This Chapter is sort of a set up for what takes place in the next few chapters.
Chapter 44- Unconquered
You find yourself huddled in the corner of a desolate barn, seeking refuge from the relentless storm that rages outside. Rain cascades down in torrents, hammering against the wooden walls, and the howling wind ruthlessly shakes the structure. The air inside is heavy with the scent of damp earth, mingling with the crackle of a small fire that barely fights to keep you warm.
It all happened so swiftly; the moment Daryl caught sight of the bottled waters, he darted into the nearby woods, crossbow raised, his brother hot on his heels, as they made sure you were not being followed or set into trap. Meanwhile, the rest of your group stood together, gaze fixated on the water bottles accompanied by a note that simply read, "from a friend." A debate unfolded, each person offering their opinion on whether to accept the mysterious offering.
However, before the argument could fully ignite, the rain arrives as if on cue, its raindrops effectively silencing the dispute. You only had a brief moment to relish in it, closing your eyes with your arms open wide, letting the rain baptize you. Lucky enough, instead of discovering the identity of the unknown "friend," Daryl stumbled upon this weathered barn just as the rain transformed into a full-blown storm, lashing the landscape with unyielding fury.
And now, here you are in the dark, huddled beside Daryl and Abraham within the shelter of the barn, as the group sits in a circle sharing the small fire. All the wood you managed to scavenge from the soaked forest refuses to catch fire, leaving you with a feeble flame that only succeeds as a means of light. Your drenched clothes cling to your chilled body, a constant reminder of the rainfall raging outside. You sigh when you feel Daryl's hand moving up and down your back, his silent attempt to share whatever warmth he possesses, as if he could transfer some of his body heat to you through the simple act of touch.
"Every day he woke up and told himself, 'Rest in peace; now get up and go to war,'" Rick's voice fills the air, drawing your attention back to the story he's sharing about his grandfather. "After a few years of pretending he was dead, he made it out alive. That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do, and then we get to live."
The flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the walls, dancing in time with the chaotic symphony unfolding beyond the barn's walls. Rick's gaze shifts towards you, his words carrying weight. "No matter what we find in D.C., I know we'll be okay. This is how we survive: We tell ourselves that we are the walking dead."
Your whole-body shivers, not just from the droplets of water trickling down your back, but also from the somber tone of Rick's voice and the profound significance behind his words. The air lingers… and Daryl is the first one to break the silence, the first to challenge Rick's statement. "We ain't them," he asserts, his gaze sweeping across the group. "We ain't them." He repeats, and you can see him having a visceral reaction. His hand withdraws from your back, seemingly preparing to distance himself physically and emotionally from the very notion.
Instinctively, your hand shoots out, tightly gripping his elbow, anchoring him to your side. "Daryl is right, Rick," your eyes scans the people gathered before you, finally settling on the small fire. With each gust of wind that shakes the barn, the fire clings steadfastly to life, as if whispering tales of survival, narrating stories of enduring through the darkest nights. You inhale deeply, drawing strength from its silent message.
"I understand the importance of adopting a similar outlook to that of your grandfather. My grandfather also served in the war in Europe as well, but now more than ever, being alive is everything," you speak softly, your voice almost haunting, as you watch the flickering flames fighting to stay lit. The metaphor plays right before your eyes, a juxtaposition that leaves you in awe of the untamed power outside and the quiet resilience within.
"In fact, we are far from being the walking dead," you state, looking up at Rick, and in turn, he returns your gaze. "This world has forced us to do inhuman things, pushed us to make morally questionable choices, and it will continue to test our limits. Some of us may break, but ultimately, we are alive. We are the definition of humanity."
You shift your gaze to your husband, and for a fleeting moment, you are transported back to your childhood bedroom, where Daryl shared his deepest traumas with you. It is no surprise that Daryl, the epitome of survival and resilience, takes issue with Rick's notion of survival. For Daryl, who he is, his core identity is the only thing he clung to throughout all the pain and darkness that shaped his life. Of course, he will refuse to change into something else now, let alone a walking dead.
