Part Eight
Carol awakes from a heavy, drug-induced sleep knowing something is wrong. Eyes still closed, she hears the alarming sound of painful grunts, panicked screams and the sound of fists impacting against flesh.
She forces her lids up and even though her vision is blurred, and her throat catches painfully in her chest, Carol is forced brutally into an awareness of their predicament and it makes her even more sick than she already is. Sick with fear, sick with anger, sick and so full of bile and acid that she is determined to use it to destroy the sons of bitches that think they can just come and take whatever they want from them.
She senses the danger immediately, barely seeing it with her own two eyes but the fear this situation offsets seems to be one she's terrifyingly familiar with. Three men have invaded the shack they've found shelter in, so far ignoring Carol as she slept in the back corner. Michonne and Andrea are fighting like cats to keep them away, hissing and snarling and using every weapon in their arsenal, but it isn't enough and Carol swims out of her feverish haze to see that they are in very great trouble unless she can get out of bed and do something. She's never been the one to take action before, but these long months she has spent with Michonne and Andrea have taught her absolutely nothing if not that she has the ability, the drive, the sheer guts to do what needs to be done to stay alive. It is this force that gives her the strength to sit up, frantically trying to push her frail body into doing what she needs it to do.
Michonne doesn't have her sword and Carol knows that if the woman could reach it, these men would be gutted already on the floor, their insides painting a gratifying picture on the boards. Her strong face is bruised, blood spewing from a broken lip and a hopefully not broken nose, and while Carol forces herself to her feet, she sees that Andrea is almost done in, her clothes being torn from her body as the sick fucks laugh in her face, their filthy hands grasping handfuls of her and it just feeds Carol's rage. This. This is what Daryl had beaten Randall for, why he'd bloodied his hands, what he'd wanted them protected from, and as thoughts of her once scornful reaction to his methods run through her head, Carol surges to her feet, wobbling precariously.
"Come on, sugar," says the biggest one, and to Carol he is slightly out of focus until he rips Andrea's shirt right down the middle, and her blonde friend bucks up and screams in fury. "You're just a good for nothin' whore. Shut that pretty mouth before I plug it with my dick." They laugh, leering and drooling over every inch of Andrea's bared flesh and it stirs further the need to end it, as violently as she can.
There's another one holding Andrea's arms and his back is to Carol, and as she stumbles away from the bed, her body so weak she almost collapses on the floor, she painfully makes her way over to the scabbard, drawing out the sword in one graceful arc. Carol is so filled with fury that everything is red. Molten, swirling, many shades of red. Her vision hazes out completely and, dredging up strength she hasn't felt in days, she lifts the sword and with devastating intent, swings it fast in an arc that detaches the man's head and catapults it across the room to bounce across the floor. Carol blinks in shock, but already she's focused on the hard cock jutting out from the other one trying to force Andrea's knees apart. Andrea is sobbing, soaked in blood and gagging against the headless man that has landed on her. With both bodies down on the floor, Carol releases a guttural cry as she charges, katana outstretched. She skewers the pantless man and keeps running, the sword sinking straight through his flesh to the hilt. It sits against his stomach and Carol screams as his hands grasp at her arms, his fingers pinching into her flesh hard enough to leave bruises. Her knee comes up hard, slamming his balls straight up into his body. Her momentum slams to a stop as the tip of the blade lodges into a wall, but still feeling powerful from adrenaline, she yanks it forward a little and rips it up several inches through his flesh into his chest, before pulling it out and letting him slump, dying to the floor.
She knows there is one more, but there is blood everywhere, her bare feet slipping in it as it pools all over the floor, the heavy metallic scent of it overpowering and, as she leans forward to vomit, feeling drained and faint, the last man standing slams into her side and tackles her to the ground, the sword torn from her hands. Carol falls back, head slamming into the hard floor, her fevered flesh catching up with her shock and she's shivering, focusing badly on this animal that is raising the sword against her, high above his head. An explosion across the room shatters Carol's hearing and everything happens in slow motion—blood spattering across her face and chest, the sword falling, its blade about to slice into her as Andrea grabs her arms and drags her out of the way. She's keening brokenly, voice shredding a raw throat as she tries to make sense of it all. Tries to put distance between the enormity of what has just happened, backing into Andrea's embrace like a child. The man falls to his knees and Carol sees the blackened hole that enters his forehead, shards of his skull split wide enough for brain matter to be visible through the blood and bone, and then he tips forward and falls across her body hard. There is no stopping her now. One final look and shove and Carol collapses, vomiting, on the floor, Andrea not once letting her go.
