AN: This chapter was a long one but I needed to put the pieces in place for our favorite apocalyptic couple. Hope you enjoy it!
—- Woodbury—-
Twenty-four hours spent within the confines of Woodbury provided Michonne with a wealth of insights. She now knew the guard's schedules and patrol patterns, noting their heavy armament but lack of adequate training. The paramilitary was pathetic, she could only point out a few who appeared to have any real combat experience. Too many of them relied on brute force and intimidation rather than skill and strategy.
She also discovered that Woodbury housed approximately seventy-three residents, with only a small fraction being pre-apocalypse inhabitants. But what made Michonne the most suspicious were the records in the Governor's office indicating that nobody ever moved away from Woodbury unless they were exiled and she found only one instance of that at the start of the Governor's leadership.
While the rest of the community reveled in the neighborhood block party, Michonne remained focused on her investigation. Discreetly, she inspected the military vehicles positioned at the back of Woodbury's perimeter, away from the prying eyes of the unaware residents. Curiosity piqued, she ran her fingers along the doors, noting the bullet holes that lined these trucks, same as the ones at the checkpoint from before except these bullet holes were smaller. Most likely caused by pistols.
"This area is off-limits," The Governor declared sternly, surprising Michonne. She expected him to be busy playing the role of a caring politician for the citizens of Woodbury. Instead, he was here, watching her.
"Just getting acquainted with this place. I didn't know the area was off-limits," Michonne signed, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying a hint of defiance.
The Governor smirked and gestured to the sign that clearly read 'Security Personnel Only' in bold letters. Michonne shrugged nonchalantly and started to backtrack toward the town square. Her progress was halted abruptly when he stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path.
"You know, you can drop the act," he said, locking eyes with her before closing the distance with a charming smile. "I already know you can speak. My daughter is hearing impaired, remember? Your signing skills may not be as polished as you pretend."
She met his gaze evenly, refusing to flinch under his scrutiny. "Maybe I just prefer to communicate that way," she replied, her tone steady. "It's a choice, not an act."
"Such a shame," he said with a gentle smile, his eyes softening, "your voice, it's quite soothing. But if signing is your preference, I understand. I'm more than happy to accommodate you. Anything you need really but I have the feeling you aren't being fully honest."
Michonne gazed up at him, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty about his intentions. Was he flirting, being genuinely kind, or trying to manipulate her? It was probably a mix of all three. Uncomfortable with his proximity, she stepped back and gestured towards the vehicles riddled with bullet holes. "What happened here?"
His expression turned serious, his brow furrowing as he followed her gaze. "You're aware of the dangers out there," he began, his tone grave. "It's not just the dead we have to worry about. A group of raiders ambushed one of our supply teams a few weeks back. We lost some good men, but thankfully, most of them made it back."
"How did you acquire military-grade vehicles in the first place?" Michonne inquired.
"Abandoned," he replied simply. "There are plenty of military checkpoints like the one we found you at."
"Seems like you've got quite the operation going on here," Michonne remarked, her tone neutral as she observed him closely.
"We do what we can to survive," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "But enough about that. You're missing out on all the festivities. I saw Andrea with your boy earlier. They seemed to be enjoying themselves." With a gesture, he motioned for Michonne to follow him towards the dining area, leaving the conversation about the military vehicles behind for now.
"Andre's father…" Phillip began and Michonne felt herself tense as her mind immediately pictured the memories of the past she had tried so hard to bury. "Is he the reason why you are so eager to leave this place?"
"He's... he's no longer with us," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggled to maintain her composure.
"He wasn't one of your pet walkers?" Phillip began cautiously, his voice trailing off as he noticed Michonne's sudden change in demeanor. "Andrea mentioned—"
"What?" Michonne interrupted sharply, her head snapping in his direction, her locs swirling with the movement. "Andrea knows nothing of Andre's father, and I would appreciate it if you didn't speak of my son or his father again."
Phillip raised his hands in surrender, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "I was just going to say that Andrea mentioned you had pet walkers to mask you from the dead. I wondered if one of them was the boy's father. To have them with you as long as you have, they had to hold some significance to you. It such a shame you had to slice them up as you did for your protection."