"There is a poem called 'Invictus,' from the Latin word 'unconquered' or 'undefeated,'" you say as you gaze into Daryl's dark blue eyes. Memories of the first time you read that poem in college come flooding back, as if its words were etched with Daryl's very essence. And now, it tells the story of the people before you. "It was written in 1875 by a man named William Ernest Henley, and it speaks to our collective human experience, past and present."
You turn to face the group before you, their faces marked by dirt, exhaustion, and hunger, yet there is a glimmer of hope that shines in their eyes as they silently await your words. The thunder rumbles in the background, and the rain acts as a haunting melody, providing a backdrop to your voice, soft yet filled with conviction.
"Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul."
"In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed."
The words flow from your lips, and the people before you listen attentively, their silent anticipation palpable. Your voice fills the space, and the barn's walls seem to reverberate, responding to the outside force as well as the powerful emotions emanating from within.
"Beyond this place of wrath and tears, looms but the horror of the shade.
And yet the menace of the years, finds and shall find me unafraid."
"It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."
As the final words of the poem hang in the air, a solemn silence envelops the space.
"It talks about resilience in the face of unimaginable adversity," you whisper, a small smile breaking on your face as your gaze moves to Carol. She looks up at you, eyebrows raised at the sudden attention. Then your gaze shifts to Merle, and finally to the man next to you, Daryl. "Refusing to be defeated by the harsh circumstances of our lives, never giving up on who we are."
Your eyes move to Maggie and Sasha, and they return your stare. "Unconquerable spirit," you say, your voice steady and unwavering. "Never yielding to despair or surrender, no matter the physical and emotional hardships."
Your gaze finally moves to Michonne and Rick, "Inner strength," you assert, "No matter the moral dilemmas, personal losses, and intense struggles for survival, we find the strength to make the hard decisions."
Lastly, your gaze lands on Glenn and Jamie, two men cut from the same cloth, "Facing fear and the unknown," you emphasize, "It's the bravery and courage it takes to confront danger, no matter how scared we are."
You look around at the rest of the group, realizing that even though you haven't known most of them for very long, their presence here signifies that they embody everything you have just stated. "That is what it means to be alive, what always been to be human, both in 1875 and now."
"Right on," Abraham interjects, his voice cutting through the intense moment as he gives you a nod. You can't help but giggle at the look on his face. Your laughter is echoed by a select few, and just like that, the moment passes.
You lean back, letting out a tired sigh as your body finally begins to relax. You're not sure how much time passes, maybe just a few minutes, but it's Maggie who gets up first, breaking the stillness. Taking a cue from her, Daryl taps your shoulder and says, "Come on," motioning you towards the pile of hay in the corner. As you get up, you reach over and place a hand on Rick's shoulder, nodding at him in acknowledgement, silently conveying your support and understanding.
You can hear the rest of the group dispersing as well, everyone finding a shaded corner to rest. The pile of hay acts as a barrier against the cold wind that blows in. "I'll stay on watch for a bit, you should rest," Daryl suggests. You hum in agreement, lacking the energy to argue or ask to stay up with him and keep him company. Although you're exhausted from the day's walk, it's difficult to sleep when your stomach gnaws at you from hunger.
You try to ignore it, diverting your attention to Rick. His hair is dirty and long, his face adorned with a full beard, a visual testament to the hardships he's endured. Things haven't been easy for him or anyone else, but you can see there's a noticeable shift, not just physically but mentally. The man you once knew at the prison, the one filled with hope, the one who held your hand and asked for your trust, now seems transformed, shaken to his very core. Now, he has shed parts of himself, leaving behind a mere shell driven solely by the instinct to survive. You empathize with him deeply.
You let out a deep breath as you feel Daryl's fingers moving through your hair. You close your eyes, allowing him to lullaby you to sleep.
You wake up abruptly, your senses jarring awake as your pillow swiftly moves from underneath you. Daryl bolts upright, hurtling towards the barn door with a resounding crash. Your eyes dart around, struggling to adjust to the dimly lit surroundings. The scent of damp hay lingers in the air, mingling with the sound of your pounding heart, its rhythm matching the erratic pattern of your breath.
