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BabySlothXYaoi- Right? If only all babies were more like Jude, the world would be a better place! It was heartbreaking to write Rhys like this since he's already kinda thin, but as you said, there ain't much food lying around. I find it almost amusing that Carl is so used to the way Rhys copes with grief that he can now translate his silence... kinda sad too though. Aughh, Eugene! He is my absolute favourite to write, he's a ton of fun to make up dialogue for! Rhys knows he isn't necessarily the best fighter, but when he teams up he can be effective, this arc of the group on the road is easily my favourite time/point of the show, I love how effective they are at dealing with the world, and I enjoy putting Rhys into it. Thank you!
Blood crashes through my brain, pulsating around my body in a flood of adrenaline. My legs tremble as I look down.
The bridge before us is wrapped by ivy and weeds, constricting its crumbling concrete chunks from falling to pieces. It connects two sides of a yawning ravine. The barriers designed to keep cars from driving off the edge are broken and decaying. My stomach twists as I peer over one of them, the bottom of the ravine spinning. I'm only now realizing that I don't like heights.
Michonne tugs me away from the barrier, getting me to listen as dad tells everyone his plan. Judith held firm in one of his arms.
"Daryl and Carol are still out there looking for water, so we need to do this quick... use the start of this bridge as a choke point. Glenn, Michonne, and I will take the right side. Abraham, Maggie, and Sasha take the left. Don't waste energy killing them. Just push em' into the ravine. Rest of you can wait at the other end."
Once dad stops speaking, he hands Judith to me, and the group falls into action, Abraham and dad organizing their small teams into place. I make my way across the bridge with my sister and the others, only stopping when I realize who's missing.
"Rhys?" I hear my dad say it.
I turn halfway across the bridge to see Rhys still standing at the start of it, his half spear in hand.
I stand and wait, Judith heavy in my weary arms.
It shocks me when I hear Rhys give a quiet response to my dad, the most he's said at one time in weeks.
"I'll stay and help."
I glare the most substantial glare I can muster towards my father. Trying to tell him to shut Rhys down.
But he doesn't.
Dad just shrugs okay. "You're with Abraham's group."
My nerves are running extraordinarily high as I stand with the others at the end of the sketchy-looking bridge, watching our family get ready to take down a small horde on the far side.
The seven of them stand just how dad described, two lines, one on either side of the bridge's mouth, a long drop into the ravine behind them.
The walkers reach them, and they start pushing the dead down the embankment on a rotation, like some strange game in gym class. A game where, if you make one wrong move, you get bit, or you fall to your death. My toes curl at the thought.
Abraham and Dad are at the front of their lines. They push the first two walkers down the ravine, then move to the back of their respective lines, letting the next pair, Glenn and Sasha, get the ensuing corpses. I have to squint to see what's happening, watching the walkers fall down the bank of the ravine, unable to claw their way back up. Glenn moves to the back of his line, staggering from his exhaustion, letting Michonne push the next. Sasha falls back too, Rhys getting the next, Maggie after him.
The plan seems smooth, the rotation happening over and over, almost all walkers tumbling down the ravine with ease. And, just when I'm getting ready to breathe again, something goes wrong.
It's hard to make out from our distance, but Sasha looks as if she breaks away from her line, stabbing a walker instead of pushing it.
Dad pulls out his machete and says something we can't hear from our side. We're forced to watch as they all break their lines, stabbing their way through the remainder of the walkers. Dad almost gets bitten on the forearm by one, and Tara takes Judith away from me when she sees how tightly I'm holding onto her in my anxiety. Daryl comes out of the woods just in time to save Dad's arm, launching a knife into the attacking walker's skull.
I see Michonne push Sasha to the ground after she accidentally catches Abraham's bicep with her knife. Rhys seems not to notice the confrontation as he helps Maggie take out the last couple of walkers. The two women argue for a brief moment before Sasha storms across the bridge.
The bridge was a change of pace, a nice change of pace, but now we're back to walking. I ask Rhys why he stayed on the other side of the bridge. He sees how worried I am, my eyes flicking between his. He gives me a look that says he's sorry, and I tell him it's okay.
Just when everything seems to be going back to normal, and the blisters on my feet start hurting again, I spot cars peeking at us over the road ahead.