She relaxed a bit at the explanation and let out a sigh, "That's not it. I've been on my own since the beginning." It wasn't entirely a lie, Mike and Terry had died not long after the outbreak and she hadn't seen or heard from them in a long time. Since found Andrea, she hadn't felt the need to talk to the dead. She realized she had been tugging Mike and Terry along more so out of habit and as a reminder to be careful of whom she trusted.
"I see," he nodded. "You're a strong woman, Michonne. Not many can survive out there by themselves. Even less with a small child. I'm impressed." He placed a hand on her arm, his grip gentle but firm. "You should consider staying here. We can protect your boy, and we can offer him a normal childhood. The best we can muster at least."
Michonne was silent, her eyes focused on the hand that rested on her arm. He caressed it gently before quickly removing it.
"Where are our weapons?" she demanded but he ignored her.
"Consider the offer. We could use someone with your skills in security," he suggested, his gaze lingering on her thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe even the research team. Your ingenuity with the roamers wouldn't go unnoticed. Milton, our resident scientist, would love to hear anything you have learned about the roamers while you've been surviving out there. "
"Governor!" someone called out to him from a distance.
"Duty calls," he remarked, excusing himself. "We can pick this up tomorrow morning."
With a scoff, Michonne pivoted on her heel, her resolve solidified. Tonight, she and Andre would depart, but not before a swift detour to the Governor's residence. Despite scouring the armory and his office, her prized katana remained elusive. Yet, a nagging suspicion gnawed at her: it must be stowed away in his private quarters, held close like a prized possession.
A couple of hours later, Michonne was in the room she shared with Andrea, gathering all their possessions. Amidst the chaotic packing, she froze as Andrea stormed into the room, Andre perched on her hip. Her eyes narrowed with accusation. "Phillip told me what you did. Did you break into his house? To get your sword? What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that we need to leave. The best time to leave will be tonight, they don't have as many eyes on the south wall. We can sneak out and —-"
"We're not prisoners Michonne. You're sabotaging something that could be good for all of us. Think of Andre!"
Michonne's grip on the bag tightened, her knuckles flushed with anger. She felt the weight of her sword on her back, as she inhaled deeply. "I don't need to be told to think about what's best for my son. He is all I ever think about. If you weren't so hung up on the Governor's charming smile and bright blue eyes, you would see it too."
"Oh, I see perfectly fine," Andrea began as she took a step closer to Michonne, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "You've been out there so long that you got used to it. Constant fighting, wondering when you'll get your next meal, and sleeping in shifts because you don't know what or who is going to pop up on us. Andre needs shelter, a community."
"Andrea, you know as well as I do that this place isn't what it seems," Michonne tried to reason with her. "Woodbury is not the answer. Just because they have walls and amenities doesn't mean it's worth staying. No one who comes here leaves…ever."
"Because they don't want to! Only a crazy person would come here and see what they have to offer and run away from it," Andrea countered.
"So, I'm crazy now?" Michonne shot back, her voice rising in disbelief as her eyes widened with emotion.
"I didn't mean to say that," Andrea corrected herself, her tone softening. "What I mean to say is that while you have been sneaking around, I have been speaking to the people who live here. They genuinely care for the Governor, grateful to him for providing them with a sense of normalcy."
The blonde gently settled Andre on the bed beside the bags Michonne had already packed. Both women paused, their expressions reflecting the tension between them as they attempted to navigate their conflicting perspectives.
"This was supposed to be temporary," Michonne reminded her.
With a sigh, Andrea crossed her arms, her voice barely audible, "Well, I'm not so sure it should be."
"Mommy, can you please stop fighting with Aunt Andrea?" Andre's voice was small but sincere as he tugged at Michonne's sleeve. "It makes me sad when you're both angry."
Michonne observed Andre's hazel eyes beginning to water, a clear indication that the tension between the two women was taking its toll on him. With a heavy sigh, she scooped him up, feeling the weight of his small body against hers, and started gently rubbing his back. It didn't take long before his breathing evened out, the rhythm of sleep overtaking him.
