This chapter was a straggle to write. I rewrote it twice, still not happy with it, but got to move on. I was listening to the song below, and it feels like the perfect song for Rick and Alice in this chapter, who are haunted by the people they love.
Cause you left me haunted
Cold winds chilling my skin
As if you had just walked in
You left me haunted
Now there's bones in my closet
And the memories keep whisperin
Will they ever stop talking
You left me haunted
Every day I'm sitting in the same place where we were before
Doing double-takes
Every time I think I see the same face walk through the door
Now the memories feel
Like they weren't even real
Disappearing with you one by one
But I still can't forget the damage you've done
Haunted by britton
Chapter 11 - Haunted
"Ahhhhh! Alice please! Get this baby out of me!"
The baby is coming, and it has decided no time like the present. You heave on Lori's pants, undressing her while she lays on the dirty floor.
Despite the fear you felt minutes ago, here, you are in your element. As strange as it sounds, situation like this is where you are most comfortable. You let out a sigh, letting your body decompress.
Nevertheless, your mind reiterates how quickly the whole thing fell apart.
Little Carl was the one to rescue you, the one to come for you when you got caught during the chaos.
And chaos, it was.
It was a fire alarm, or perhaps some sort of prison lockdown warning that screeched throughout the building. As you and Carol hurried out of the prison, you saw Charles barking orders franticly at the men. Daryl sprinted from the east side of the gate, anchoring his crossbow. Quick on his feet, Rick shoots the speakers mounted on the outer wall of the prison.
But the noise never stopped.
No one knew where it was coming from, but it was deafening. So loud, it beaconed the dead, and somehow all the fences were wide open to receive them. You stood there gaping as countless walkers staggered in.
Just like that, the prison was breached.
Carl reunited you with his mom when the walkers flood the living area. You held her to you, one of your arms supporting her back, the other holding your machete, ready for a fight.
While, your heart thundered in fear and panic, your brain was faster than your body. "Carl, the backpack under my bed!" You screamed at him. Maggie was in front hacking away at the walkers, your only shield. She swung with all her might, trying to keep up, but there was too many.
"I got it!" You could hear the triumphed in carl's voice, as he dodged walkers, feet sliding on the ground. He was surprisingly efficient for a kid.
Charles paranoia had saved the day again. It was his idea to prepare 'a go' backpack in case something happened. Pack a little bit of everything, something you can quickly carry, if we have to run, he had said. The backpack had been sitting under your bed for days now.
There was nowhere to go but deeper into the cavernous prison. The darkness engulfed you and it took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust, watching carl's sheriff hat leading you deeper into the maze. Just a day ago, you had a firsthand experience what it contained, the mount of walkers lingering in these hallways, and you were terrified. But you pushed your feet, your fate at the hands of a child.
Lori cried with each step, digging her nails harsher into your shoulder. As the rippling of jolt of pain hits her, so does her contraction. The noise she was making draws the walkers, and Carl defended his mother with great accuracy, Maggie behind you, watching your back.
You were uncertain how many turns you made, however somehow you ended up in a utility room with large, barred windows. You blinked, finally getting your sight back, as the sun light peaked through the barred frames, but so does Lori.
"I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!" Lori screeched, noticing the wetness was not just her water breaking.
Here, you are in your element, this is something you can do.
"Breathe through your nose," You instruct.
Carl secures the door, and Maggie is behind Lori, legs on each side, letting her head rest on her. She grips Lori's hands when the jolt of contraction strikes her with frequent reputation.
Your hands work efficiently, giving her shots of pain meds. You can see it take affect almost immediately in conjunction to her severe blood loss. Lori is suffering from excessive bleeding. All the signs for a postpartum hemorrhage. It's usually triggered when the uterus isn't contracting strongly enough, the blood vessels bleed spontaneously.
You look at Lori, worry clutching you. Postpartum hemorrhage is the most common cause of maternal deaths, even when you had hospitals and all the latest equipment available at hand.
Gloves on your hands, you prepare her skin, fingers steady when you bring the surgical knife to her belly. Maggie looks away, turning a shade of white as the knife cuts across. Other than the wet noise of your hands inside her belly, the room is silence.
It was a tiny pink, baby.
A little girl.
She lets out a loud shriek when she is finally free, when the umbilical cord is cut, separating her from her mother. Carl is next to you, hovering, with a smile on his face. He quickly takes his jacket off, and you use it as a blanket. Ten toes, ten fingers, over all a healthy baby.
"Hold her like this," you say, as you gently place the baby in his hands. His face lights up, like you just handed him the world most valuable treasure.
You feel something wet by your knees and you look down. Lori had not stop bleeding even though the baby was out. You quickly return to remove the placenta and pull out your stitching kit. Lori's skin looks ghostly, death gripping her. As your fingers puts her skin together, you hope she gets through this, for her children.