"Dad, look!"
He does. We all do. The difference in scenery picks up our pace until we're at the abandoned vehicles. There are three of them. A dusty truck is parked on the side of the road, while a blue jeep lies buried deep in the back of a two-seater sports car, a car crash that probably happened long ago.
Daryl says he's going to look for water again. I see Rhys's head lift from the ground. But he drops it again when Carol asks to go with Daryl before he can.
"No," Daryl tells her. "Just me."
When Daryl leaves alone, the rest of us search the cars. Tara practically jumps at the chance to sit in the sports car, finding a pair of sunglasses hanging from the rearview. However, all our moods plummet again when we find no food, no water, and all their batteries are long dead. Gas tanks dried up too. The most we got was a bottle of booze, which Abraham snatched up before anyone else so much as got to read the label.
I kick a rock across the road, standing with Rhys, who's holding Judith for me while I tie a loose shoelace on my odd shoes, something I've been living with since one of my hiking boots split at the sole.
"Sucks that we can't get them to work," I tell him, not at all expecting a response. Which is why I stare up at him from my shoe with a stunned expression when he does.
"I prefer walking."
I know he spoke on the bridge, but I could hardly hear him then... This is the first time in days that I've heard his voice clearly. It's little more than a rasp. Dry and crackly as he speaks.
I stand, worry swimming in my eyes.
"When was the last time you drank something?" I ask him.
He shrugs his shoulders at me, avoiding my gaze.
"Don't do that," I tell him. "When?"
"Four days ago," he tells me. "I think."
"Shit. We'll find water soon," I try to comfort him, only to realize I'm more worried than he is.
He nods in agreement, staring off towards the woods that Daryl disappeared into.
"Rhys," I sigh, "why did you fight on the bridge."
He shrugs his shoulders again, which irritates me.
"Stop," I tell him, "Stop doing that. I know Tyreese is gone, and I know that you're struggling, but I need you to talk to me."
Rhys turns, looking me in the eyes. His are sad and weary.
"And stop fighting walkers every chance you get," I add. "You've been doing it since the church. It's like you enjoy it."
This hurts him more than I meant it to.
"I don't enjoy it," he tells me, holding Judith close to his chest.
"I know..." I breathe. "But, why did you stay on the bridge?"
"I was worried about Sasha," he tells me earnestly.
"Okay, what about all the times before the bridge?"
He shrugs again.
I look away, knowing he didn't mean to hurt me with that either.
I see Glenn stabbing his knife into a walker, trapped inside the trunk of a car, walking away with Maggie after slamming it shut.
"We'll camp here tonight," Dad tells us, pointing to an open spot of grass by the side of the road.
I take Judith back from Rhys, and we sit down in the dry grass, nothing to eat, nothing to drink.
Daryl shows up, nothing to eat or drink with him either. He shies away from the disappointed looks.
Abraham plants himself in front of Rhys and me, taking the bottle he found of what looks like whisky from his bag and taking a deep gulp of the brown liquid.
"It's not gonna help," I hear Tara say to Rosita as she watches Abraham drink, both women sitting with Eugene a few feet from us.
Rosita grimaces at Abe, responding to Tara from the corner of her mouth with, "He knows that."
"It's going to make it worse," Tara points out.
"Yes, it is." Rosita agrees, seeming to care very little.
"He's a grown man," Eugene tells the two women. "And I truly do not know if things can get worse."
Rosita glares at him, her face grave. "They can."
Abraham notices Rhys watching him. He gives him a funny look over his bright mustache. Then, with a bemused chuckle, Abraham offers the bottle to Rhys, who, much to my discomfort, accepts, holding the bottle in his hand before raising it. He takes a sniff, coughing from the stench. After a second of recovering from the smell, he puts it to his chapped lips. One sip has him choking, spitting out the foul-smelling liquor into the grass beside us, eliciting an amused eyebrow raise from Abraham. Rhys goes to try again, but Sasha appears from behind us, snatching the bottle from Rhys and shoving it back into Abraham's hands, who raises it in thanks.
"Don't be an idiot," she hisses at Rhys, who scowls at the floor and wipes his mouth free of the taste.