You watch as Daryl's body collides with the unsteady wood of the barn door just as the deafening clamor of hungry, snarling walkers reverberates through the air, accompanied by the relentless pounding of their decaying fists against the wooden barrier. Suddenly, the urgency of the situation becomes painfully clear. You launch yourself off the cold, unforgiving floor, your muscles protesting against the abrupt movement, just as the others, in a synchronized frenzy, race towards Daryl.
It feels as if the whole world is shaking with their furious assault. The storm outside adds to the chaos, its fierce winds whipping through the air and causing the rain to lash against the barn, creating an eerie symphony of nature's fury.
Your body slams against the door, and the weight of the walkers pushing against it feels overwhelming. You bare your teeth, your feet sliding in the mud as you push on with every ounce of strength within you. The barn door groans and creaks as if it's going to give in any minute.
The storm outside mirrors the tempest raging within you, as rain lashes against your face, leaking through the roof and cracks of wood, mingling with the sweat and tears of exhaustion. Lightning streaks across the sky, momentarily illuminating the bleak landscape, and in that fleeting brilliance, you catch glimpses of the relentless walkers, their twisted forms obscured by the shadows. Their gnashing teeth and lifeless eyes serve as a chilling reminder of the dangers that lie just beyond this fragile barrier.
You feel the bodies of your people all around you as you adjust your arm, when it feels like it's going to break under the pressure. Time seems to stretch and blur, as if caught within the vortex of a nightmare. In that stretch of a moment, you realize Rick is right next to you, shoulder to shoulder. As the lightning lights up the sky, you catch each other's eyes. His blue eyes wide and wild as he grits his teeth, a vision of struggle and survival.
A testimony that you are not the walking dead.
A proof that you are like that small fire, fighting to burn—the storm may rage, but hope flickers like a small flame amidst the encroaching darkness, clinging to the wet logs—a declaration that you will not succumb to this new world's horrors. Because in this moment, survival is not merely an instinct, but it is a choice, evidence of the resilience of the human spirit, just like how it was in 1875.
Like everything else in life, the night comes to an end, and in a sense, you feel as if you've passed a test. Now, it's the quiet morning after the storm, and you sit with your back against the wooden frame of the barn, lazily observing Daryl as he carefully takes apart your wrist knife, the one his brother made. He gently slides the blade, detaching it from the spring and locking mechanism, preparing to clean it with his tools.
The rest of the group wanders around, some following Daryl's lead and cleaning their own weapons, while others lie on the ground, finally finding a moment of rest. You glance up as the barn door opens, and Maggie cautiously enters. "Everyone," she hesitates, her expression unsure, "this is Aaron." Instantly, the quiet morning is shattered as the group springs into action, grabbing their guns.
You stay put, knowing the men have it under control, and you start gathering the pieces of your wrist blade that Daryl had tossed aside when he got up swiftly, brushing past Rick and the stranger to scan the perimeter.
"We met him outside; he's alone," Maggie explains, her voice hurried. "We took his weapons and gear." Daryl doesn't take her words as he frisks him roughly.
The barn is filled with a tense stillness as the group fixes their unwavering gazes on him, guns at the ready, waiting for him to break the silence. Rick, with a deliberate and cautious movement, hands Judith over to her older brother.
"Hello, my name is Aaron, and you must be Rick," the stranger addresses Rick, though his eyes never linger on him. They glide across the room until they land on you, and in that instant, his entire expression transforms, breaking into a wide smile.
"Oh, hi, so you're real," he chuckles, as if he's sharing a private joke with himself. His eyes remain locked on you while he speaks, and you raise your eyebrows in response, offering a questioning glance. "Hi, I'm Aaron—I already said that," he stammers, laughing once more. The group slowly turns their attention back to you, awaiting your reaction, and you simply shrug your shoulders, bemused by the situation.
"And you must be Doctor Alice," he continues, taking a step towards you with his hand raised as if to greet you. "It's nice to meet yo—" However, before he can complete his sentence, Daryl swiftly yanks him back by the back of his shirt, kicking his knee forward and forcing him to the ground. Aaron attempts to look up at you, but his view is blocked by Jamie's imposing figure as he positions himself in front of you, shielding you from Aaron's gaze, gun raised at his head.