The cabin echoes with their heavy, panting breaths, each of them lost in a horror replay of what has just transpired. Carol feels consciousness start to waver but clings to the ache of Andrea's hands as they dig into her body above her breasts where she's been dragged away from being split in half by Michonne's falling sword. Where they have dug in harder as she relieves the pressure in her gut all over the floor. When Michonne reaches them, all her adrenaline has seeped away and Carol needs their help to stand, to draw away from the mess left of their cabin.
"We need to clean up the blood," she says as she swipes the blood from her face and flicks it at one of their attackers. "Get changed, and then we move." She's strong, and even though her image is starting to swim out of focus, Carol nods her approval. They need to get out of here, and fast. The screams, the blood, the gun fire will draw walkers and they need to be gone before the crowd arrives.
"Carol can barely stand," Andrea says desperately, so Carol tries harder, desperation welling in her chest to not be the weak link—to not be the one they have to leave behind to survive, or the one that brings them down.
"Maybe…maybe you should go and leave me." The words are slurred, and Carol's eyes are dropping shut even as she can feel a wet cloth swishing over her face, then her body and her clothing being tugged from her and being redressed like she's little more than someone's barbie doll.
"Not a chance," Michonne hisses in her ear, but Carol passes out before the last word even registers.
Slowly, Carol registers that her feet are dragging along the ground, her boots stubbornly catching on tree roots and sticks, making all three women stumble. It feels like ages of listening to the girls huff and puff, groaning against her dead weight, but no matter how much focus Carol puts into making her limbs work, she can't force anything to move. They are exhausted from their ordeal earlier and from trying to support her as they flee to safety, but every time she is jostled awkwardly, a series of hacking coughs burst from her throat and her chest feels like it's flooding with liquid. She's drenched, swimming in her own sweat, and Carol cries out miserably, barely aware anymore of where she is or what is happening around her.
The next time she opens her eyes she's lying on the forest floor, two blankets wrapped protectively around her but still she shivers so violently she worries her bones will snap in two. There is a small fire nearby and her blinking eyes gradually open to find Andrea standing and scanning around them, keeping watch so that they aren't taken unawares again. Michonne is crouched down beside her, using a damp cloth to rest against Carol's forehead and the coolness of it is such a relief that she can't stop herself bursting into tears.
"When I was a child," says Michonne, and immediately Carol is captivated by the deep, lulling nature of her voice. "I wanted to be a ballerina. I wanted to make people feel passion for whatever story I was bringing to life through dance. Every weekend my mother would take me to class, and I'd practise so hard, and I was good. Really good. I got the lead five years in a row, and then, when I was sixteen, just about to take up a scholarship, it all came to an end. I broke my foot and there were…complications. I took up martial arts, studied hard to get into law and did the usual thing, until the dead started to reanimate and try to kill us all."
"Can…totally see you…in a…pink tutu," Carol gasps around the pressure in her chest, tears sliding down her face. She feels the tracks as they burn, cool moisture against the scorching heat of her cheeks.
"Oh girl, I looked fine." Michonne wiped more sweat from her brow, and Carol moans at the sweet agony of it. It's hard to tell but she thinks it must be about midday, the air cool enough to take some of the sting out of how hot her body feels, but just barely. She furrows a brow in confusion when she senses Michonne shivering beside her, her friend's hands g slightly less warm than the flesh it rests against.
"She's burning up." She hears Andrea, her tone soft and worried and Carol scoffs, her eyelids heavy and her entire body bottomed out from exhaustion. It took effort to sweat buckets like she was.