"I told you that if things got bad, I would take Andre and leave," Michonne spoke softly, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and concern. "Shit is bad here, Andrea. I know you can't see it yet but you will. I just hope it's not too late."
"And you're just going to leave me?" Andrea's voice wavered, her brows furrowing in hurt and disbelief. "What happened to us sticking together?"
Michonne met Andrea's gaze, her own eyes reflecting the conflict raging within her. "You are the one who's choosing to stay. We had a plan and now you've changed your mind. What do you expect me to do?" She watched as Andrea's expression shifted, her features contorted with the weight of their disagreement, the divide between them growing wider with each passing moment.
Tears welled up in Michonne's eyes, and she quickly brushed them away with a rough swipe of her hand. The frustration she felt was directed more at herself than anything or anyone else. She wished she could see Woodbury through the same lens as Andrea, to embrace that comforting ignorance, but she couldn't bring herself to do it... she wouldn't. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I am being paranoid, but I can't shake this feeling. Something's not right here. These people live in a dream world. It's not real. I don't have any proof that the Governor is up to no good but I don't need it. My gut is enough."
Andrea's expression softened, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes as she moved to sit beside Michonne, her movements gentle and reassuring. "I get it, Michonne," she began, her voice soft and empathetic, "I understand that you don't need proof, but I do. Philip mentioned he offered you a position on the security team. Why don't you take him up on that offer, see how they run things? I'll stay here with Andre and see what I can dig up, but if neither one of us comes up with anything, we lay this whole thing to rest and just enjoy Woodbury for what we know it to be."
"I can't make that promise but I will look into it some more…for your sake," Michonne's grip on Andre tightened slightly. She looked at Andrea with a mix of determination and exhaustion. "How long are we giving this place?"
Andrea gently placed a hand on Michonne's shoulder. "I overheard Milton mentioning the scouting team is going out tomorrow. I'll talk to Phillip and see if you can be one of the escorts, let him know that we are going to give this place a chance. I'm sure he'll be willing to accommodate you."
Michonne nodded, a sense of resignation in her eyes. "One more day, then that's it, Andrea. After that, we're out. Whether you're coming or not."
—- Small town ten miles north of Woodbury —-
True to his word, the Governor accommodated their request and Michonne found herself guarding three runners alongside Merle in a sleepy town a little north of Woodbury. They waited outside, in the alley behind a convenience store while the runners searched for supplies.
"You know, that kid of yours, I can't seem to place him. He looks familiar to me somehow," Merle said, his gravelly voice breaking the silence like a rough-edged blade. He leaned against a nearby wall, his eyes fixed on Michonne with a curious glint.
Michonne regarded him warily, her grip on her assigned pistol tightening imperceptibly.
"What you say your last name was again?" he asked.
"I didn't," Michonne replied evenly, her gaze steady.
Merle chuckled, a rough sound that seemed to echo off the walls of the alley. "Tell me anyway," he insisted, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Michonne's jaw clenched subtly, a silent sign of her growing discomfort. She shifted her weight, the tension in the air palpable as Merle's gaze bore into her with unsettling intensity.
"His name's Andre," she finally offered, her voice tight with restraint. "Andre Anthony."
Merle's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as a flicker of recognition passed over his gaunt face. He scratched at his scruffy beard with a rough hand, the gears of his mind audibly turning. "Anthony, huh? Ain't that somethin'," he muttered, his voice tinged with a rough drawl. "Reminds me of a fella I met. The same one that did this to me," he jabbed a finger toward his prosthetic, the metal gleaming dully in the dim light. "Andrea said his name was Rick. But Rick Anthony don't sound right. Maybe it was Graham, or Greene, or…"
Grimes, Michonne's mind supplied as Merle's words sank in. She studied him for a moment, noting the way his gaze seemed to drift off into the distance, lost in memories she could only imagine.
As Michonne absorbed Merle's words, her mind became a storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions. If what Merle said was true, it meant that the Rick Andrea spoke of was indeed her Rick, Andre's father. The realization hit her like a wave, bringing with it a flood of implications. Not only was Rick alive, but Lori, his wife, was having an affair with his best friend. The woman he had left Michonne for in order to provide a stable life for his son Carl was cheating on him. The irony of the situation was not lost on her and a new wave of anger hit her. All of that heartbreak he put her through didn't amount to anything but at least she knew he was alive out there somewhere. There was comfort in that.