She was losing too much blood, and her situation is beyond critical. You reach over and tap her cheek with your bloody gloved hand. "Lori, what's your blood type?" Though her eyes moved, she was not there to answer.
"Carl, do you know your mother's blood type?" He looks back at you like a deer caught in ahead light. When you look at Maggie, hoping maybe she is a universal donor, she shakes her head at you.
"She needs blood," you said to Maggie, "she is fading fast."
"I'm A-, same as my dad." Carl says without hesitation, offering his hand. "I remember when I got shot." You are surprised by his statement, though you don't ask. you simply shake your head at him.
There is a possibility he could be a compatible donor since he is her son. But what's the chances both his parents are the same blood type. Carl is a skinny kid, who's probably not going to be able to support the amount she needs. It would be putting him at risk for a possible potential.
There was no option.
You don't have all the essential tools for a proper blood transfusion, but you dig in your bag to improvise with what you have. You grab a rubber tube and needles, before tapping your own vein. You are not a universal doner either, and If her body rejects your blood, if your blood types are not compatible, her immune system would attack the new blood cells. After the trauma of giving birth, she could go into cardiac arrest.
She is dead either way, you think to yourself, at least this way, you tried all options. You pluck the needle into your skin, squeezing your fist, pushing the blood as quick as possible.
You don't know how long you pumped, but a sense of darkness comes over you. Through the haze, you see Lori's eyes open, her gaze landing on her children. You watch Carl move closer, showing her the baby. With a smile on her face, "You're the best thing I ever did," she whisperers. You smile, watching through what feels like a foggy mirror.
You see it, as she loses her battle.
You wish you could have done better, tried harder, but it was a losing battle to begin with. You can hear Maggie and carl sob, as you disconnect the tube with a shaky hand. You try to get up, but your feet slip under you. Stubbornly, you try again and by some miracle you do. The floor is spinning, and you stand there wobbly. You have given too much blood, and it doesn't help you only ate a small bowl of stew in over 36 hours. You stagger back, leaning against the wall, sliding until your butt touches the ground. You are too far gone to hear what was being said, but you watch the swirling figure of Maggie and Carl. Just for a second, you tell yourself, closing your eyes letting darkness overtake you.
You are rocking on a boat.
No, you are in the arms of someone, someone walking. A shadowy figure…
"Daryl?" you called, to the only person that occupies your mind freely.
"No, it's me." It was Charles's deep baritone voice.
"Oh," you press your face where his neck meets his collarbone, eyes closed.
The second time you wake up, you are back in your prison cell. You feel awfully tired for someone who just woke up from a slumber. You can hear everyone gathered in the common area, and the moment you stepped out, you are met with Charles. He quickly approaches, sliding his arm underneath your shoulder to support you. The air held dreary, and the baby is wailing somewhere down the hallway.
"Come," Charles says leading you to the table. "We heard what you did for Lori. You did good." He praises, before giving Jamie, who was sitting at the far corner, a nod.
"I need to check on the baby," you tell him. "She needs food immediately." But it is you who gets food presented. Jamie places the same stew you ate earlier in front of you.
"Don't worry, Hershel looked at her, she is healthy." Charles says, pushing the spoon in your hand. "Daryl and Maggie are out to get formula." As you put the spoon in your mouth, you have a hard time swallowing, with a baby starving a few feet away. You see Beth bouncing her gently, doing her best to calm her.
"Lori?" you sighed to Charles; voice barely audible. You wonder if she is still at the heart of the prison. Charles doesn't say much, just observes you force feeding yourself. Looks as though he is waiting for you to finish your food, but after a moment of thought, he decides to answer.
"She is buried out in the front… The boy, the boy did it." The spoon stops halfway to your mouth, your eyes searching for little Carl. He is sitting on the steps leading to the second level of the cell blocks. You set the spoon down, your appetite completely dissipating. Dread washes over you at the thought of a child having to put down his mother. It should have been you. You should have been the one to give her the final rest.
"Rick?" You question, and Charles lets out a sigh, shaking his head.
"It's tough on him. His wife… his son." He says his eyes cast down. Charles always comes off as the cool headed, but he can't hide the fact this had disturbed him greatly. As if a higher power hearing your conversation, the prison internal gate opens, and Glenn comes out. He's covered in walkers' blood, eyes red, gasping for air.
"Rick... he…He's losing it, having a total mental breakdown in there." He reports to Charles, eyes desperate. "I tried to get him to come back, but he attacked me." Charles lets out a deep sigh, hand running through his hair. You watch eyebrow raised, unsure when Charles became second in command, the way Glenn reports to him like an army cadet. You can tell Charles is uncertain how he can help in this situation. Rick was beyond words. You decide to step in, heading towards your makeshift infirmary. Charles looks up at you, before he too follows, hovering behind.