"Who the hell are ya, and how the hell do ya know her name?" Daryl's voice cuts through the air, his crossbow pointed directly at Aaron's head. Aaron doesn't respond immediately, his hand raised in surrender. Daryl pushes the crossbow forcefully against his head. "I ain't gonna ask you again, so you better answer the damn question," he warns, his voice filled with urgency.
"I mean no harm, I swear. Quite the opposite, actually," Aaron speaks with his head down, his voice loud enough for everyone around to hear as he tries to explain himself. "I just wanted to make sure it was safe for me to approach. There are so many of you and only one of me."
You let out a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you rise from your seat. Placing your hand on Jamie's arm, you walk around him, feeling the weariness and hunger weighing heavily on you. Despite your impatience, you stand beside Rick. "Daryl, wait. Let's hear what he wants first," you say, waving your husband down.
"He mentioned they have a nearby camp," Sasha interjects. "He wants us to audition for membership."
"I know, I know. 'Audition' sounds like some kind of dance troupe," Aaron looks up again, making his case as he glances towards you and Rick. "But I want you to understand that it's not just a camp; it's a community."
Merle, who had remained relatively quiet throughout the night, with Jamie quietly yapping at his ear, finally speaks up. "You still ain't answering the damn question. So quit jerkin' us around or things are gonna get real ugly, real fast," he says with an intimidating tone, his tired face stern. To emphasize his point, he flicks the lock on his prosthetic, and the Swiss blade springs into action.
"Okay, okay, I get the point," Aaron says urgently, his eyes shifting between Merle's arms and you, pleading silently for your understanding. There's a brief moment of silence before he continues, his voice filled with desperation. "I came here to ask you, to ask all of you, to come with me, Doctor. I am begging you to come with me," he says, leaning back on his knees.
"I overheard what you said out there," he continues, his tone earnest. "About the treatment, the cure."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," you huff, rolling your eyes, immediately realizing what this is all about.
"You've been spyin' on us, ya damn pervert?!" Daryl's anger flares up quickly, his crossbow aimed back at Aaron's head. "How long have ya been followin' us?!"
"I swear! I swear!" Aaron's voice rises, his head lowered once again. "Like I said, I was just listening to make sure it was safe for me to approach, and then I heard what she said, okay?"
He turns his gaze slightly towards Daryl, his eyes filled with desperation. "Do you have any idea what this means?" he asks, turning towards the rest of the group who have their guns trained on him. "What this means for all of us? I would be foolish not to try to convince you to come with me, not to be a part of it."
He takes a deep breath, his eyes glistening. "Please, just come with me. I know you don't trust me but think of it as me being selfish—for my own benefit, for the people I love. You can't have someone who potentially holds the key to saving humanity and leave her out here at risk," he says, gesturing behind him towards the walkers and the remnants of the storm from the previous night.
"Ya sure talk a lot for a man on his knees. What are ya tryin' to say, huh? That we can't protect her? Ya don't know a damn thing," Daryl retorts, forcefully yanking Aaron to his feet. It's clear that Daryl is ready to confront him, but he doesn't want to do it while the man is still kneeling.
Aaron stumbles to his feet, his hands still raised in surrender. "No, of course not. I know you guys are strong," he says, trying to appease Daryl's anger. "I saw how you practically ignored the Roamers on the street, and how, no matter how hungry you were, you never turned on each other," he addresses the group, a kind smile breaking out on his face. "These are the qualities my community needs."
With that, he turns to face the group, and you can read it in his expression, an understanding that he has to win them over in order to win you. "I believe all of you could be vital members of our community," he begins. "I know it's not my call, but I think our community would recognize what you bring to the table, each and every one of you."
He then turns his attention to Sasha. "If you could please hand Rick my pack," he requests. After a moment of hesitation, Sasha steps forward and hands a brown backpack to Rick. "In the front pocket, there's an envelope," you lean in to take a look, and as Aaron said, Rick retrieves a yellow envelope.
"I understand that asking her, asking all of you, to come with me means nothing unless we can provide safety. That's why I brought pictures as proof," Aaron says eagerly. You watch as Rick opens the envelope and pulls out a faded black and white photograph.