As Michonne sobered her emotions, she chanced a glance at Merle. The memory of the night he captured them flooded her mind, vivid and unsettling. She recalled how he wasn't exactly kind to Andre then, and she shuddered at the thought of how much worse he could be if he discovered Andre's true identity—the son of the man he blamed for his amputation. The mere idea sent a chill down her spine.
The sound of the rustling bags from the runners intruded upon Michonne's senses, prompting her to cast a wary glance in their direction. Their jittery movements raised a red flag in her mind, signaling trouble ahead. Despite Merle's expectant gaze, urging her to follow, Michonne's instincts screamed at her to pause, to reassess the situation.
A sense of foreboding settled over her like a heavy shroud as Merle's smile widened, his gun raised in a menacing gesture. Michonne's fingers tightened around her own weapon, ready to defend herself, but when she pulled the trigger, nothing happened. They had given her a dud.
"I can't believe you actually tried to shoot me. A real spitfire," Merle taunted, his words dripping with malice. "It's a shame you couldn't just fall in line. But it don't matter." With a swift kick-off from the wall, he turned to face Michonne fully, his intentions clear. "Hate to orphan the kid, but Governor's orders."
With lightning speed, Michonne flung her gun at Merle's face, aiming to gain a fleeting edge. As he stumbled, she expertly unsheathed her katana, ready to deliver a decisive blow. Yet, before her strike could land, a deafening blast and an agonizing surge of pain shot through her thigh, momentarily freezing her in place as she screamed in pain.
Gritting her teeth against the agony, Michonne pivoted on her heel and sliced through the air, her blade cleaving through the neck of the runner who had fired the shot. With a fluid motion, kicked Merle square in the chest, sending him flying.
With swift agility, she darted into the convenience store through the back entrance, slamming it shut and securing the lock just as Merle's gunfire erupted, bullets pounding against the door like relentless thunder.
"Little piggy, little piggy, let me in," Merle taunted.
Michonne ignored him and continued moving away from the door when Merle began relentlessly pounding against the door. With the front exit barricaded by the security gate, the only exit was the door that Merle was working so hard to kick in. She was trapped and she knew it was only a matter of time before they gained entry. She needed to think of a plan fast. As she looked around the room, she saw an air duct near the ceiling that could possibly lead to another exit, but it was too high for her to reach. She would have to jump and pull herself up.
It wasn't the most ideal plan, but it was the best she had. With her katana sheathed and on her back, she made her way over to the counter and climbed on top of it. The pain in her leg was nearly unbearable, but she pushed through it, gritting her teeth against the burning sensation that radiated from her wound. She had no choice; she needed to survive for Andre. She couldn't give up now. She wouldn't.
With a deep breath, she prepared herself for the jump. As soon as her feet left the counter, she reached up and grabbed hold of the air duct, pulling herself up and inside. She could hear Merle and the other men breaking down the door, their voices echoing through the small space as they taunted her.
"Come on out, princess. It's time to play," Merle called out.
She crawled through the duct as fast as she could, her heart pounding in her chest and her leg throbbing with every movement. As she reached the end of the tunnel, she saw a light shining through a vent in the wall. Without hesitating, she punched out the grate and climbed into a small bathroom. The room was dusty and there were cobwebs everywhere.
She could still hear Merle and the others below, their voices muffled by the walls between them. She looked around and spotted a window. It was small, but big enough for her to fit through. She hurried over to it and climbed out onto the fire escape. She could see the ground below and the alley where she had first entered. She could also see bits and pieces of the backdoor scattered around the entrance but she couldn't see Merle or any of the runners. Most likely they were all inside.
As she cautiously made her way down the rusted fire escape, Michonne's keen eyes caught sight of an Asian man and a Caucasian woman below. They were hastily loading large bags and a basket of baby formula into a pickup truck parked across the street, their movements tense and alert in the aftermath of the earlier gunfire. The glint of weapons at their sides indicated they were prepared for trouble.
