[70] No More Kid Stuff

I'm ready, I can be ready. No more kid stuff.

I kept reciting those words in my head. Even though I was a kid, I had to act like them. I was still smaller, weaker, and different from the others. At least when being on watch or other jobs. I had to pretend, act like an adult, and grow up. I was anxious and antsy about the prospect of the tombs, shoving down the desire to ask Daryl if I could sit it out. He'd let me if I asked. They were already worried about my leg and me in general. I didn't let myself ask because no one else would sit it out if requested. I had to be better, bigger than I was. I couldn't sit around in a cell waiting for days to go by.

It was different on the road. I'd started to get better and was helping more even when I wasn't talking. Then I'd gotten sick, and Daryl barely let me leave the car. I didn't usually fight him on it, considering I felt terrible.

I'm ready, I can be ready. No more kid stuff.

I got this.

"We should get more gear on ya, least cover up yer arms," Daryl told me. We were walking side by side to the cell-block.

"That shit don't fit, even when you make it fit," I complained. He'd already had this conversation with me before and settled on just having me wear the vest. "If I got too much on, I can't move right."

"Still think I should put it on ya."

"Yer gonna have to hold me down," I turned my head to look at him, showing I was serious. I agreed with wearing the vest, but I hated how it felt. The material was thick, hot and rough. I'd noticed a rugburn-like rash under one of my arms from it. Once was surely forming on the nape of my neck whenever the vest shifted crookedly.

Daryl scoffed, not bothering to look at me, "don't think I won't."

In the common room, Daryl split off from me. I saw others around, preparing. Oscar was at one of the tables furthest in the room. He held an axe with both hands, lightly swinging it over his head and through the air, testing it.

"Hey, little T," T-Dog grinned at me, though it looked muted, faltering slightly. He was thinking about my dad and their talk before I ran out of the room. "Come on, let's get you ready."

He better not be talking about the riot gear, I thought. I was watching as he adjusted a black bracer on his forearm. T-Dog had both his forearms covered, and the shin guards like Carl wore. Those were a good idea, considering how easy it had been for Hershel to get bit there.

"Should I wear the leg things?" I asked as I approached his table. The table was covered with things it wasn't before: melee weapons, a few guns, and riot gear.

"It's up to you," T-Dog grabbed a shin guard, expecting it. "Know you don't want to wear this stuff. Protection is good, though. But Hershel said you shouldn't have anything on that leg."

I thought about it and remembered how bad the stitches hurt. I didn't want to irritate them or cause them to pop again. I also remembered how Hershel lost his leg.

"Can we just put one on?" I tapped my uninjured leg.

"Yeah, good idea. Sit down, I'll get it on. Or do you want Daryl to do it?"

I shrugged, sitting down on the metal table bench. T-Dog went to the floor, put my leg in his lap and started working at it.

"Do you know what you want to use yet?"

"Use?" I asked.

"Weapon," T-Dog clarified. "We won't use our guns unless we have to, so everyone is taking something else. You can just take a knife if you want, but there's more. Take a look."

Keeping my leg still, I looked at the table, examining each weapon.

"Are you goin' too?" I wondered when he finished. We both stood. I kicked my leg a little getting used to the feeling of the tight material.

"No. I'm going to stay with G. We're going to go around, see what other work needs to be done. Fortify. There's tons of spare wood and parts. Might build some more barriers. He's doing okay after . . . you know. He bounces back quicker nowadays. But I think someone should stay with him."

"He helped me, kinda," I said in Guillermo's favour. I was annoyed and mad at the time. I wasn't anymore. "I didn't know how to use the gun on the bridge. He wouldn't shoot it, but he told me how."

"That's good," T-Dog nodded; he looked impressed. "That's really good. It used to be he heard a gun fire and just shut down . . . he's doing better, he'll make it."

Peering at the table, a black weapon caught my eye.

It was a little over a foot long, with a small curved blade like a hatchet, but on the other side, a blunt hammer end. The top had a curved metal piece with a slit through the middle, like the end of a crowbar or the opposite end of a hammer. The item was all black except for the end of the axe blade and the curve of the crowbar part, which was silver.

I'd seen it a few times before. But it wasn't used often. I wondered if I'd seen it since the farm. It was cleaner, less scuffed up and worn than the rest.