With just a quick glance, Rick passes the picture to you, and as it rests in your hand, you see an image of a towering wall. "That's the first picture I wanted to show you," Aaron's voice transforms, as if he's delivering a well-rehearsed sales pitch. "Each panel in that wall is a massive slab of solid steel, 15 feet high and 12 feet wide. Nothing, alive or dead, gets through that without our say-so."
"But it's more than that, Doctor. We have an infirmary and an extraordinary surgeon serving as our doctor," Aaron says, hope peeking through in his voice. "We have the necessary infrastructure and manpower to build you a lab." There's a genuine look on his face as he maintains eye contact with you.
"You can conduct your research right here with us... Our doctor can be the extra hand to assist you in developing the cure. With you, with all of you, it can be more than just survival. It can be the beginning of a future, the resurgence that mankind desperately needs."
Rick gazes at you, and you meet his eyes, exchanging a silent communication. Without waiting for you to say anything, Rick steps forward, moving toward Aaron.
"Together, we are strong, but with you, we can become even stronger," Aaron continues his pitch. "In the next picture I wanted to show you—"
Before he can finish his sentence, Rick's right hook connects with Aaron's face. Aaron crumples to the ground, falling like a felled tree, completely knocked out. Maggie and Sasha rush to tend to the unconscious man, while Rick takes charge, directing others to empty his bag and set up a lookout.
Daryl seems focused on you as he steps over Aaron's body, making his way towards you. "What do you think?" he asks, his question causing the others to pause in their actions.
"I say we should check it out," you state, your gaze fixed on Aaron, understanding the motivation that drives him. He overheard your conversation about the treatment, and without hesitation, he embraced the idea and the hope of saving the world. It's the same reason why eight people lost their lives attempting to bring Eugene from Houston to Atlanta. In these desperate times, hope can mean everything—it can give meaning to all the loss and the countless dead.
"Besides the obvious, like the lack of supplies, we don't exactly know where in D.C. we're heading," you continue, "It was Charles who had the coordinates for the military base's location." As you speak, you notice Jamie quietly explaining to Abe who Charles was. You see the ginger soldier's gaze flicker towards the dog tag hanging around your neck, as if finally making the connection.
"I think we need a home base," you continue, speaking directly to Daryl. Although you're aware that others are listening, "That's just my opinion, but ultimately, you should make the decision on this one, Daryl." You know that Daryl has the best intuition when it comes to strangers. He can easily recognize the difference between good and bad people.
Daryl looks from you to Rick, who is rummaging through the unconscious man's backpack. "What you say goes," you tell Daryl firmly. "You lead, and I'll follow."
There's a moment of hesitation on the hunter's face, but he eventually nods, "Alright." You return his nod with one of your own.
You recognize that Daryl has all the qualities of a good leader—quick on his feet, clever, kind—a true heart of a leader, even if he may not fully see it yet. Perhaps taking on small roles like this will push him to the forefront. Maybe someday soon, he will lead your group, taking over for Charles.
Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel eyes on you. Turning, you come face to face with Carol. "What?" you ask, noticing the small smile she's trying to suppress.
"Nothing," she says, biting her lip and looking away.
"How is he?" Aaron asks the moment you step out of the sleeping area of the old RV, which is nothing like the one you had before, as the space is not utilized as it should be, bulky cabinets taking up the space. You glance back towards Eric, Aaron's partner, who is sleeping, aided by the pain meds you gave him to ease his discomfort.
Daryl proves his leadership skills by working alongside Rick's paranoia, deciding to travel in the middle of the night. Of course, that plan didn't quite work out as intended. And when everything fell apart, he had instead turned the RV around, seeking shelter in an abandoned house. It was during this event that you met Eric, who had injured his leg while attempting to follow his husband.
Now, you find yourself driving towards the community, which, if all goes well, will become your new base. It takes three vehicles to transport the entire group. Glenn, Maggie, Carol, and Sasha lead the way in the first car, while Rick, Michonne, Carl, and Judith follow behind in another car.
"He's alright, he just needs some rest and time for his ankle to heal," you answer, glancing around the cramped space. Aaron sits across from Daryl in the small booth, while on the adjacent booth, Merle and Jamie sit across from each other. Gabriel is squeezed between Jamie and the wall, all three of them eating cans of SpaghettiOs. Gabriel appears uncomfortable, occasionally casting cautious glances in Merle's direction.