It was the sharp-eyed Asian man who spotted her first, his gun trained on her in a split-second reaction. Michonne held up a hand in a silent gesture, urging him to stay quiet, and then pointed discreetly towards the back entrance where Merle's voice still echoed in the distance. The man's expression hardened with understanding and he quickly moved to cover Michonne from his position behind the opened passenger door. The woman joined him but she stood on the driver's side. They both watched the back door expectantly, their weapons raised and ready.
With a quick nod, the man signaled for Michonne to head towards the truck while they provided cover. Wincing against the pain in her injured leg, she hurried over as swiftly as she could, her senses on high alert for any sign of Merle's approach. As she reached the truck, she slipped into the back with a quiet urgency, her heart pounding in her chest as she braced herself for the inevitable confrontation.
"Well, well, well," Merle drawled, his tone dripping with smugness. "Look who we got here. Ain't the world a small place? Glenn, right?"
Lying low in the back seats of the pickup truck, Michonne's senses heightened as Merle's gravelly voice sliced through the air, sending a chill down her spine. With bated breath, she remained motionless, silently pleading that he wouldn't detect her presence. Gingerly arching her back, she deftly maneuvered to unstrap the katana scabbard from her back, the confined space presenting a challenge as she carefully extracted the blade, readying herself for a potential opportunity to strike if Merle happened upon her location.
"We're done here, Dixon," a voice, presumably Glenn's, retorted tersely. "We don't want any trouble. Just leave us alone."
Merle chuckled darkly. "Aw, come on now, Chinaman. Where's the fun in that? You know, I never did like you."
"The feeling's mutual."
"I'm sure it is," Merle sneered. "And who's this pretty lady, huh? A little out of your league, ain't she?"
"Leave her out of this, Merle," Glenn shot back, his voice laced with warning.
Merle's laughter echoed through the alley. "Now, now, that's no way to speak to your elders, boy. Besides, we got some catching up to do. Where's Daryl and that prick Rick? You tell me and I'll tell you where Andrea is. That's if you wanna know. She said y'all left her behind."
Michonne's heart hammered in her chest as she listened to the tense exchange. These people also knew Andrea and Rick. The sound of footsteps drawing nearer caught her attention.
"Stay right where you are," Glenn commanded, his voice firm. "You found Andrea?"
"You know where Daryl is?" Merle fired back.
"This doesn't have to get ugly. If you wanna see Daryl, we'll go get him but we can't take you back to our camp. That's just not gonna happen."
"Fine, suit yourself," Merle replied with a dismissive grunt. "You always were a stubborn little shit."
Suddenly, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the air, followed by Glenn's shout of pain and the frantic rustle of movement.
"Maggie, go!" Glenn's voice rang out, filled with desperation. "Drive back and tell Rick what happened."
"I'm not leaving you," the woman, Maggie said. Another shot was fired. "Come on!"
"Annie Oakley," Merle's voice taunted from the chaos, "Your boy's been shot. You can waste time talking, or you can watch him bleed out. No skin off my nose either way. But if you try that again, I'll put a bullet in him myself."
"Just go!" Glenn's voice pierced through the chaos, urgent and frantic.
"Fuck!" Michonne cursed under her breath as the truck jolted into motion, the engine roaring to life and they began speeding down the road.
—- At the Prison —-
"We have a few more days of food for us and maybe a week's worth of formula for Judith," Hershel's voice broke through Rick's reverie, drawing his attention back to the present. The old man's words carried a sense of urgency. "We can't keep relying on scavenging. We need to start thinking long-term. Grow some crops, and get a few animals. Otherwise, we'll keep running into this issue."
Rick ran a hand wearily over his face, his brow furrowing with worry. The stress from the lack of provisions was weighing down on him. "I'll see what I can do about the food," Rick stated. "Maggie and Glenn are already on a run for food. When they come back, I'll send T-Dog, Oscar and Daryl to look for gardening equipment, seeds, whatever we can find. But my number one priority is getting Judith more formula. We're several months off before we can start weaning her off the stuff."
"That's good, but we still need more food." Hershel reminded him. "We can't depend solely on the runs."