Then I remembered who had used it. Shane. I remembered seeing it hooked on his belt maybe once or twice. I couldn't remember if I'd seen him use it, but he had it. Sure, other people had used the tool, but he stood out. He was who I remembered.

I put the tool down, ignoring my piqued curiosity about it. Shane had occupied too much of my time and my thoughts that day. I had to shove it away; it was too distracting and upsetting. Whatever I did that day, whatever I used, had to be because of me, not him.

I didn't want it, but I picked up the axe anyway, holding it with two hands and slightly swinging it like I'd seen Oscar do. It was heavy, and after a few motions, my biceps burned. I frowned and put it down. If it was too heavy, I'd get tired out. Not only that, axes sometimes got stuck in the walker's heads. A lot of weapons did, but I felt that I was more likely to lose control of it because it was too heavy. It would get stuck easily by my hand.

I tried a hatchet, swiping and swinging a few times before putting it back. I did the same with a machete with an odd sharp curve at the end. There were different types of knives, but after going through them, even pretending to stab the air with a large bowie knife, I decided against them.

I didn't want to use a knife, constantly stabbing and pulling it out. With something longer, slicing, swiping, and swinging could help me more. Maybe I couldn't always get the walker with one hit, but those other motions could give me an advantage.

Something big like an axe or a fire poker was also a no. Even if I chose something light, I wanted a hand to be free. I was short and needed the momentum to be able to push a walker away or pull it down to my level.

Something one-handed. No knives.

Throwing knives would be different. I wish I'd had the opportunity to get better at them. But the tombs were dark anyway. Not practical. It could be hard and time-consuming to collect each when I used them.

To my dismay, my eyes flicked back to the small hammer-axe. Not for the first time, either.

I stepped back around the table, picking it up again. I felt the weight, holding the handle and lifting it up and down to test it. I lifted it over my head, wondering if it was too small, so small it would be flimsy. No, it wasn't. It felt sturdy, and the handle was comfortable. I lightly tapped the hammer end against my opposite palm, then spun it around to do the same with the axe side.

"What is this?" I asked T-Dog.

"Uh," T-Dog hesitated, looking at what was in my hands. "Some kind of axe? Multi-tool, I guess? Dale might've had that in his camping gear, or we found it on the highway getting to the farm . . . not sure."

"Box hatchet," Merle was suddenly at the table, needlessly pushing aside the weapons and going through them with his hand, pushing them out of place, picking one up and dropping it immediately.

T-Dog backed away from the table, head down, uncomfortable with Merle's presence.

It took a moment for me to process his words, but I wasn't sure what he said, "huh?"

"Called a box hatchet, girlie. Got a blade, hammer, pry bar," he lifted his hand from the table, tapping the curved end at the top of the tool, and then he used his pointer finger to show the hole in the centre, shaped like a teardrop. "Nail remover, whatever. Made to open and use on wood crates. As ugly as it is useful."

My eyebrows raised, interest piqued, even more, intrigued by Merle's tone. He wasn't insulting or mocking. He was knowledgeable and serious.

"Is it too small for walkers?" I asked.

Merle's eyes met mine, a single brow quirking. As if he was humouring my intrigue, "Naw, you can pierce the brain with either side. Might not get it in one hit, depends on yer swing, and angle."

I backed away from the table and Merle, taking more swings. I did some short swipes and some long ones. I even practised bringing it up from my side and walking in a circle with it in my hand. Just feeling it out. It felt right to carry, easy.

T-Dog grabbed the hatchet from the table, still attempting to keep his distance from Merle, "if you like that, just take the hatchet. Bigger blade. Almost the same thing."

I looked down at the box hatchet, voice quiet in a slight pout, "I like the handle, though."

"Non-slip," Merle interjected, turning his body to lean against the table, watching me. "Hatchet ain't. Piece a' trash if you ask me. That's sturdier."

T-Dog frowned, lightly tossing the hatchet back before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

I wasn't sure what was more awkward. Them avoiding the bullshit between them or confronting it.

"I want this," I decided. Although rocked by the memory of Shane, it wasn't because of him. He wasn't dictating the decision. Maybe that was what caught my attention, but no. I was more than willing to put it back just because of him. But the box hatchet wasn't his. He used it, but so did others. Just like most of our weapons and guns didn't belong to anyone, they were shared and rotated amongst us. Of course, there were some weapons exclusive to those who owned them. Shane's gun was his, Rick's gun, Daryl's crossbow and such. But for most of the others, nothing belonged to anyone.

