AN: Firstly, this chapter is completely unbetaed. Secondly, I'm really not sure I achieved what I set out to do. It could just be that I've had no feedback on this chapter before posting so I'm not feeling confident. I can be silly like that I want to say how much I appreciate everyone that took the time to review. I realise Merle is nowhere near as popular as Daryl so the vast difference in feedback will take a period of adjustment, but the reviews for last chapter were so wonderful that I had to say it here as well. I'm about to go reply after posting this, but just know, thank you! Feedback really does help keep the ball rolling, whether you think so or not! Now, onward we go…
Part Two
Carol
"Are you all right?"
She stands over them, imposing, dark, beautiful and glorious and while Andrea nods a reply to the question, Carol tries to ascertain with a quick consultation with herself if she actually is okay. She's not so sure that she is, but can she imply any differently when she's alive, free from bites and scratches, and staring wide-eyed at their saviour? Her body is in agony, her breath causing actual pain on every intake and she knows she's going to have to get up, start moving again and just doesn't know if she has what it takes to get it done.
"Who are you?" This is what she says because she knows answering the woman's question is far too complicated for her oxygen deprived brain to handle.
The stranger flicks down her hood and the frown on her face seems darker now, more suspicious even though it's plain to see that Carol at least is no threat and that both of them are spent after fleeing relentless danger through the length of the night.
"My name is Michonne. And you?"
"Andrea," the blonde quickly interjects, "and this is Carol. We were staying at a farm near here but got separated from our group when a herd hit it last night."
She nods in acknowledgement of Andrea and then bends down, eyes straight and no nonsense as she stares straight at Carol.
"Can you walk?"
Carol frowns, not so sure she wants to, even if she can peel herself off the bed of leaves she feels glued to. Her whole body is screaming at her to not move even one muscle, and there's no way she can hold in the agonised moan that spills from her lips the second she tries. Andrea is there helping her, her arm around Carol's back as she's hauling her to her feet, flinching at the tears that are now making tracks down her face.
"We cannot stay here," Michonne warns them, her expression not quite friendly but not so hostile as before, either.
"I can walk," Carol says, and with shaky legs, she takes one step and almost cheers when her knees stay solid and she's left upright in order to take one more, and then another. With Andrea's help she strings several together and they are mobile, though she can tell that her friend is just as exhausted as she is. She sure hopes Michonne has a plan to stop somewhere close by because she just doesn't think they have the energy after hours of running to go far.
Their progress is slow, but at least they just have to worry about putting one foot in front of the other as Michonne takes care of any walkers that stumble too close. Many heads end up rolling along the forest floor, and every time Carol struggles to keep her stomach contents from introducing itself to the outside world. Her lids are drooping when finally Michonne hisses at them to stop, jerks her head toward the right at a path Andrea and Carol have missed as they shuffle one torturous step at a time toward an unknown destiny. They turn back to the path, Michonne following and leading her walker pets behind her. Carol glances back now and then; they give her the creeps. This whole, silent situation gives her the creeps. She can't stop the fanciful thoughts that start running through her mind, of that fancy sword of the woman's being wielded with destructive intent in their very near future.
A small cabin rises up out of the woods like a phoenix from the ashes of their destroyed lives and Carol nearly chokes on the sob that bursts from her. She wants to stay in that cabin. She doesn't care if a herd swarms around them while they sleep—she's as done as she's ever been and she can't drum up the will to care.
"Stay here," Michonne orders and Carol finds she has absolutely no problem following that instruction at all. What she does have trouble with is staying on her feet, already sensing the sway that has begun on her spaghetti legs could gain enough momentum soon to take Andrea and her supporting body out with her.
"It's clear," Michonne announces, tying her mutilated walkers to the stair railing out the front of the cabin. "We can stay here for a day, maybe two, for you both to rest. I didn't find any food, but I have a few cans in my pack." She eyes them both, noticing they have nothing with them other than the clothes on their back and the gun tucked into Andrea's waistband. "We will need to start looking for food and weapons as soon as possible."
"And clothing," Andrea adds. "These things are covered in walker blood and it feels like shit."
Carol bursts into inappropriate laughter at the thought of Andrea thinking of her wardrobe at a time like this. "We have to find the others," she says instead, trying to blot out all that she's lost. The farm, Sophia's grave, Dale, and now… "Rick and Daryl—"
"Probably already think we're dead and are long gone," Andrea says, and Carol knows it's the very last thing she's wanted to consider but also knows probably it's true. How could they possibly head back and what all hope was there really that even Daryl, as skilled as he is, can find them if they had the thought to try?
"So, we're on our own?" Her voice seems to have shrunk to something she can barely recognise and then she catches the flinch from Michonne and feels like an ungrateful bitch.