Rick nodded, but didn't offer any other words of encouragement. He didn't have any to give. Instead, he just stared off into the distance while his fingers combed through the grass he was sitting on. Today was a nice day, the chill winter air giving way to the warmth of spring. Lori smiled at him knowingly.
"You seem a little distracted. Is everything okay?" Hershel questioned.
Rick's eyes fell to his lap, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He couldn't tell Hershel the truth. He couldn't tell anyone that Lori was haunting him. She was everywhere just watching him, judging him. He tried apologizing, tried making amends but every time he opened his eyes, she was always there. Watching. Waiting. He didn't know how much longer he could take it. "Just tired is all," Rick finally answered, forcing a smile.
"You should get some rest," Hershel suggested. "I'll take care of everything."
"Thank you," Rick sighed, relieved. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Of course."
The sound of approaching footsteps caught their attention and they turned to see Carol, Daryl and T-Dog walking up to them, their faces a mixture of annoyance and humor. Carol signaled to Rick and Hershel to not mind them as they continued walking pass them. Daryl pointed up at the guard tower before turning to Carol and pointing up at it.
"How much you want to bet that our love birds been gettin' busy up there and that's why we can't find them?" Daryl joked.
"It's the only place that hasn't been searched," Carol smiled.
"That's a sucker's bet," T-Dog laughed.
"Glenn and Maggie are still on their run," Rick told them.
"I think that is my cue to leave," Hershel said as he moved past Rick and Carol, heading for the prison. "I'll make a list of everything we'll need for the farm and get it back to you by this evening."
Rick nodded and thanked him, watching him as he walked away before turning his attention to the three people in front of him.
"Why are you looking for Glenn and Maggie?" Rick asked, curious.
"Me and T-Dog, we're fixin' to head out on a run tomorrow. Everyone's scramblin' to get enough formula for little ass-kicker, and we figured we'd scope out a spot nearby. Problem is, I need someone to cover my shift on the guard tower. So, I was thinkin', maybe I could swap with Glenn, seein' as he's haulin' back food and all." Daryl laid it out.
Rick smiled at the nickname. "Got herself a name now. Carl named her Judith.".
Daryl nodded, absorbing the news about Judith. "Judith, huh? Still prefer little ass-kicker."
Rick nodded back, then glanced around, his eyes falling on the others scattered around the camp. "I'll let Glenn know about the swap. He should be back soon with Maggie."
"They sure takin a long time," Daryl shook his head. "Those two have been bangin' like a couple'a horny teenagers. Don't even try to deny it, It'll be the fourth time this week they've ran off somewhere. Two energizer rabbits."
"Do you really keep tabs on how often Glenn and Maggie... you know?" Rick inquired, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Daryl shrugged nonchalantly. "Gotta find somethin' to pass the time, don't we? Maybe we need to spice things up around here. Ask Hershel what they used to do for fun back in his day."
Rick chuckled and shook his head. "Probably exactly what Glenn and Maggie are up to."
"I think we'll stick to scavenging and walker-killing for now," Daryl smirked.
Rick squinted his eyes, the sun blinding him momentarily. "Glenn has a good head on his shoulders. I trust him to get what we need and Maggie knows how much we need formula. She wouldn't jeopardize that. I want you to take Oscar with yall tomorrow. I think it's time we test out his usefulness."
"I guess," Daryl conceded, his voice gruff as he surveyed the prison yard. He spared a cautious glance in his direction. "I'm sorry about Lori, man. But we all will do what we can to help you out with little ass-kicker."
Rick cracked a smile, "So you're just gonna ignore her name?"
"Yeah," he chuckled, his eyes brightening. "I'll be the uncle that does cool shit with her. Show her how to shoot a crossbow and stuff. That way when the rest of y'all are being lame and shit, I'll be her favorite."
"What are you gonna teach her, man?" T-Dog snorted. "How to track squirrels and how to swear in three different languages?"
Daryl flipped him the bird and laughed. "I'll show her how to ride a motorcycle and how to take a beating like a champ. That's a pretty important lesson right there."
"I'm sure that'll be helpful," Rick quipped.
