Contagion
Timestamp: Season 4 Episodes 2-10
"Obviously we don't have the tools to determine it precisely, but based on everything you've told me, I believe you're eight weeks pregnant," Dr. Subramanian said to Michonne.
She sat on the table of the prison examination office. The medical ward was sparse, with only two rooms. The larger was outfitted with a row of gurneys and machines, that didn't work any longer, and the smaller doubled as an office and exam room.
In the early days, the run team had hit the jackpot when they happened upon a fully supplied nursing home. They'd picked the place clean and single-handedly stocked the prison infirmary. So now, Dr. S and Hershel could tend to a whole slew of ailments and injuries. A pregnancy, though, was a whole nother beast.
This was exactly the reason Michonne couldn't fault Rick's jittery knee, which hadn't stopped bouncing since he'd sat down in the chair next to the exam table. He'd stayed by her side while Dr. S, whose group Daryl had picked up while out hunting a few months back, had given her a full examination.
"She hasn't had any other symptoms…" Rick said.
"That's normal. Symptoms are not a measure of how healthy her pregnancy is." Dr. S looked at Michonne. "Based on your examination, you're in great shape so far…"
He'd checked her heart and lungs, got a baseline for her blood pressure, weighed her, and discussed her medical history in depth.
Rick sitting there with an extra attentive ear, as she shared intimate details about her intimate parts, should have made her insides quiver.
But, in this new world, none of it mattered anymore. There was no makeup, dresses, or heels to hide behind. There were no law degrees or fancy cars. They were back to the basics, humans trying to survive, all the while scratching out a life from the broken pieces of what was left of the world.
"I'd like to see you every couple of weeks, up until," Dr. S continued. "And obviously I'm always here if you need anything or have any questions. Perks of living in the same cell block as your Doc," he said, with a wink and wide grin that provided a much-needed dose of levity in the tense room. "Oh, and if you're okay with clueing Daryl in, I'd like to give him a list of things to look out for while he's out there. Prenatal vitamins and such."
Michonne rubbed her hands down her pant legs and blew out a heavy breath. "Yeah. Okay," she replied, before peering over at Rick who observed her with drawn brows and a tight face.
When they'd confirmed the pregnancy the night before, it felt as if they'd been in the clouds, and now it was morning and they were back down to earth. And everything hit different in the morning; you could lie to yourself at night when things were hidden by the cloak of darkness. But the harsh light of day brought clearness of vision.
Rick's back straightened as he focused his attention on Dr. S. "What about complications, are you prepared for that?" he asked, point-blank.
Michonne shifted her body back in Dr. S's direction. Because, yeah, that was a good question. It was one they'd been skirting around since they'd sat down.
For all intents and purposes, they were back in the Stone Age. In a time not pre, but post, modern medicine. She was aware—and knew Rick was too—that it was as simple as this: complications most likely equated to death.
Dr. S sat down on the low-wheeled stool, and took a moment, before leveling with them. "I was a Cardiothoracic Surgeon, before all this. Twenty years. The last time I even saw the inside of a birthing suite was during my OB/GYN clerkship during medical school. And even then, I only assisted…"
Michonne slid her hand over Rick's shoulder and squeezed. It was meant to be a fleeting gesture of support, but when she moved her hand away, he caught it before it could drop. He intertwined their fingers, his attention fixed on Dr. S all the while.
"I know it seems daunting. I'll be honest with you both, it is for me too. And I won't bullshit you, there's a chance there will be things that happen during labor that are out of all of our control. But there's also a chance that it could go perfectly. Either way…"
He looked between Rick and Michonne. "We are in this together. Hershel and I have all the tools here to keep mom and baby as safe as we can, all the way through to delivery. And you've entrusted me with this, so by the time your little one is ready to make their entrance into the world, I'll be ready, with all the knowledge I can scrounge up. I can promise you that."
Rick's knee seemed to stop at that moment. He tightened his grip on Michonne's hand, before nodding to Dr. S. "Thank you."
Maybe it was the unwavering resolve in Dr. S's words or the way his voice caught at the end, but a warm sensation filled her chest, loosening the tight grip fear had on it.
"Thank you, Dr. S.," she said too.
Michonne jumped when she heard a single gunshot.
"Shit," Rick said, running out of the room with Michonne on his heels.
Freshly turned walkers, difficult to distinguish from the living, moved with purpose trying to quench their hunger. Children scurried down the stairs of the cell block, tripping over each other as they ran from their turned parents, who'd no doubt sacrificed themselves. Screams of unrealized fear intertwined with screams of abject agony. It's what Rick, Michonne, Sasha, Glenn, Tyreese, Daryl, and Hershel happened upon when they ran into Cell Block "D" to investigate the gunshots.
They moved with the precision of a military kill squad. Upon hearing the gunshot, Sasha followed protocol and locked up the tombs. Michonne went upstairs and secured the survivors of the onslaught, herding them down to where Rick was waiting to guide them out. Everyone else tore through the cell block eviscerating any walker their eyes fell upon.
After the dust settled, they went through spearing the heads of their fallen community members, which was nearly eighty percent of the cell block. But it wasn't until they happened upon a locked-up cell with a walker inside, who had no bite or scratch marks, that they realized they were dealing with something altogether different.
And when she saw Patrick laying among the dead, Michonne had to rub at her chest in the place her heart lived beneath, to ease the tightness.
