Red River Blue

Chapter 40

His dad told him not to look back. But Carl didn't listen. When Rick stopped to lean against a tree and catch his breath, Carl turned around. Rubbing the tears out of his eyes so that he could see clearly, he stared back at what he used to consider the safest place in the new world. The building itself was a prison, but it had been his home. It had been a home to all of them.

Dark plumes of black smoke rose up from the building. Walkers trampled over the small garden that Carl and his dad had worked so hard to plant. A stray chicken had gotten loose from the small chicken coop Hershel kept them in and was running through the freshly mowed grass with half it's feathers on fire. There was no hope of fixing the place or rebuilding. Part of the main building had caved in and the fences were torn down in so many places that it would have been impossible to ever put them back up.

Carl ground the tears from his eyes with the backs of his hands. He tried to tell himself that Wren had gotten out. But looking at the caved in part of the prison, the part where she had been hiding, he was having a hard time believing that. The more he looked back at the prison, the more convinced Carl was that the girl was trapped somewhere inside, waiting for him to come for her. He had told Wren to hide inside and stay there. If she was trapped inside the prison now, he felt like it was his fault.

"Carl," his dad wheezed, grasping the back of his shirt to keep the boy from taking another step back the way they had come. Carl jerked away, pulling his shirt from his father's grasp.

"I promised Wren I would come back for her," Carl hissed. He wasn't sure if he meant to convince his father or himself. He tried not to look to hard at his father, since really seeing how bad the man looked was testing Carl's resolve. If he left and went back to look for Wren, his father might die. But if he stayed with his father, she might be lost to him forever.

"If she's still in there," Rick said, pausing because he knew what he was about to say was terrible and nothing a boy his son's age should ever have to hear about someone he loved, "If she's still in there, she's dead." Carl turned his back, his shoulders sagging as he buried his face in his hands. His hair was matted to his head in the shape of his hat but the item itself was missing. Rick wondered if the boy had lost it during the fight or if maybe Merle's younger daughter had it. He liked to think she did. And that she was alright somewhere.

A strangled choking noise came out of the boy and at that moment Rick realized how much the young girl in question had meant to his son. Stepping forward, Rick wiped his dirty mangled hand off on the front of his bloody shirt and reached for his son, setting his hand on the boy's shoulder in a small gesture of comfort.

"You don't know that," Carl hissed, jerking away from his father's touch, "You don't know shit!" Carl's grief had turned quickly from sadness to a rage of scorching anger. And the only person around to bear the brunt of it was his father. The boy held up his hand, flicking his middle finger up in the air and aiming the offensive gesture towards the badly injured man in front of him. Carl had seen Wren's family use the gesture plenty of times. In the Dixon family, flipping the bird was a common form of self expression. Wren and her sister waved their fingers at each other. Daryl gave the finger to Merle and Merle gave it to him and River gave it to both the brothers and laughed at them if she thought they were being stupid or stubborn. Harley even sometimes flashed it at her parent's backs when they weren't looking. But Carl had never used the gesture before. He hated to admit it, but he enjoyed the look of shock and hurt on his father's face more than he should have.

Without another word, Carl turned on his heel and started stomping off in the direction they had been going before he had stopped and looked back at the prison. He set a fast pace, one he knew his father would have trouble keeping up with.

TWD

When the dead stared pouring out of the woods, Michonne did something she wasn't proud of. Michonne hid under a truck. She didn't have a gun, only her sword. And there had simply been too many of them. The governor's blood got on her when she stabbed him and the dead could smell it. She she rolled herself in the dirt as best she could and slid under one of the trucks the man she killed had drove there in.

She didn't know how long she stayed there. After a while the moans and pairs of shuffling feet started to blend together. The stress of the day and the hard hit she took in the head caught up with her. Michonne slept, her hand clutched tightly around her sword as she dreamed about stabbing the governor through the chest over and over again. In some of her dreams he managed to murder Rick before she could get to him. In some Rick was gone and Phillip Blake had her small son on the ground choking the boy to death. Those were the worst. Dreams of her son always haunted her long after she woke and started trying to go through the motions of her day.

Michonne's body was sore and cramped. Her head was pounding in both temples. She was disoriented and wasn't sure how late in the day it was, or if it was the next day or if she had only been asleep for a few minutes. Sliding silently across the dirt on her stomach, she peeked out from under the truck to make sure she wasn't going to be swarmed by walkers the moment she stood up.

A few of the dead were still wandering around, but not enough of them to be a problem for her. Michonne eased out from under the truck and forced herself up onto her feet. Water was her number one priority. She found a large canteen inside the truck she had been hiding under. Forcing herself to take it slow, she only took a few sips before she twisted the cap back on and slung the strap of the bottle over her shoulder. Water was first. Her family was second. She had to find them.