On the floor, Eugene, Tara, and Noah are engrossed in a card game, while Abraham drives the vehicle and Rosita occupies the passenger seat.
"Hey," Daryl says, waving at you with his mouth full, pushing his can of SpaghettiOs towards you. He's busy reassembling your wrist knife, which he had taken apart the previous day. You slide next to your husband, taking his spoon and pulling the can towards you.
"You know, Eric didn't believe me when I told him what I heard—about the cure," Aaron begins with a small smile, observing you as you eat. "He thought I had been out here for too long, starting to see and hear things." You hum in understanding, now realizing why Aaron had said, 'Oh, so, you're real' when he walked into the barn.
"So, you came in guns blazing, or in your case, with a big smile," you remark, shaking your head lightly while taking another spoonful of pasta from the can. "But you did well back there, standing up to Rick like that."
A bashful smile appears on Aaron's face as he responds, "Back when the world was still the world, I worked for an NGO. Our mission was to deliver medicine and food to the Niger River Delta." You pause your eating, looking up at him with interest since you were also a part of an NGO (Non-Governmental Organizations). "Bad people pointed guns in my face every other week."
"I know the feeling," you state with a nod, a small smile on your face. "MSF—I did two 12-month rotations, one in Guinea and one in Iraq," you tell him, even though your last mission was cut short due to the world-ending and all.
"Iraq? You were sent to a war zone as a civilian?" he questions, his voice rising in pitch. "Isn't there some crazy aptitude test you have to pass before being deployed to a war zone?" Even Daryl looks up at his tone.
You simply shrug your shoulders. "MSF was called, and I was deployed with the EMU—Expeditionary Medical Units. That's how I met Jamie and his unit. He was assigned as my guardian," you explain, motioning towards the large man sitting behind you. Jamie, upon hearing his name, looks up from his food and gives Aaron a salute.
"That's actually really impressive," Aaron says, his smile brightening. The pause in the card game and the attention of a few group members indicate they're actively listening. "There's a reason why only a select few civilian doctors ever make the cut in the military."
As more people turn to look at him, Aaron delves deeper into his explanation. "She makes it sound easy, but it's not," he says, shaking his head with a touch of awe in his voice. "Because the last thing the military wants is to deal with the aftermath of giving their civilian volunteers PTSD while expecting them to save lives."
"It wasn't all that bad," you reply casually, playing down the challenges. "It's like playing chess—decision-making, problem-solving, adaptability, flexibility, and the ability to focus under stress." You can see it on Aaron's face, the way he looks at you, the way he explains. This aligns with the image he has of you—the person with the cure—and you let him. You let him build this messiah syndrome, the savior complex. The part of you raised by your father, the politician, and the chess player within you recognizes this as something you can potentially exploit later, something that might benefit your group, so you allow it to play out.
"How do ya know all this?" Daryl asks from beside you, as he finally finishes assembling your blade.
"The NGO I worked for was the Red Cross," Aaron explains. "We had plenty of doctors who tried to breach into the military sector because it looks good on their resume."
As if on cue, the RV slows down and eventually comes to a complete stop. Aaron's excitement radiates through the air as he eagerly jumps from his seat, signaling for the group to follow him. You secure your wrist blade back onto your hand and join the others in stepping out of the vehicle.
One by one, the weary members of the group stretch their tired limbs, ready to embark on this new chapter. Aaron takes the lead, supporting his husband Eric with care. With a wave and a warm smile, he beckons everyone towards the gate.
Your gaze fixates on the rusty metal gate, flanked by towering walls on each side, just as you had seen in the black and white pictures Aaron had shown you back at the barn. As the gate begins to creak open, revealing what lies beyond, a slow smirk forms at the corners of your lips.
You don't know what awaits you in Washington, D.C., or whether you'll even find the military base you seek, but one thing is certain: you are going to take this place, and you are going to do it without lifting a finger.
"Welcome to Alexandria!" Aaron exclaims, his voice brimming with genuine excitement.
Oh, this is going to be as easy as taking candy from a baby, you think to yourself.