"Patrick was fine yesterday, and he died overnight. How can two people die that quick?" Carol asked the council. They sat around a table in the library, having been summoned by Hershel.
The council consisted of Daryl, Michonne, Rick, Hershel, Carol, Sasha, and Glenn when he was around—he was that day. The only one not present yet was Sasha, as she'd stayed back to help Dr. S tend to the wounds of those injured in the attack.
"We'll have to separate everyone that's been exposed," Hershel replied.
"That's everyone in that cell block, right?" asked Daryl. "That's all of us, everyone in this room has been exposed."
The baby. She searched the room for Rick and found his gaze searing a hole into her already.
"We know that this sickness can be lethal," Hershel replied to the room. "We don't know how easily it spreads or how fast it permeates through the body… is anyone else showing symptoms that we know of?"
Michonne caught Carol's face harden. Her voice sounded strangled when she said, "we can't just… wait and see." It sounded as if she was fighting to keep a genial undertone, but her face revealed that she couldn't fathom Hershel not understanding the gravity of what they were dealing with. "And there are children. It isn't just the illness. If people die, they become a threat."
Rick nodded in agreement and said, "we need a place for the sick to go. They can't stay in D. We can't risk going in there to clean it up."
"We can put them in Death Row," Glenn offered.
"Death row? Really?" Michonne asked, aghast.
They had cleared and cleaned it, killing the men who'd been awaiting their fatal fate. But the spirits of those souls still seemed to haunt the block.
When the Woodbury group had arrived, Michonne had waited to fill all the other cell blocks before even considering putting anyone in there to live, and luckily it hadn't come to that yet.
"It's clean. That's an upgrade from D," Daryl said to her.
And because they really had no other choice, she nodded, before turning to Hershel. "Think that'll work for you and Dr. S?"
"It should be alright. I'll help Caleb set it up."
Then, as if an omen of things to come, they heard someone coughing in the hallway as they walked passed the room. The paranoid group looked around at each other with interchangeable expressions that seemed to all say the same thing.
They hurried toward the hallway, just in time to catch Tyreese walking away with his arm around Sasha's shoulders. Sasha coughed incessantly into the crevice of her elbow.
"Hey, you okay?" Carol asked as they all stepped out into the hallway, staying a safe distance away.
Sasha and Tyreese turned around to stand in front of the group. Sasha's face was sweat-drenched and ashen, and it appeared as if she was barely holding herself up.
Michonne's instinct was to go to her friend and guide her to a nice and warm bed and tuck her under thick blankets and make her some chicken noodle soup. But she didn't just have herself to think about, and even if she'd already been exposed, she still had to play it safe. That's how she justified taking a step back at the sight of her friend.
"I'm just taking her back to my cell so she can rest," Tyreese told the group.
Rick stepped up, but not too close. "Tyrese I don't think that's a good idea," he said.
"Why, what's going on now?" Sasha asked.
"We think it's the flu or something. It's how Patrick died."
Michonne tensed at that last part, knowing it was the last thing Sasha needed to hear.
"It killed Patrick?" Sasha asked, her eyes wide with worry.
"You're gonna be okay," Tyreese affirmed to her. "She's gonna be okay," he said to the group.
"And now that we know what he died from, Hershel and Dr. S can treat it," Rick assured. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out. But we should keep you separated for now. Dr. S will come and take a look at you."
Sasha nodded.
Then Tyreese added, "David, from the Decatur group, he's been coughing too."
"I'll go get him," said Hershel, before he turned around and headed for the cell blocks.
"Tyreese, there's an empty clean cell in the tombs," Michonne offered. "They can stay there until they feel better."
Little fires were everywhere, and Michonne alongside Rick and the other healthy council members spent the rest of the afternoon putting them out.
With everyone's attention focused on the pandemonium inside the prison, the walkers outside the fence, seized their moment and finally pushed it past its breaking point.
Michonne and the others were burying the bodies of the recently deceased community members when Lori—who'd taken it upon herself to do what she could to stave off the walkers—came yelling that the fence was bending in.
It was all hands on deck at that point, but there were just too many. So, Rick made a tough call, to sacrifice the sick pigs as a decoy to buy them time to put a dent in the walkers and give them an opportunity to push the fence back in place.
Later that afternoon, as Rick and Michonne worked alongside each other tearing the infected pig's pen apart, and piling up the wooden planks in order to burn them, Michonne swore she could still hear the hogs squealing for help.
After throwing a plank onto the pile, Michonne wiped at her forehead, short of breath. She pulled her locs back in order to fan her neck. Her skin itched from the sting of the flaming sun.
The unsolicited thought crossed her mind: maybe it's morning sickness? Or… it could be…
No. She couldn't go there.
"You okay?"
Michonne turned around and realized she was under the scrutiny of Rick's watchful gaze.
She moved past him to grab another piece of wood. "Think the pigs made them sick?" She asked in lieu of an answer, as she moved to the growing pile of planks.
"Or we made them sick." He threw the plank in his hand down and stopped, his hands on his hips. "I think we should stay away from Andre and Carl. Just in case. "
She looked away. "Yeah… but I just keep thinking… Andre was playing with Mika and Lizzie in that cell block yesterday. Carl was in there too. We've all been interacting with everyone…"
"Yeah… I know… Hershel said there's a chance it won't spread any further. Some of us might be immune too. We don't get to know until we know. But the best we can do now is quarantine the sick and most recently exposed… and we should keep away from the boys. I don't like it but-"
"It's what we have to do. I get it."