"Not alone," Andrea saves. "We have Michonne now. Girl power, baby. We'll be just fine."
Andrea is rubbing Carol's arm reassuringly, as concerned about things as Carol is but quickly assessing their options and coming up with no alternatives.
"Yes." Carol attempts to smile but even her face muscles are spent. "I don't think we even said thank you. We are so grateful you came along when you did. I'm pretty sure I was done for with that last one."
Michonne relaxes her severe expression for just a second, but it's enough for Carol to witness a tiny smile.
They stay for two days. By then Carol has recovered though her muscles still burn. They need to move on, scavenge for food and urgently, Carol needs a weapon that will wreak more havoc than her thick tree branch. Michonne leads them out of the woods into a town and still, it's hard work. They have such small energy reserves, already beyond hungry as the one can each of fruit and soup had been finished off the day before and it was hardly enough to sustain any kind of activity for long. Carol has never missed Daryl's gross Possums more. Suddenly she's terrified they'll never eat meat again, that with no skill to scrape together between the three of them to track and trap live game, they are going to starve as canned produce is snatched up by survivors in the same boat that they are in. They are surviving now, but how long can they continue like this? The question ticks in her brain and feeds her insecurities like wild flames in a dry bush.
It's an effort to push the darkness away, and every time they encounter a walker, Carol has to shove it back even harder. Eventually, she fears, the burden will get to be too dense, too overwhelming to push behind the need to survive and that moment, she knows, will be her last. She wants to be stronger, like she can see Andrea and Michonne are—two lawyers who had already been equipped for the ugliness of life, if not explicitly for the plague of death that suddenly befell the world.
Michonne's pets stumble along behind them, so at least she doesn't have to deal with continual running as the walkers just can't move that fast, but her heart is in her throat every second, her nerves ready to shred her apart whenever they stumble too close to her. Neither she nor Andrea have had the courage to ask Michonne why she has them—they haven't been able to get Michonne to say much of anything, in fact.
Just before nightfall they stumble upon a town. It is quiet, almost too quiet, and the absence of any walker presence at all sets her teeth on edge rather than relaxes her. Carol feels like she's in a perpetual state of fear and fully expects her heart to give out at any moment. Michonne is spurred into action, looking up one way then the next before dragging her walkers toward what looks like a small grocery store.
"We need to find food and water. In the morning we will search the other stores for weapons, blankets, clothes, anything else we might need." Together with Andrea she shoulders the door of the store open and the three of them enter, Michonne going first, sword brandished threateningly as she checks for any walkers inside. The lack of any just adds to Carol's misgivings. She's on edge—not knowing if all the walkers in this town combined with the herd that crushed Hershel's farm or if they have gathered someplace else and will descend back on the town as soon as the women have settled.
"How on earth did you stay alive on your own all this time?" Andrea aims the question at Michonne, but Carol's ear is tuned toward the answer. It seems like a miracle that anyone could continue to live in this world on their own. Sophia hadn't been able to. Or Merle. Unless he had. She guessed they really didn't know one way or the other on that, though he'd seemed the kind of man who would trust no one, even with a bleeding stump where his hand used to be.
"I sleep in a lot of trees."
Carol snorted, immediately covering her mouth and looking at the other two women in shock. It feels like she hasn't smiled in years, let alone actually laughed at something. She can't remember when the last time was, but the image of Michonne sleeping in a tree with her walker bodyguards at the bottom should have been far from amusing, but for some reason to Carol, it really is the funniest thing. Maybe it is the straw that breaks her completely, as she succumbs to giggles that quickly turn into hysteria. Andrea is there immediately, her arms going around her and patting her back.
"What is wrong with her?"
Carol can hear the impatience and disrespect in the dark girl's voice, and she resents it. She may have saved their lives, but she didn't get to lay judgement on what they'd been through. Not as far as Carol is concerned. She doesn't know them, doesn't know that they've lost sisters and daughters, archer's who are guardian angels, men who would lay down their lives for them, friends newly pregnant.
"She lost her daughter not long ago. Weeks, if that."
Carol feels annoyed that Andrea would attempt to explain, suddenly doesn't want Michonne to know everything about her.
"I'm fine," she reassures, wandering away from them and down the aisles of the store to find anything they can possibly eat. There's plenty there, if you wanted hand towels and plastic garbage bags. Bathroom cleaners. Mops. Any aisle that contained canned food is a mess, and in a spot of desperation, Carol lies on her belly to look beneath the shelves, sliding closer to pull out the cans that have rolled away in someone else's haste. She finds canned vegetables but her stomach is craving something more, something heavier so she continues the search, starting to stack what she does locate on the floor beside her.