"What are you thinking?" he asks standing by the doorway. Glenn observes as well, peeking from behind the soldier. You turn to them, with a small bottle and a needle. They both watch you as you measure the right amount of liquid into the syringe.
"Here," you hand the syringe to Charles, after you put the safety cap on it. "He can't be wondering around in there, it's too dangerous. Give him a good night sleep." Charles looks from the liquid to you, then nods, placing the medication in his breast pocket. You watch Charles and Glenn head back down to the dark prison hallways.
In the background, the baby keeps on shrieking, the noise echoing. You slowly walk toward Carl, who is still sitting on the steps, mourning the loss of his mother. You join him on the steps, placing yourself right next to him. Could this day get any worse?
You gently throw your arm over his small body, pulling him to you comfortingly.
"You did such a good job today. You were so brave." You whisper to him, wishing you could do more. "You protected me, your mom, Maggie, and gave the baby a chance to be born," You see the tears slide down his cheeks. You remove his sheriff's hat and place a soft kiss on top of his head. "Your mom was so proud of you. I know I would be if you were my kid." You place the hat back on his head. You continue to sit there holding him, fingers gently rubbing his back.
The human mind is a remarkable thing. With as many as over trillion synapses, everything that we are, our hopes, our dreams and our desires is held in something that weighs less than 3 pounds.
You watch the door barge open.
It was Daryl and Maggie. They move quick, Daryl tosses the crossbow and the poncho he's wearing on the table. He doesn't hesitate when he moves for the baby. He gently takes her from Beth's hand, holding her delicately to his chest. You watch in shock as he taps her bottom, and the baby visibly relaxes, even though the crying hasn't fully stopped. When Maggie hands him the bottle, he's the first to feed her.
It comes to him naturally, how he holds her, how he feeds her. There is a smile on his face, one you haven't seen in many years. You don't even realize you are shaking until Carl leaves your grasp, your heart palpitating. You grip the metal step you were seated on, watching with the air stuck in your throat, squeezing your windpipe. You can hear the sucking noise the baby is making, as she fills in her belly. With the hand that was still holding her, Daryl's fingers rub her tiny feet, with a gentleness you never thought he was capable of.
Would this have been your future? Is this what you missed? It's like your brain had decided to pull some type of lever, causing a visceral reaction. You haven't even processed what you have discovered earlier, dealt with Merle's betrayal.
If Merle had given him your letter, would this have been… Just like that… your mind fills in the gap, fills in all the 'what if's.' Like watching a movie backwards, your imagination sprint faster than you can catch up to it, picturing yourself in a scenario that never existed. You see it… You see it all, what your live would have been like. You see him, holding his babies like he's doing now, in a farmhouse far away from here.
Your brain conjures vivid pictures of children, their faces as clear as day, dark hair black as night, blue eyes like the depth of an ocean… you can hear the echoes of their laughter.
"She got a name yet?" You hear Daryl's voice ask. To your ears, it feels swallowed, like you're under water.
The sensation of a cold sweat runs down your back. You push yourself to get up. You try to run, but stumble out, your vision distorted. You don't know where you're heading, but your brain screamed fresh air through the fuzziness. You can feel the nausea, but your body has nothing to expel. The moment your feet hits the grass, you were down in all four. You gasp, but no air seems to move to your throat, like a rock lodge in your pipe. You gasp, repeatedly, the moment sitting on your chest like an elephant. Your nails burrow into the dirt, the silent scream dying on your lips.
"Alie!" you look towards the sound. You know that voice, but your vision was blurry, seemingly looking through fish-eyed lens.
"Jamie!" You whisper desperately, your hand moving to your chest, fisting your shirt over your heart. "Jamie, I'm having…" you try to word through the gasp. He was on you, following you to the ground, pulling your body upright, pressing your back to his chest. "Jamie…I'm having a heart attack." You force out through the franticness, somehow your brain attempting to diagnose itself.
"You're ok, you're ok," he shushes, fingers locking with yours, "I gotchu, you're ok..." He says over and over. "You're just having a panic attack." He tells you, but you can't make sense of what he's saying, like he is speaking a foreign language.
"Breathe with me, ok, just follow me. Follow my hand," he squeezes your hand, with each breath. "One, two… breathe..." you pull in air as if through straw in the middle of a desert storm.
You follow his voice, let the squeeze of his hands direct you. Your eyes look up to the sky, the stars so bright, shining like diamonds hanging on string lights. As your body regulates itself, your tears start to flow, salt streams running to your ears. You don't even know why you were crying but, your eyes leak in silent weep. As you sit there feeling despair, you are also astounded by what the human mind can do. It showed you a reality that never existed, vision fully created by your mind.
And now you are grieving that loss.
"When I was a boy, my mom would have panic attacks, never knew the reasons, but I would hold her like this…" You lean your head back on Jamie's chest, and let him take care of you, let his voice lure you and comfort you.