"Pffft. Just…a cold." Carol fights so hard to stay awake, she doesn't want them giving up on her when she hasn't yet. She knows they won't leave her, and for a split second she wonders if her condition is actually serious. People didn't usually die of a cold, though that was before when doctors weren't hard to find and the good drugs just as easy. A coughing fit pounces on her and it's the most animated her body has been since she collapsed in her makeshift bed of leaves. Her whole body hurts—ever muscle, every limb, her head, her eyes. Even her fingers. It all aches in a way that makes her think it's here to stay and for the first time, Carol is worried. She's dead weight, dying if she can trust the fear in her friend's voices as they try to distract her from how serious their situation is, but then she remembers back to earlier—was it today or yesterday?—when she's still been defending them, saving them all from the evils that men will commit because they think women are weak. It's hard to believe she has defended them so loyally when she might be one step away from death.
"You should…leave me." The words need to be pushed past lips that are fighting her to cooperate.
"Don't be stupid," Michonne whispers brokenly, grasping Carol's hand and squeezing it tight. "You just rest. Andrea and I have this."
Have what, Carol wonders as a bottle of water seems to scrape against her lips and her jaw drops open, water running into her mouth and down her throat as she wills herself to swallow, whimpering at the relief of it. The water is withdrawn and then Michonne places a pill on her tongue, tipping the water back up and Carol swallows it down. It's all she can manage, her head falling back to the pillow of leaves as darkness once again descends.
The next time she wakes she is huddled behind some bushes, Michonne looking around them wildly with her sword held aloft. The pets have been chained behind them to a tree—Carol can hear them rattling against their bonds, seemingly worked up about something. She can't see much, just shapes that swirl and converge, but her ears are still working just fine. There's a walker in front of them and by the sounds of it, it's feeding on something. Most likely on a someone. Michonne puts her finger to her lips, warning Carol to be quiet, and then she's creeping up behind the walker and striking it down. Carol wearily pushes to her feet, idly wondering if she's been on her feet at all during this trek through the woods or if Andrea and Michonne have dragged her ass through it all.
"It was eating a deer," Michonne tells them as she returns, donning her backpack, releasing her pets and then putting her free arm around Carol as support.
"You know, you're actin' pretty fresh," Carol mumbles as the two girls dig their arms into her sides. Every inch of her skin is sensitive and she feels so much pain now that she might as well explode.
"It's because you've got great tits," Michonne confides and then they all laugh, even Carol though it comes out on a gasp.
"A good bra…is essential." She coughs, the noise cracking through the air like a gunshot.
"Remind me to call into Victoria's Secret on the way home," Andrea kids, squeezing Carol's middle.
It isn't like they hear anything, but suddenly the air around them is arrested with some kind of danger—the silence itself a warning. They pause, not sure what to make of it and Carol is more confused than ever.
"Is it…a…herd?" Her voice is raspy, pathetic as she tries to keep as quiet as she can, but if it's a herd they will have to leave her or they will all die. She can't allow that. "Get out. Just…leave me." She implores them to listen, but Michonne hushes her, and just as they are on high alert, every nerve in her body ready to jump at the slightest shock in the air, he's there, rearing up out of nowhere, larger than life with a huge grin splitting his face. Carol isn't sure whether to laugh, or cry, or run screaming into the woods.
"Well holy shit. Looky what I have here."
There's a nasty knife attached to his stump and it seems so horrific to see a man who she'd last seen completely whole, reduced to this. Eyes wide, she briefly wonders how relieved Daryl will be to know his brother has survived after all before wondering if he's someone they will welcome or need to kill like those other men from before. There is a sudden stab at her heart with that fear, and she wavers on her feet, her sight becoming blurred again though she's clinging to his image as long as she can. No way will Daryl's brother hurt them. She refuses to believe it. She can't.
"Merle," she whispers, holding out her hand and a real smile gracing her lips. And then her eyes roll back and she faints dead away.
AN~ Seriously, this fic has the most amazing reviewers. I love you all for being so thoughtful, and making me think of things I hadn't even contemplated. I am so grateful for you taking the effort to review.