Only a few steps into her search, Michonne almost stumbled over what had to be one of the most horrible things she had seen since the very beginning of the turn. Hershel's decapitated head rolled away after she kicked into it with the tip of her boot. Not only was it his head, but it was his reanimated head. Snapping and biting, eyes that had been so full of love and kindness for every single person he knew now glassy and lifeless.

Michonne bit her lip to hold back the bile that was threatening to rise up and spill out of her. The salty tang of her own blood filled her mouth. She took one deep breath and then she did what she had trained herself to do since she lost her son. She shut down every emotion inside her body, pushing them down deep inside her and burying them there. She didn't need Hershel. She didn't need Carl or Rick or Harley or Daryl. She didn't need Andrea. Or Hershel. She didn't need anyone. With one quick stab of her sword, she gave poor Hershel's body some mercy. There was no time to bury him properly, so Michonne just walked away and forced herself to think about something else.

Camoflauge. That was her new second priority. Water then camoflague then food. She didn't need her family and she was probably better off without them slowing her down anyway. Michonne slashed the jaws and arms off two walkers and tied a length of rope around their necks. They weren't people she knew this time but she hoped they were men that had come here with the governor. Men that didn't deserve her pity or mercy. She pulled them along behind her and started off through the woods. Putting one foot in front of the other, she wasn't even sure where she was going. Walking aimlessly seemed moderately better than just lying down on the ground and waiting to die.

Michonne walked and before she knew it a large herd a walkers was shuffling along with her. Following the two she was leading as walkers had a strange tendency to do. Her body tensed a little when she saw an even larger herd of them up ahead. She tensed but she kept going. The walkers took no notice of her and for a moment, Michonne felt a strange sensation. She felt like she was one of them. Just an empty shell of a person with no life inside it. It hit her then. She wasn't going to let the governor do this to her.

Michonne's despair quickly gave way to anger at the man that had destroyed her home and killed her friends. She slashed at the walkers around her like each one of them was Phillip Blake. Slashing and stabbing at them. She cut them limb from limb and sent there heads rolling into the grass like Hershel's head had rolled when she bumped it with her boot. When she was done there were too many bodies piled up around her to even count.

"Hey!"

The voice came from the tree above and it startled her. Michonne gripped her sword in both hands and jumped back, looking up to see who had called out so suddenly. A dirt streaked face peered down at her from the leafy branches, circled in a halo of wild blond curls.

"Hey Michonne!," Harley called down to the woman, "If yer done throwing yer fit, why don't you help me down outta this tree!"

It felt like a tickle that started down in her belly and rumbled up out from between her lips. Michonne leaned against the tree Harley was hiding in and just let the laughter roll over her. Harley had her father's way of knowing just exactly the worst thing to say at any possible moment. It was a trait of the girl's that Michonne had come to love and embrace over time.

Once she had control of herself, Michonne helped Harley down from the tree. She could tell the girl was hurt worse than she was trying to let on. Her clothes had been ripped open and torn up, but Michonne didn't ask her about it. She just pulled the taller girl into her arms and held her as tightly as she could without hurting her. Harley hugged her friend back, feeling like she had never been so happy to see anyone in her life as she was to see Michonne show up and take out the entire pack of biters that had chased her up that tree and kept her hostage there all night.

"The prison's gone?," Harley asked, hoping that it wasn't true even though she had heard the shooting and seen the smoke. Michonne nodded. A flicker of emotion washed over Harley's face before she shut it down and reached for the flask of water Michonne had hanging over her shoulder. She did the same as Michonne had done without having to be told. Despite her thirst, Harley only took a few small sips, rationing the water for later. As she screwed the cap back on the canteen, her eyebrows knitted together.

"Okay," Harley said, her mind racing, "Let's check my mom's camper first. That's the meeting spot if the prison ever fell. If we don't find anyone there, we can circle around and start looking for tracks."

"You lead the way," Michonne said, feeling more grateful than she thought she would that Harley was taking charge. But before they set off to the east, Michonne reached out and grasped the girl by the hand. "Wait. Are you alright?," she asked, gesturing with the other hand at Harley's ripped shirt and the top of her jeans where the button was popped off. Harley's slim body was covered in bruises that Michonne had a feeling the girl didn't get from fighting walkers. Her hair was a sloppy dirty mess and dried leaves and sticks were tangled up in her curls.

"Some guys tried to jump me," Harley admitted. Her face twisted up as she forced herself to smile a smile that didn't go all the way up to her eyes. "I killed one of them and ran the rest off," the girl assured Michonne, before she paused and chewed at her bottom lip, "but maybe we better keep a lookout just in case."