"It'll be fuckin' necessary," Daryl asserted.
"Not for a newborn," said Carol.
Just then, the pickup truck Glenn and Maggie took earlier today was speeding down the road, dirt kicked up as it came to the gate. Rick quickly ran down to open it, The other three not trailing far behind. Once the truck was safely inside and the gate secured, Maggie hoped out the driver's side, her face red and her hair messed up.
"Help me!" Maggie's urgent cry pierced the chaotic air as she sprinted towards the passenger side of the vehicle.
That's when Rick noticed the woman, slumped forward in her seat, seemingly unconscious. He couldn't get a clear look at her face, obscured as it was. She was a black woman with locs. That's all he could discern, but it was enough to evoke thoughts of Michonne.
"What happened?" Rick demanded, his voice hard with concern.
"She's been shot," Maggie said. "She was being chased down by a group of men. They took Glenn."
"Is she alive?" He questioned as he approached Maggie.
"For now." Maggie replied.
As Rick lifted the injured woman out of the vehicle and carried her towards the makeshift infirmary, Daryl and T-Dog were already working on the bags of supplies. Carl ran up to him curious about the commotion, his oversized sheriff hat barely staying on.
"Where's Glenn?" he blurted out, his voice tinged with concern and confusion.
Rick's expression tightened with worry as he met his son's gaze briefly. "Glenn was taken," he replied.
"What?!" Carl's eyes widened in disbelief, his youthful features contorted with shock.
"Not now, Carl," Rick said firmly. "Find Hershel. We'll talk later," he promised.
Carl hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowed in consternation, before nodding resolutely and darting off in search of the elder Greene.
With Carl gone, Rick wasted no time in ushering the injured woman into the infirmary, his movements purposeful as he carefully laid her down on the examination table. Maggie had already grabbed a pair of scissors and was cutting the pants off the woman's leg to better assess her injuries.
Rick's hands trembled as he reached out to check for a pulse, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of dread and desperation. With trembling fingers, he brushed aside the woman's locs, his breath catching in his throat as he finally caught a glimpse of her face.
It was her.
His Michonne.
The world seemed to spin around him as he stared at her, disbelief and anguish washing over him in waves. He closed his eyes tightly, as if trying to banish the sight from his mind, but when he opened them again, she was still there, her features unnervingly still and lifeless.
"No..." The word escaped his lips in a choked whisper, his voice trembling with raw emotion. He took a shaky step back, his chest tightening with a suffocating sense of panic. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening to him. Not again.
His breaths came faster now, shallow and ragged, as if he were struggling to draw air into his lungs. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pressing in from all sides, suffocating him with their weight.
Without another thought, he turned and fled, his movements frantic and unsteady. He stumbled through the dimly lit corridors until he reached the catacombs, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts and fears. He needed to do something, anything, to escape the suffocating grip of his grief.
His hand instinctively went to the hatchet clipped to his belt, his fingers curling around the handle with a white-knuckled grip and he began slashing away at walker, after walker. With each swing of his hatchet, Rick's mind became consumed by a primal urge to fight, to unleash his pent-up anguish on the relentless horde of walkers that lurked in the shadows of the catacombs. His movements were fueled by a desperate need to escape the suffocating grip of his grief, to drown out the haunting image of Michonne's lifeless face with the visceral satisfaction of each blow he delivered.
The sound of metal meeting decaying flesh echoed through the darkness as Rick carved a path through the undead, his movements fluid and instinctual. His breaths came in ragged gasps, mingling with the guttural snarls of the walkers as he fought tooth and nail to keep them at bay.
With each strike of his hatchet, Rick could feel himself devolving into a frenzied state, his anger and despair taking hold of him like a relentless storm. He lost himself in the carnage, his actions driven by a single-minded determination to purge his pain through violence.
When his body finally gave way to exhaustion, Rick wasn't sure how long he had been down there. He blinked a few times when he realized he had Daryl pushed against the wall with his hatchet at his neck.
"You still in there Rick?" Daryl questioned.
Rick backed away and put his hatchet back at his side. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to tell you, the girl is awake and wants to talk. She's asking for you."