He stepped up to her. "You sure you're feelin' okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. I'm fine." And even as she said it, she felt a chill run down her spine.
Michonne's organs were ice cubes, her insides frozen, but every time she brought the back of her hand to her forehead she was almost certain it was on fire. The symptoms had gradually become more vocal throughout the night hours.
The shivers could have been from her current state, but she decided to chalk them up to what she was staring at, at the moment.
Her friend—no, what lay on the ground wasn't her friend anymore—this wasn't how she'd remember her; as a charred smoking body laying on the concrete of the prison's outer vestibule.
Another cremated body lay next to it, but Michonne hadn't known him well; his name had been David.
Bile threatened to rise up from the depths of her rumbling stomach, and she chalked that up to her body coming to terms with the fact that someone who lived among her family had done this.
Michonne couldn't bring herself to look away from the bodies though, because if she did, then she'd have to join the conversation. It meant beholding Tyreese's face, and she didn't know if her body could handle the weight of his grief on top of her own.
But her ears couldn't hide.
She couldn't tune out Tyreese yelling, "somebody dragged them out here and set them on fire. They killed them and set them on fire! You're a cop…" His voice was close now, she assumed he was talking to Rick, who stood next to her. "You find out who did this and you bring'em to me. You understand? You bring'em to me!"
She heard Rick say, "we'll find out who-"
"I need to say it again!?"
"No. No. I understand you're hurting. But please-"
"Sasha didn't deserve this!" Every word was saturated with a note of anguish or grief; it was like he couldn't decide between the two, and he somehow managed to make each new syllable a different emotion.
She couldn't just stand there staring at the ground forever; she forced herself to look up. Tyreese, nostrils flaring, was what she imagined a caged bull looked like right before being set loose.
Daryl grabbed Tyreese's arm and said, "all right, man, let's just-"
"Man I ain't going nowhere till I find out who did this!" Tyreese shook him off and then reared around, ramming Daryl against the wall.
Rick stutter stepped toward them, Carol lept forward too, but Daryl held his hand up for them to back away.
There was a place in Michonne's brain that beckoned her to uproot from the spot she'd been planted ever since they'd been ripped out of their sleep, by Tyreese, and had entered the vestibule. But all she had the strength to do was focus on holding herself up.
And also, things were getting blurry, so Michonne had to close her eyes because the world was tilting ever so slightly too.
People were talking, and she could barely tell who, because her ears were suddenly full. Clogged up, like they used to get after a long summer day in the pool.
Then she heard the muffled sounds of yelling and scuffling. Heard the reverb of fists hitting flesh and Carol yelling Rick's name and Rick yelling for Tyreese to stop. And then everything did stop… at least for her.
As if she were a robot and someone had hit the off switch, her body quit fighting the forces of gravity and crumbled to the ground.
Lying on the concrete, the last thing she saw before she slipped away was Rick's boots moving fast in her direction.
"Wake up, my sweet girl. Wake up, my child," said a voice in a dulcet tone. "It's not yet time. There's more. There's more."
Mom? Michonne fought to push her weighted eyes apart. When she managed, she hoped the deep disappointment she felt at the sight of Hershel sitting above her, didn't materialize as a perceptible change in her facial expression.
"Welcome back," he said.
Where am I? It was meant to be a question spoken out of her mouth, but every time she tried, her chest would concave under the pressure of the breath she had to breathe in order to utter words, and it hurt like hell.
Michonne turned as much as her heavy head would allow, it was not much at all, but she saw bars and a bed. Hershel sat on the bed.
She was on the ground and the harsh blue light of a lamp caught her eye too, from where it sat next to her pillow. Her ears picked up the faint sound of coughing.
She pushed past the pain and got out, "where…" She had to rest after that because every breath was what she imagined the aftermath of running a marathon felt like. "Am… I?"
"You're in Death Row… the sickness, it spread to everyone who survived the attack in cell block D. Deacon, Lizzie, and now others… you were dehydrated, and you passed out."
"Andre…Carl?" She wanted to utter Rick's name too, needed to, but she couldn't go on without another dose of oxygen.
"They're both okay. Andre's with Bethy and Carl and the other kids."
"Rick?"
"Health-wise, he's fine… but If it were up to him, he'd be in here with you. It took three of us to keep him out of here."
"Sounds… right."
Hershel chuckled.
She thought of the last piece of her little family.
As far as she could tell, her body was trying to shut down. She was meant to be the lifeblood of the little one growing inside her and she was only hanging on by a thread. She needed Hershel to tell her it would be alright. She needed her baby to be okay just as much as she needed it for herself.
"My…baby…I-"
"Rick told me," Hershel said, as a dark shadow crossed his face. "There's a group going out to get medicine… the baby needs you strong, so just focus on getting yourself healthy."
She wished she was farther along, so she could at least feel the baby kicking, and get some sort of confirmation that it was still alive in there.
"Hershel… it…feels…like-" Her voice broke, and she felt a searing hot tear escape and ripple out of the corner of her eye.
"I don't care what it feels like," he replied. "You are going to be fine. This baby is going to be fine. We've gotten this far somehow. You can believe it somehow. Now, we all have jobs here and that one is yours."