"Pick somethin'?" Daryl asked, standing at my side.

I showed him, lightly banging the hammer on my palm again, "Merle said it's a box hatchet. For crates."

I saw Daryl look at the other weapons on the table, no doubt calculating if something else would be better.

"Do I keep my safety on? In the tombs?" I asked suddenly. "I know it's only for emergencies. But if we know things might go bad, should I just have it ready? I dunno." I confessed my thought process. It wasn't the first time I thought about it. Even in other situations, searching houses, scavenging. You were supposed to have the safety on, but if you were waiting for trouble, did you still leave it?

Daryl thought about it. Apparently, for too long, because Merle answered, "off. If ya can't shoot, shouldn't even have a gun. Should know enough to get by without accidental fire."

I looked at Daryl, waiting for confirmation.

After a second, Daryl nodded at me, then turned to the room, "A'right, c'mon! Gonna go through this one more time. Everyone's got their jobs. It's me, Toby, Oscar, and Merle in the tombs. Now—"

"—What?" Glenn had an urgent stride to join us, pointing at Merle. "he's not going."

"Chinaman's gotta get his ears checked," Merle said, looking at me as if I was in on some kind of joke.

"Stop," Daryl told his brother before talking to Glenn. "We need him there. We all gotta work together, you said that yourself. He's comin'. Look, Merle stayin' here. He's with us now. Get used to it."

"Fine, then I'm going too," Glenn leaned over, grabbing a machete from the table.

"Since when?"

"Since now. You might trust Merle around Toby, but I don't."

I frowned and glared at Glenn. Don't drag me into this.

Daryl was squinting at him, quiet for a moment. "So, what? Yer gonna babysit him now?"

"If he was gonna hurt me, he woulda done somethin' in Woodbury," I butted in, careful not to mention the small bruise on my side from the table.

"See," Merle waved his knifed arm at me. "The kid gets it."

Glenn shook his head, now looking at me instead of Daryl, "You don't know that, Toby. He needed you for leverage, he wouldn't have done anything."

"What leverage? What could I have used the kid for?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Glenn, 'nough," Daryl stepped in, also managing to stop Merle before he could open his mouth. "We can't keep doin' this shit all the time. Merle's comin' with us. He's stayin' here now. Gotta learn ta trust him, or did ya forget that he helped in the shootout?"

Hershel, watching from a nearby table, decided to weigh in. "It doesn't hurt to have an extra set of hands."

I snorted.

Merle frowned, his head whipping around to look at Hershel. "Really?"

"Bad wording," Hershel said quickly. "Apologies on my part."

"I don't care about that," Glenn crossed his arms, tucking his machete away at his side. "I'm coming with you. Maggie would agree with me."

"Maggie's on watch," Daryl said. "And that don't matter neither, she ain't coming, not up to her," no matter what Daryl was saying to Glenn, it didn't seem like he was changing his mind, which made me wonder why Daryl was still fighting with him. Why not just let him come? He clearly wanted to. "You don't gotta come just 'cause he is. All yer gonna do is piss each other off. I got him. I can handle him."

"Look at what he's done already!" Glenn waved an arm around. "I know he's your brother, and you think you can trust him, but after everything, I can't. Toby shouldn't either!"

If I could frown deeper, I would have. I told Daryl before that I didn't like this Glenn. Daryl had defended him; for me, all that was out the window. Glenn had no right to speak for me or tell me what I should be doing. I didn't trust Merle, at least not to be with the group, to stay, to not take Daryl. Maybe I wasn't very smart, but I could clearly see Merle doing anything to me would be a waste of time.

"Fuck off," I growled out.

Daryl's hand went on my shoulder, pulling me back a step, silently telling me to back off. "Well, I'm gonna be down there, it ain't him ya gotta trust."

"Yeah, well, I'm having a hard time with that, too."

Daryl exhaled deeply, frustrated with Glenn, "Ya wanna do this now?"

"You left, Daryl," Glenn snapped. "You knew we were going to be attacked after Woodbury, and you still left us to go with him. So, yeah, if he's going down there, and Toby, then I am too. I'm looking out for my own, just like you," Glenn took a step back, making me think his decision was finalised.

