In that instance, he wasn't looking to gain leverage. Other than his own miserable life, he didn't have a thing to gain by his confession.
Confession.
He recalled the words of the Confiteor that the members of Maggie's church spoke with such simple conviction at the beginning of every service. The words ran through his mind like a mantra: 'I confess to Almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do…'
He had never considered the words before, but now repeating them in his mind he felt humbled, even penitent.
His moment of realisation did not last long as Cheryl pointed her handgun directly at his face.
'Call off your people.'
'I can't do that, Cheryl.'
'Call 'em off,' she repeated, her careful speech giving way to a fearsome snarl. 'Or they'll have to drag your corpse home.'
'You do that and they'll destroy you,' Rick explained. 'You killed their people – people from Alexandria, Fort Sophia, Hilltop. They want justice.'
He watched the subtle changes in her expression, awaiting her next move, all the while pondering if she would allow her people to be massacred for her sake. His hands were tied behind his back and his impaired eyesight hampered his chances of escape, but he was suddenly impelled to fight for his life.
The slightest movement of her hand caught his attention. Just as she turned the butt of her gun at her temple, he dived at her. The gun went skittering across the ground.
'They ain't gonna hurt you – not unless you force them to. Look – you're surrounded. Someone starts firing and we got ourselves a bloodbath.'
Cheryl's mouth remained clamped shut in fury. Rick addressed the crowd once more. 'We don't want your lives. We want to live in peace, and we can. All you have to do is choose.'
He looked around at the women's faces and saw some frozen in fear, others grimacing with hatred.
'You can go down in a blaze of glory or you can help us build something – build a new world. No more barons, no more dealing in human lives. Everyone equal.' Rick realised as he spoke that he meant it. He was making a pledge he intended to keep – even though he had no idea how.
A young, malnourished woman spoke up shyly, revealing a mouth full of missing teeth. 'Maybe we should do it.'
Another, carrying a rifle in her arms like an infant, spat on the ground in contempt. 'Liar! We set him loose and they'll kill us all – or sell us back to the slavers.'
All eyes were trained on Cheryl, straining to see her reaction. Rick knew that it would decide the future of all of them.
Cheryl glared at her second-in-command for a long time. She was a handsome middle-aged woman armed with a modified Beretta sidearm. 'Kill him,' she hissed. 'Do it now!'
He dropped to the ground, rolling onto his stomach and crawling desperately in the dirt. He heard the first bullet hitting the ground behind his head and then pain ripped through his shoulder.
A third shot rang out and through a haze of pain, Rick saw his assailant fall to the ground, clutching her bleeding hand in agony. Taking advantage of the distraction, Rick grabbed Cheryl's gun and pointed it at her head, the pain dulled by adrenaline.
All eyes turned to see the source of the gunshot and Rick followed the direction of their shocked stare. He spotted Carol holding a smoking pistol in her hand, an inscrutable expression on her face.
Finally she found her voice. 'Are we done now? Don't you think we've spilled enough blood over this man?'
Rick noted no particular malice in her voice – she was simply speaking a simple truth. All the havoc he had caused in his life – he was done with it. He tried to catch her eye to express his gratitude, but her eyes were fixed on Cheryl, waiting to see what she would do.
'Stand down.' Her voice rang clearly across the valley, and it seemed that a great collective breath of relief was released. Not a single person in the throng knew what would happen next, but Rick knew what would not happen.
Nobody would die that day, and that at least was a start.