She lifted her frail hand, the one without the IV in its arm, to her face and wiped at the wetness. "You…didn't…just…" She paused to catch her breath. "Tell…me…to…think…happy thoughts?"
"That's exactly what I'm prescribing. It may be cliche, but it works." One of his eyebrows raised. "Trust me…I'm a vet."
She spread her cracked lips as far as she could muster.
Hershal hooked her IV up to the pole at the end of the bed. "I'm gonna go check on my other patients."
She lay on the ground, trying her best to do as Hershel had instructed.
But, her mind wasn't under her submission any longer, and left to its own devices, went to the worst case: I'm gonna die, Andre's gonna be an orphan, even if I survive this, my baby won't make it through this, Rick is gonna lose me.
No, no, no…
She battled her thoughts, worked to force out the destructive ones, and replace them with thoughts of the other side's future, the happy side.
She closed her eyes and focused on picturing it.
Then she was transported there, walking through this happy place…and boy was it a sight to see.
She saw Carl, who was now an adult; taller, hair cut shorter, and he was in love. He'd found someone, and they were side by side building up the prison, which had been built out in the years since, and expanded into a legitimate community.
She surveyed the prison, how it was in this happy place; more crops, more people, and more buildings stretching out into the forest on all sides.
Andre, who was now a teenager, ran past her. He looked more like Mike than her now. He was going out hunting with his Uncle D, who'd fit him with a crossbow of his very own.
She followed him for a while and saw that he had friends, kids his age to who he'd sneak a bottle or two of uncle D's stash of homemade brewsky. They'd go up to the guard tower in the wee hours of the night and he'd tell them stories of what he remembered of their days in the wilderness.
Lori was there too, tending to the crop fields. Tyreese was by her side and Michonne noticed a wedding ring on both their fingers. Behind Tyreese's eyes, there was still the sadness of someone who'd lost a significant piece of themselves, but he was happy. Their little boy, who looked like Carl, was in between them playing with his action figures.
In the distance, she saw Glenn and Carol talking. People kept coming over to them asking their permission for things. In another flash, she saw Glenn holding the hand of a woman, she couldn't see her face, but she saw that she wore a khaki military-looking cap with her hair tied in pigtails.
Then another flash and Carol was standing in the yard training the kids on how to use a knife to kill walkers.
She spun around when Hershel ran past her chasing his grandchildren, Beth and her husband trailing behind, walking hand in hand.
Her head shot to the side when she heard Andre's deep voice yell, "dad, wait up."
Rick was walking in her direction, but stopped and turned around, to face Andre—who was taller than him now. He waited for Andre to catch up to him and when he did, Rick turned back around, and she noticed he was holding a little girl who hadn't been there before.
As they walked toward Michonne, she took Rick in; his beard was overgrown but well-kept, peppered with gray flakes that were also sprinkled in his hair, which was cut shorter, and his body seemed to have filled out even more.
Then her eyes went to the little girl, who looked like a perfect mixture of Rick and Michonne.
The trio walked past Michonne and she followed as Rick drop their children off at school. She watched him kiss their daughter on her forehead and promise to be back to pick her up, before telling Andre to look out for his sister.
"Say hi to mom for me," she heard Andre say in reply.
Rick watched until they were safely in the building, and when he turned to walk away she followed behind him, eager to see herself in this happy place too.
They were transported to the prison graveyard, and she thought maybe it was a pit stop on his way to her, but her stomach turned when she saw the name that was written on the cross of the grave Rick stood in front of… Michonne Grimes.
Michonne gasped back to life. Her breath came fast. She must have been out, asleep, because she hadn't felt Hershel take the IV out, but it was gone. She hadn't felt someone move her to the bed but she lay in it now.
She brought her hand up to her chest, it felt looser somehow. Her body was still cold on the inside, but she wasn't shivering anymore. She touched her forehead… still warm but an improvement for sure.
"Henry! I need you to calm down!" Michonne heard Hershel yell.
She sat up in the bed and saw, in the cell directly across from hers, Hershel leaning over a sick younger man, who she recognized from The Decatur group. Henry coughed and thrashed, his head moving every which way as Hershel tried to hold him down so he could stick an intubation tube down his throat.
Deacon, looking just as well worn as she felt sat next to Hershel, holding a flashlight over Henry's mouth.
Hershel caught her eye. "We need your help!" he yelled.
Michonne rolled off of the bed and her body dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the ground. She pushed up on all fours and crawled to the wall, and used it to pull herself up.
Stayed by the wall for a second to steady herself, before shuffling across the hall to Henry's room. Spent, she slid down against the wall and slumped over next to Hershel.
"Help me hold him down."
Michonne pushed her body into Henry's, grabbing his wrists, before pressing them into his middle, as Hershel guided the tube down.
Once the tube was inside his mouth, Hershel squeezed the bag in steady succession, providing Henry with relief.
Hershel glanced up at her. "Thank you." Picked up a metal cup of water and handed it over to her. "Drink this. Both of you." His eyes scanned over her. "You look better… good job. Happy thoughts?"
"Kinda." She took a sip and handed the cup over to Deacon, whose body drooped as he tried to stay sitting upright.
"Happy thoughts, huh?" Deacon groused. "Who knew it was so damn simple."
"How long was I out?" she asked, through the crust of her dry throat.