She goes from aisle to aisle until she has a small pyramid of cans: fruit, vegetables, some tomato soup, one can of spam, a can of Hunter's Pork stew that makes her salivate, two cans of beans and three cans of ricecream. She's terrified that the sweetness will rip through their bodies, causing cramps and diarrhoea, but she's past caring, her belly growling so loud she would rather suffer than die of hunger, no matter how it decides to punish her body.
She is about to stand and go in search of can openers when Michonne is there, dropping a carry basket at her knees, a can opener already sitting inside. Carol quickly loads her bounty into it and stands, ready to move on but Michonne stalls her with one hand against her arm.
Carol pauses, looking at her hand in confusion before searching the other woman's gaze. What she sees is loss, and tears of hopelessness springs to her eyes.
"I'm sorry about your daughter," Michonne says, and Carol just nods. "I know what it's like, that kind of pain." They stare at each other and Carol is unsure what it is Michonne wishes to impart. Perhaps it is enough for them to connect, to know each other as mothers who have lost their whole world and now have nothing left but to continue to live each moment as if it will be their last. She can't help but wonder if Michonne ever has weak moments where she wants to give in, let those moments slide through her fingers and forget this world ever existed.
"Tomorrow we will find you a weapon." Michonne is certain on this and Carol has no reason to doubt her. "You may need to use it to protect Andrea or myself as well as defend yourself."
She's barely said a handful of words and just like that Michonne has reminded her that there is still purpose in the world—still responsibilities. She may want to cut out of this world and reunite with Sophia some days, but ultimately, she owes Andrea and Michonne her life and at the times they both had saved it, Carol had been fighting for it. Not giving up. Not surrendering to the swarm of walkers that had tried to take them down.
"Yes," she says, making a pact with herself. "I need a weapon. And some boots. These shoes…"
Michonne glances down and frowns. "Those shoes are useless."
Carol flinches even though the cuts and bruises her feet have sustained through the flimsy footwear prove the dark woman's point irrevocably.
They set up in a back office, closing the curtain before Michonne sets light to a small pile of papers and twigs. She and Andrea have collected a decent stash of wood to burn so that they have light and heat and so they crowd around it on the floor.
Andrea hands out forks that she's found in the store, selling in two packs, and Carol delights in not eating from the can like an animal.
Andrea chews thoughtfully, staring at the fire before speaking. "We need a plan."
Michonne and Carol nod, waiting to hear what Andrea has to offer next, but her lips have fallen still and Carol watches her uncertainly.
"I agree. We definitely need a plan," she prompts, waiting. Still nothing. Andrea and Michonne are silent and Carol stamps down her annoyance. "Okay, this is good. We can do this. We have a mini-plan, right? Food, clothes, weapons. What we need is transport—" Michonne's docile pets come to mind and Carol knows without a doubt she's not sharing a vehicle with those things, even if they don't have teeth or arms anymore, they still make her want to run for miles. "We need somewhere safe to stay. Are we gonna stay in Georgia? Are we gonna look for Rick and the others?"
"We need to keep to ourselves," Michonne interrupts the flow of her thoughts and Carol stops abruptly. "The only way to stay safe is to make sure no one else knows we are around. We need to keep alert, keep moving—"
"Moving where? We can't just spend the rest of our lives wandering half-starved through the woods. There has to be some purpose, some reason to keep going with this."
"There is a reason," Michonne grates out harshly. "We stay alive, we keep ourselves from being raped or murdered. By all means go if you're so desperate to find your group, just don't be so surprised when some other predator takes you out before you get there."
"Look, the situation is hell, I think we can all agree on that," Andrea steps in, the voice of reason trying to tone down Carol's panic. "Carol, I don't think we can find Rick and the others. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that we have no idea which way they went—which way we went. Our priority here is to each other—to stay alive. We're it now. We're all we have."
And that stark, final, horrible reality hits Carol right down deep in her soul. Just the three of them, wandering the earth like nomads, scrounging like beggars for food, trying to stay one step ahead of groups of men like Randall, and trying to keep warm in the rapidly approaching winter. The pathetic nature of this life they have ahead of them is cruel to the extreme. She wants to scream at how unaccepting of it she is, but there is no choice, nothing left for her to do but to follow and try to pull her weight in this new trio she finds herself a part of.
A painful knot of tears swell in her throat as she spears a carrot from her can and tries to chew it down enough to swallow. She gulps and it hurts. "I don't want to be a burden." Her fear comes out as a whisper but as it hits the air, Michonne sighs and her butt hits the floor, her sword scraping against the tile as it swings from her back.
"You won't be," she confirms. "I won't allow it. Nobody can be a burden in this world anymore. If you are, you're dead."
"Then I don't want to be dead." It's a strong declaration and Andrea looks up and smiles at her, leaning across and taking her hand, squeezing it hard.
"I'm so glad," Andrea says, and in that moment, their pact to each other is sealed.