"Or maybe they better keep a lookout for us," Michonne corrected. That made Harley smile. A real smile. She pulled the front of her shirt closed as best she could and knotted it under her bra. Then she leaned in and hugged Michonne one more time. Harley hugs were a rare occurance. They were always rough and hurried, like she was uncomfortable giving them out and only did it because she couldn't stop herself.

Despite the attack she had suffered, running every way possible from walkers, and being stuck in a tree all night, Harley knew exactly where she was going. Michonne let her take the lead as they picked their way through the woods, making a broad circle around the outside of the prison. They paused only once, as Harley picked through a bush to look for something she was sure she smelled. She held the filthy prize up pinched between two fingers, waving it around for Michonne's inspection. Whoever had left the dirty diaper was long gone, but finding it meant that not only was Judith alive and safe but that someone was keeping her that way.

The two women spoke quietly as they walked. Harley didn't give much detail about her attack, but she told Michonne enough that she knew who they were watching out for. Michonne told Harley about being kidnapped by the governor and what happened at the prison. She left out the part about Hershel being killed.

"Sonofabitch," Harley cursed.

The small camper that had been their home for almost an entire year was now nothing but a smoldering rubble. It wasn't bad enough that someone ransacked the place, but to add insult to injury they had lit the whole camper on fire once they got done. Harley stepped carefully closer, kicking some of the rubble around in the slim hope that she might find a shirt to replace the ripped up one she was wearing. Harley cursed under her breath, one hand holding onto her damaged ribs as she toed through the piles of melted and burnt up belongings. Near the edge of the wreckage she found a small pile of burnt up first aid supplies and a bloody shirt. Harley shook her head, feeling herself fill up with anger. She recognized that shirt. It belonged to the man she had stabbed in the shoulder. Harley knew she should have followed those assholes and finished them off. She had let them go and they had come here and burnt up her mother's camper.

"Check it out," Michonne suggested, tapping Harley on the shoulder and pointing towards a nearby tree. Harley stepped over the pile of smoldering garbage in front of her and headed over to take a closer look. There was a note painted on the trunk of the tree. Harley moved closer as she reached out to touch it. Touching the note felt almost a bit like touching her mother. Because the words, written the blood of a dead walker that was lying nearby was still in her mother's girlish handwriting. It simply read:

River

Maggie

Sasha

Bob

were here

went to look for the bus

I love you

Harley smiled and ran her fingers over the words one more time before she backed away. Her mother was alive. It scared Harley a little that she didn't have Wren with her. But Harley hoped that maybe Wren was with her father. She even dared to hope that they had both gotten onto the bus and maybe her mother had already found them.

"Do you know which way the bus went?," Harley asked Michonne. The woman shook her head. She hadn't seen which way anyone had gone. There were several roads leading away from the prison and all of them had been cleared. It was hard to guess which way the bus might have gone and how far it got before it stopped. Michonne suggested that they circle around the prison and look for a working vehicle and Harley agreed. Michonne also thought they ought to look for some medical supplies to try and patch Harley up but she didn't say anything about that since she knew the girl would just object.

They avoided the areas that were the heaviest with walkers, but managed to find a few cars and a truck that still had gas in them. Michonne also found some tape, which she carefully applied to Harley's ribs against the girl's strong protests that she was fine and didn't need any help.

"You don't know how to hot wire a car do you?," Michonne asked hopefully. Harley laughed and shook her head. She barely even knew how to drive. Michonne sighed and slammed the car door shut. She had searched all three vehicles completely and there was no sign of the keys to any of them.

"I found something!," Harley called over. She sounded so excited that for a moment Michonne was sure she found a random set of car keys just lying on the ground. When she hurried over Harley was staring at nothing but what looked like some scratches in the dirt. "I recognize these boots," Harley announced. Her uncle had been teaching her a little, but she was far from being as good at tracking as him. Regardless of that, she was still sure of what she saw.

"Who's are they?," Michonne asked. Harley's excitement was catching. While the two women were walking around the perimeter of the prison they had tried following a few sets of prints. But each one had led to a road or to the railroad tracks. They couldn't follow them after that. Harley wasn't that good a tracker. But this set led off into the woods. In the soft dirt and mud. Michonne was fairly sure even she could follow them.

"These here boots belong to none other than my little sister's lover boy," Harley announced. No one else wore men's boots that small. Only Carl. His feet were the same size as hers. That's how she knew the prints were his. "Come on," she said, grabbing Michonne by the hand and pulling the woman along behind her, "Let's go find him."