"About twelve hours," Hershel replied. "Your body needed the rest."
They heard violent coughing from within the cell block.
Hershel turned to Deacon, "can you take over?"
"Just tell me what to do, Doc."
Hershel grabbed his hands and placed them on the bag, then his hands ghosted over Deacons. "Every five or six seconds, squeeze. You start feeling lightheaded, yell for me and I'll come back and take over. We'll take it in shifts." He let his hands fall away and Deacon kept going.
"How long will this keep him alive?"
"Just as long as you're willing to do it… as long as it takes."
Hershel stood and regarded Michonne. "You strong enough to help me go on rounds?"
Despite her body screaming for her to say no, she nodded.
Hershel held his hand out and helped her up.
They made their way down the stairs, and as Michonne's eyes scanned over the cells, she thought "death row" had never been a more apt name for the place.
Each person she observed was in worse shape than the last and if they were any kind of barometer for how she looked, she was thankful there weren't any mirrors.
Then they came upon the final cell.
From the outside they saw Buck, from the Woodbury Group, lying still on the bed. Too still. Hershel hurried in and she followed him. Buck lay dead on the bed, dried blood spattered over his face and eyes. She reached for her katana.
"No," Hershel whispered. "Not here."
He disappeared for a minute and Michonne took the opportunity to lean back against the wall, keeping a close eye on Buck.
Hershel returned with a gurney. They placed his body on top, and Hershel covered it with the bed sheet, then they quietly wheeled him into a small, dark room next door to the visitor's area.
She stood by Henry's head, her sword at the ready, and Hershel was at his feet. He peeled his bible open and read, "he will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away..."
Michonne wondered how this man, who'd lost more than most, still found it in himself to believe this was all part of a grander plan. She'd taken it on faith, before, but now it was hard to rationalize a belief in anything but each other.
He closed his bible and looked up at her.
Her inner skepticism must have seeped into her gaze, because he asked, "what?"
"Still think it matters?"
"I do," he stated.
Buck grunted and rose from underneath the sheet. Michonne pushed him back down before stabbing the sword into the side of his head.
"Thank you," Hershel said to her. "He's the second one today. I'm just grateful I didn't have to do it again. How easy we forget walker's were once people, not until they're our people. "
"Hershel, is that you?" They heard a voice, coming from the visitor's room around the corner.
Michonne's body stiffened; she could pick that voice out of a stadium full of ten thousand others. She shook her head in response to Hershel's questioning gaze.
Hershel hustled past her, patting her shoulder on his way out the door and around the corner, into the visitation room.
Michonne ambled out of the room and stood hidden against the short wall between the two doors. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, pictured Rick standing on the other side of the visitation window, and listened.
"Where's Michonne?" she heard Rick croak.
"She's resting," Hershel lied.
"Hershel…I need to see her."
"She's better, really. She was helping me and got tired, that's all."
"No. I need-"
"Rick." Hershel's tone was that of a father reprimanding his son. "I won't allow you to come in here. Now, you need to trust me when I tell you Michonne is okay. If it weren't so, I would tell you."
She didn't hear anything for a few moments.
When Rick spoke again, it was with a brittle voice."How's my dad?"
"He's fine. He's helping me too."
"Are you okay?" Rick asked Hershel, his voice carrying a note of concern.
"Killed our fifth one today, just now… Buck. We're burning them behind the cell block. Burning them…" Hershel's voice cracked.
She heard Him take in a deep breath and then push it out. "I talked to him yesterday about Steinbeck. He told me a quote… A sad soul can kill quicker than a germ." His tenor rose when he said, "that's exactly why I didn't want them all to see what happens. I know they know, but I didn't want them to see it right now."
"They're seeing you," Rick encouraged him. "They see you keep going. Even after all the choices keep getting taken away… Hershel, listen…"
In the silence she envisioned Rick looking down, as he did when he needed to gather his thoughts. "I need to talk to you about Carol…"
Michonne, couldn't hold herself up, her body shuttering as she listened to Rick recount to Hershel the circumstances surrounding the run he'd just returned from. She could barely believe her ears, and if the words hadn't come straight from Rick's mouth she wouldn't have.
"Tyreese is gonna be back here soon, so I didn't think she should be here. And I couldn't have her here… with Andre and Carl… with my children… my baby. She has a car and supplies, she'll figure it out."
"...okay," Hershel uttered so softly she barely caught the two syllables.
"Would you have brought her back?"
"She said she did it?"
"Yeah."
"Then you were right to send her away… Be it as it may, I need to get back up there. How's Bethy?"
"She's okay. Helping Carl take care of the kids."
"Good."
"Will you tell Michonne that Andre and Carl are alright? Tell her- let her know that I love her. That I'm… still with her. She'll know…"
"I will."
She heard Hershel's feet shuffling back in her direction. When he rounded the corner, he looked down at her.
"You heard?" he asked.
She nodded.
He reached his hand down and helped her up.
"Thank you for stopping him."
He shrugged. "We need someone out there taking care of things."
"Yeah, if he saw me… couldn't keep him out… either way, I know you didn't want to lie."
Hershel smiled. "I wasn't lying. Look at you. You're resting."
She tried a laugh, but could only chuckle before she broke into a coughing fit.