I watch Sasha as she walks to pick up the firewood she had dropped by Noah's feet to intervene. She looks down at him and Noah stares back.
Then he tells her, "Your brother... he tried to help me."
Sasha doesn't blink.
Noah looks at his hands then back to her. "I don't think I'm going to make it."
"Then you won't," Sasha says.
My attention is dragged to the far side of the road, along with everyone else's, when we hear low growls coming from the thick bushes. Though they don't belong to walkers, four skinny dogs creeping through the treeline instead, a crazed hunger brimming in their eyes.
Growls turn to barks as the wild mutts cross the road towards the group.
Everyone clutches at knives, some holding their hands over their holstered guns. I clutch Judith tightly, turning her away from the animals, Rhys moving closer to me, concealing my sister between us. Dad moves swiftly between the hounds and us, reaching out for the red wrapped handle of his machete.
Before anyone can make a move, four silenced gunshots quell the barking animals. Sasha, lowering her smoking rifle when she's sure they're dead.
Dad immediately gets to his feet, everyone watching him as he grabs a dried stick and breaks it over his knee.
"Get a fire going," he grunts.
Dog tastes strange, like pork, I suppose. Only stringier and chewier. I think back to when we left Hershel's farm. Mom was still alive and pregnant with Judith. I remember how Dad stopped me from eating dog food, thinking it was beneath us. I wonder how he feels now, as we all sit on the side of the road, eating dog meat a few feet from some bloody collars reading names like Luci and Duke.
While Dad feeds Judith, Sasha drops more wood beside the fire pit next to him. She grabs a piece of a cooked dog before walking a few feet from the rest of the group and sitting down with her food.
I watch her, feeling pity, knowing that she's lost everything. She still wears Bob's scruffy military jacket, now with Tyreese's tactical harness over the top. Donning what the lost left behind to remember them in some way, maybe even honour them.
Rhys suddenly gets up from next to me. With a piece of dog jerky in hand, he walks a few feet and sits back down beside Noah instead, who has been giving him nervous side-eyes for the last hour. Since they're sitting only a few feet from me. I can hear their conversation if I try.
"Why do you keep looking at me?" Rhys asks him.
"Because I want to tell you something," Noah responds.
"You don't need to apologize again, man. It wasn't your fault," Rhys tells him.
"I'm not."
Rhys takes another bite of dog before giving Noah his attention. I can't help but feel slightly jealous at how much Rhys is saying to him.
Noah clears his throat, "Before Tyreese- before he and I went into my house... before he got bit. He told me he wanted to die for what he lost. For who he lost."
Rhys is holding the piece of meat so tightly I worry it might explode. He lets Noah keep speaking, though, holding his nerve.
Noah goes on, "Ty told me that he- um... he stepped out into a horde before? Said he was trying to take it all out on them until they took him out." Noah's confidence seems to grow as he tells his story, as he falls back in time to that moment. "He said, 'I put them all in front of me, so I didn't see anything. Then, later I was there for the baby when she needed me.'"
Noah nods, affirming to himself that he's remembering it right.
"Ty saved her, brought her back to you, and to Carl and Rick." Noah pauses because Rhys is smiling. He's not happy, though. The smile is far from happy, with sad tears falling silently down his face.
Noah isn't done speaking yet.
"You see, Ty said that wouldn't have happened if he'd given up. If he didn't choose to live." Noah exhaled like he finally got something off his chest. "Rhys, I don't know what's going through your head at the moment. I just figured you might need to hear that."
Rhys thanks him in a nod, getting up and coming back to me.
The sky starts getting darker, and we all want to rest now that we aren't being shadowed by the dead. Daryl starts complaining to himself about being out of smokes.
"Wanna get some sleep?" Rhys asks me.
"Okay."
We find a spot under the trees, the sky now rather dark. Roots and rocks dig into my back as I shuffle, trying to get comfy, giving up when I can't manage it.
"Carl." Rhys's voice is so quiet.
"Rhys," I smile, hoping he can hear it in the dark.
"I'm sorry I haven't been speaking," he whispers.
I listen.
Rhys takes a small breath. "I'm just scared."
A/N
Funny, I never realised that the harness Sasha wears is the same one her brother had... literally only got that when I was working on costume for this.
Back to Rhys next chapter.
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:)