Her time on death row was a blur, but what she remembered most vividly was the storm that ushered them into the calm. The deaths seemed to go from every hour to every few minutes. First, it was Dr. S., then Molly who'd been the last of the Woodbury group. Michonne sat with Deacon as he paid his respects, to the woman she knew meant something to him.
Unable to keep up with the mass passings, she and Hershel locked the cells, but not quickly enough.
"Hershel! Michonne!" They heard Lizzie yell from upstairs.
Hershel turned tail and hustled to the stairs, and Michonne sped after him, as fast as her haggard body would allow. He raced up, two at a time, leaving Michonne in his dust.
Halfway up, Michonne heard a scream and a gunshot, in that order. A gust of adrenaline propelled her body up the rest of the way.
When she reached the landing, wheezing and coughing, she spotted Hershel on the ground struggling to get up, his hand nursing his back.
She kneeled next to him. "You… okay?"
He pointed down the hall. "Lizzie." Michonne looked and saw a just-turned Henry, stumbling toward Lizzie, as the little girl guided the walker away.
"Come on Henry… Keep coming boy."
WHAT THE HELL!?
Michonne pushed off the ground and took out her katana. She shuffled down the narrow walkway, and used the wall and the bars of the cells along the way, as her support.
"Henry!" she yelled. "Hey, over here!" She slid her katana across the bars; the steel of the sword grated against the titanium.
Henry—who still wore the bag valve mask—turned around and zeroed in on her. She stopped, holding onto the bar of the cell next to her, waiting for Henry to get close.
Michonne jumped when Dr.S sprung from the darkness of the cell she stood in front of, and grabbed onto her, snarling. She dropped her katana—it slid over the edge of the railing and onto the first floor—as she struggled against his grip. She managed to twist his arms like a pretzel, snapping them at the elbow. They flopped down, and then she grabbed his soft skull and banged it against the bars.
"Michonne!" she heard Lizzie yell, right before she felt another set of hands take hold of her shoulders. Michonne jerked her elbow back into the stomach of the walker. When it stumbled away, she turned around and pushed it over the rail. Henry flipped over and fell onto the netting between the railing and the stairs.
Michonne scurried over to Lizzie, "come on." She steered her into an empty cell and closed the door. "Get back. Hide. I'll come to get you when it's over."
Lizzie nodded with wide eyes.
A piercing scream echoed up from downstairs, and when Michonne looked over the railing, she saw walkers all over the place. Henry was still caught in the net and struggled to free himself.
Deacon. He'd been intubating Henry, and the only reason he'd stop is if… shit. Michonne took off down the hall back toward Henry's cell. She found Hershel kneeling over Deacon, a line of blood trailing down the side of Deacon's mouth. "Is he-"
"No," Hershel replied, cutting her off. "But he needs oxygen! He needs the bag valve mask!"
"It's chaos downstairs, you'll never make it… but Henry has one. He's caught on the net."
"You think you can get it?"
"Yeah. I need your knife."
Hershel handed it to her. "Don't let the bag pop."
"The people downstairs-"
"I'll go," Hershel said. "Dr. S had a shotgun."
They pushed Deacon deeper into the darkness of the cell and shut the door. Hershel set off for Dr.S's cell and Michonne made a beeline back to the railing.
She climbed over the bar without much effort, but lost her footing and fell into the netting next to Henry.
He lunged on top of her and she used all her might to hold him at arm's length as he growled. Then, she spent what was left of her strength on pushing Henry off of her and onto his side. Her arms pushed against his shoulders, as she attempted to at least keep him at arm's length.
But, after that, she had nothing left. And as she stared at his snapping teeth, she waited for Henry to finally overpower her; she couldn't uphold this struggle forever, but he could.
"Michonne!" she heard.
She looked to the side, through the netting, down at the ground, and saw Rick holding his Colt Python up in Henry's direction.
"No!" she yelled back at him."You could hit the bag. We need it for Deacon!"
Rick narrowed his eyes and focused his aim.
She heard the gunshot ring at the exact moment Henry stopped moving.
"You okay!?" Rick yelled.
"Yeah. I'm good."
"Where's dad?"
"He's up here! Cell 100." She ripped the mask off of Henry's face as Rick ran up the stairs. He reached through the railing and helped her up and out. Together, they rushed to cell 100.
Hershel reached the cell a second later.
Rick held his father's head in his hands. Blood streamed from Deacon's mouth.
"He's turning blue!" Rick yelled.
"We need to clear his airway. Turn his head," Hershel replied.
Rick did as Hershel instructed. Deacon gurgled and gasped for air.
"Hershel!" Rick cried. "Hurry!"
"Michonne, hold his arms down."
She went to Deacon and took hold of his wrists, pushing them down as Hershel guided the tube down his throat.
Deacon's body relaxed and his eyes slipped closed as Hershel pumped air into his body.
"You're gonna be okay," Michonne whispered into Deacon's ear.
She caught Rick staring at her face and figured she looked like death warmed over if the nonplussed look on his face was anything to go off of.
"You shouldn't be in here," she said, her voice hoarse.
He lifted his hand to her face and ran his thumb over her clammy cheek. "We heard the gunshots… I had to."
They all looked up when they heard someone approaching. It was Lizzie.
"I thought I told you to stay hidden," Michonne reprimanded, softly.
"Is it over?" Lizzie asked.
"I hope so, sweetheart," Michonne replied.
Later, the run team arrived with the medicine. She and Rick sat around Deacon with Hershel—who steadily pumped the bag—as they watched Bob, stick the needle filled with the life-saving meds into Deacon's arm.
"Hershel," Rick whispered. "Go rest."
Hershel nodded, his eyes watery. Michonne could tell the past two days had taken a toll on him, in the same way, it had on her. Rick took the bag from him and Hershel stood, reluctantly walking out of the room.
"Your turn," Bob said to Michonne, filling a fresh needle with the liquified meds.
Michonne hesitated.
Bob surveyed her dithering. "You afraid of needles?"
"No…" She quickly glanced at Rick, who was staring back at her with just as much curiosity. "Is it safe for… I'm pregnant."
Bob raised his brows.
"I've heard there are certain medicines that are harmful to a baby," she added.
She saw out of the corner of her eye, Rick's attention go from her to Bob, who smiled.
"Lucky for you, this is Zanamivir. Perfectly safe for you and the baby."
Michonne and Rick breathed out a breath of relief, in unison.
"Alright." She held her arm out and flinched just a little when Bob stuck the needle into it.
Michonne woke to Rick sitting on the floor next to her bed in the Death Row cell, the next morning. His head hung back, resting against the wall, and his eyes were closed.
She looked down, at where the bandaged hand of his outstretched arm rested on her still flat belly.
She set her hand over his and he slowly woke.
"Hey," she muttered.
Careful to keep his hand in place on her belly, he shifted inward toward the bed and rested his chin on the shoulder of his outstretched arm.
He peeked up at her through his lashes. "You scared the hell out of me."
"I'm sorry."
"I forgive you. Just this once though, okay?"
She smiled. "Got it… how's your dad?"
"Breathing on his own now and resting, thanks to you. Can't thank you enough. You saved his life..."
"We were all saving each other in here… it's what we do."
Rick's expression went sullen, all of a sudden. His eyes dropped away from her. Carol. It had to be that. There was no way he'd ever make a decision like that without it affecting his soul.
"Baby," she said. He looked up at her. "You did the right thing… what Carol did... Don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive her and I hate that because she's family. She'll find people who don't know... She'll survive."
"Yeah."
"How's your hand?"
"It's healing."
"And You and Tyreese, you're good?"
"Yeah. I think we are."
"And the boys?"
"Andre's missing his mom, but Beth is keeping him and the other kids busy." Rick smiled. "I found some fruit leather, out there, he went crazy for it."
Michonne laughed. "I bet he did... and how's Carl?"
"I gave him his gun back…" Rick said, with a sigh. "He helped me and Lori when the fence caved in and walkers came over."
"What!?"
"Everything's fine. We took care of it… It's not gonna be like how it was before though. It can't be… Lori and I have to accept he's not a kid anymore."
"No. He's a survivor," she affirmed. "In this world, that's something to be thankful for. Right?"
"Yeah."
They stared at each other for a prolonged moment.
Then Rick sighed again and asked, "you okay if I leave for a minute, to go talk to Daryl? I need to tell him about Carol… and I need to tell Tyreese too."
"Yeah, go. I'm fine."
He pushed off the ground and leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead. "Love you."
"I love you too."
Rick walked toward the door.
"Hey!" Michonne called and he turned back.
Her hand went to her belly. "She's gonna be fine," she said quietly, assuaging the fear she knew they both felt, but were too emotionally spent to speak openly about.
Rick raised his brows and tilted his head to the side. "She?"
Michonne shrugged. "I just have a feeling."
He smiled and his eyes glistened, "yeah… she is."
Michonne waited until Rick had gone, to close her eyes again. She couldn't be sure how long she'd been sleeping when an explosion rocked the prison, startling her out of her slumber.
Smoke filled the courtyard, one could barely see the hand in front of them. Bullets flew every which way and bodies were dropping all over the place.
Michonne wasn't clear on much, but Lori and Tyreese had come running into Death Row, commanding everyone to get out and run to the getaway bus they kept loaded with gas and at the ready should anything happen. She heard Lori yell something about The Governor, coming back, with more people.
"Andre and Carl?" She'd asked Lori, when she and Deacon made it down the stairs of the cell block, to where Lori was herding people out.
"Tia went to get the kids," Lori said of the woman who helped Beth care for the children. "They're gonna meet us on the bus."
Once they got outside, Michonne was suddenly dropped into a war zone. Michonne and Deacon ducked their heads as they ran toward the bus.
She kept her arm around his shoulders holding him up, as much as her own depleted strength would allow. Tyreese covered them from behind, and Lori shot at the walkers in their path.
Michonne pushed Deacon up the steps of the bus, before grabbing the railing, to pull herself up.
She looked around the bus for the boys but didn't see them, or Tia, or Beth. "Where's Andre!" she yelled at no one in particular, at the exact moment Lori called out for Carl.
"They haven't made it yet, none of the kids have," someone called back.
"Fuck!" Lori yelled.
Michonne turned to get off the bus, but Lori stopped her.
"No!"
"Get the hell out of my way!" Michonne spat at her.
"You can barely stand. I'll find them both. I'll find them and I'll be right back." She turned away before Michonne could protest.
Michonne watched her go… but there was no way in hell or on earth she was leaving it up to Lori.
She trudged down the stairs and vaguely heard Deacon calling after her, "Michonne!"
She ran through the courtyard, using the shrubs as her cover, and back into the prison.
Rick. God, she hoped he was safe, but she had to find the boys first.
Michonne made her way into their cell block.
"Andre!" she yelled. "Carl!" But all she heard in return was her own echo. She checked every cell in the block before running through the tombs to check the admin offices where Rick had told her earlier, the children had been kept during the quarantine. Everywhere was empty.
Maybe they'd made it to the bus. Maybe she'd just missed them. Maybe Lori had found them.
She ran back in the direction from which she'd come; through the tombs and into the cell block, making her way back to the bus.
When she reached the entrance of the prison and was just about to walk through the door, an explosion from the outside ripped into the building sending her flying backward. She landed against a wall, her head hitting the concrete, knocking her out cold.
Michonne came to, coughing, her lungs rejecting the smoke from the fire the explosion had created. Ash covered her body. And just beyond what was left of the jagged edge of the blown-out wall, was the sound of what had to be at least a hundred walkers.
She pushed herself up, her head pounding, and every inch of her bruised and cut-up body ached, as she lumbered her way to the prison entrance. When she made it to the opening, her eyes scanned over the blown-out front door and stairs. Walkers surrounded the haggard landing, trying to get in. She looked up, and out over the courtyard. The dead as far as the eye could see aimlessly wandered the field. She recognized some of the faces, and there was no living to be seen.
Tears streaked down her face, and Michonne fell back onto the ground, cradling her head between her knees. She rocked back and forth, her mind reeling.
"Calm down," she whispered to herself, feeling her body tremble uncontrollably.
They're fine. They're fine… The affirmation was meant to be reassuring, but instead, it caused her mind to slip into a dark place.
They're dead. They're all dead.
"No! Stop it!" she yelled, smacking her head with the palm of her hands.
Tears were flowing down her cheeks steadily now and her emotions were no longer under her control, she'd given them over to fear and anxiety, and paranoia.
"Breathe, just breathe," she whispered to herself. "Just breathe." And as she repeated it to herself, she practiced it too; closing her eyes and taking in deep shaky breaths that exited her body smooth and even.
And when her eyes finally opened again, they caught on a walker, in football protective pads.
And then she remembered… the riot gear.
There were too many for her to take on with just her katana. As soon as she jumped from the landing, they'd be all over her. She needed more protection.
Michonne ran back into the prison and found the gear in the armory, along with a single rifle. She grabbed a backpack and went to the infirmary, threw as much as she could in, before doing a sweep of all the cell blocks and taking what she thought she could use.
"Did you see if any of my people got out?" Michonne asked the stranger she'd picked up on her way out of the prison. The young woman had been hiding in a small fenced-off vestibule when Michonne had spotted her, and her first instinct had been to leave her. She'd been with The Governor, after all, and was part of the reason Michonne's home was now a graveyard. But damn it, she couldn't have been too much older than Beth. And when Michonne had snatched her gun, she found the clip still full.
The woman whose name she learned was Tara, had walked into the battle possibly without the full story and when she'd learned what the Governor really was, she'd laid down her weapon. Or at least that was the story Michonne was telling herself, because she was hella tired and beat up and she didn't know how she'd survive without someone having her back.
They'd made it out of the overrun yard of the prison and were now on a desolate road.
"All I saw was my sister in that field," Tara said, walking alongside her. "She wasn't supposed to be there. I did it for him. I trusted him. And then he just shot that old man in the head."
Michonne halted, her heart thrumming out of control. "Hershel?" she breathed. "Was his name Hershel?"
Tara turned, her face contorted into a look of anguish, tears in her eyes. She nodded and the bottom dropped out of Michonne's stomach.
"Ugh." Michonne bent forward and dropped her hands to her thighs, before throwing up.
Tara rushed over and pulled Michonne's hair back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she said. "Brian, that man, told us you were bad people. I know it's not true. I can see it's not, so what we did, what I did... I'm a piece of shit."
Tara's voice broke, and Michonne stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Why would you want my help?" Tara asked before she turned to walk away.
Michonne sighed. She really should have just let her go, but... "I don't want your help… I need it. I have to find my family."
Tara stopped and turned around. "Your family?"
"My sons and my husband." The words fell out of her mouth before she even had time to filter them… but it felt right.
"You guys got separated?"
Michonne looked down. "I don't know. I was sick before all of this and when everything went down, I was in quarantine."
"So you don't know if they made it out?"
She shook her head and walked toward Tara. "But I just have to believe they did. And I need your help to find them…"
Tara watched her a moment, before replying, "okay."
They heard a familiar snarling and turned to see walkers crawling out of the woods.
I can't catch a damn break.
Michonne slid her backpack off and grabbed her katana, wincing at the pull in her bruised shoulder when she reached back.
She made her way toward them, slicing through the head of one after another. Every move was another dose of excruciating pain.
When she was done, she turned around and saw Tara watching her with wide eyes.
Michonne stumbled back, as another walker staggered out from the woods, toward her. She squinted her eyes when it split apart and became two. Her head felt light, and before she could catch herself, her body dropped to the ground.
"Michonne!" she heard the faint sound of Tara's voice as her world slowly faded. "Michonne. Hey, Michonne… shit."
She heard Tara hit what she assumed was a walker, over and over again. Then she heard the sound of a car rolling up. And the last thing she heard before her world went black was Tara yelling, "hope you enjoyed the show, assholes!"