I kind of got it, I was mad that Daryl left too, and I never realised that anyone else would feel like that, either. And I knew that Glenn hated Merle because I saw him with the walker at Woodbury. Merle tried to kill him, which confused me more about why Glenn wanted to come. Wouldn't Merle just try to kill him again? Even though I wouldn't say I liked how Glenn was acting, I didn't want him to die, nor did I want Merle to kill him.

I glanced at Daryl, nervous and annoyed at the hassle being caused just for me, "Should I stay?"

"No," Daryl shook his head, his hand on my back to lead me toward the door. "Glenn wants ta blow his top, let him. Their shit ain't on you."

Everyone else who had been there or was coming into the tombs had awkwardly stood around and waited for the argument to end. Now that it had finished, they all looked back at Daryl expectantly, waiting for some instructions. I was one of those people, and as much as I understood Glenn, his outburst had derailed everything. I still didn't like him then, either.

Daryl let out another frustrated sigh before turning back to the others, "Okay, then. It's me, Toby, Oscar, Merle and Glenn in the tombs," he glared over at him as he dragged out his name, but Glenn just paid him no mind. "We need to find a way to close up those breaches, stop any more walkers gettin' inside."

Oscar spoke next, "we should kill every walker we can on the way there. Don't want to retreat back into the tombs at some point and have it be swarmed."

Merle shook his head, "Can't kill every damn biter with the breaches still open, more are just gonna keep comin' in. It'll just slow us down."

"Got an idea then?"

"Block off any side rooms, clear one path, get those breaches sorted. When no more walkers can get in, then you kill the rest."

"He's right," Daryl nodded. "We'd be wastin' energy tryna kill everythin' in one go. I got a set of keys on me so we can lock off any cells or hallways that we won't be usin'."

"What are we using to close the breaches? Pallets? Dragging them down there could be a lot of work."

"We take 'em as far as we can, drop 'em when we gotta kill walkers. Can't just come back for 'em because more walkers will get into the tombs."

"There's bricks already there in the rubble," Glenn said. "Can pile that up enough to stop walkers climbing over. And the fence is down, if we wanted to fix that, we'd have to take a car around."

"We don't have that luxury," Daryl said. "We don't know if the Governor has men surroundin' this place."

"Oh, he does," Merle sang out.

Daryl glared at him before rolling his eyes. "We'll clear the path. Deal with the walkers we need to and close up where they're comin' in."

"Doesn't even need to be perfect either," T-Dog put in. "Just stop more from coming in, then do a sweep, get any you find in the side rooms are or the halls. Once the tombs are safe, more aren't streaming in. We can do a better job on the seal, weld the doors or something."

"Right," Glenn agreed. "For now, it's just blocking off their entry, and making the tunnels safe to do whatever we need to after."

"Why can't we just do it all at once?" I asked Daryl.

"Like Merle said, we spend time on every room, every hall on the way we just waste time. More just keep comin'. Once we block off whatever it is to stop them, we can get them all, clear every room, every hall. We can't take the time on a permanent solution, there's more than one exit in those tunnels. We don't know how many or even how many breaches yet. If we stop, work too long on each door, each openin', whatever walkers we missed'll come down on us for the noise. We do it careful, do it right." Daryl went over it again for me.

I nodded in response, understanding better.

I put the box hatchet down and pulled out the elastic in my hair. Then I gathered the hair and put up the ponytail higher, trying to make it neater than before, so nothing got in my face or in the way. It was knotted and tricky, I wasn't good at tying it well. Eventually, I had it good enough to be satisfied.

"You can change yer mind, if yer not up for this," Daryl looked at me as we walked. We were side by side again, walking through the halls amongst the others.

"My leg's okay—"

"—Don't mean just yer leg. Just givin' you an out. We got a plan, we're ready, but shit can always go sideways, like with Hershel. I know ya wanna help, but it don't gotta be this. Don't feel like ya have to, is all."

I thought that over, wondering if that was why. After some consideration, I decided it wasn't, I knew from the start if I said anything, Daryl would let me stay. I could have stayed on watch if I asked. I knew that.

I can be ready.

"I got this," I assured, meeting his gaze to keep my eyes steady. I wanted him to see there was no doubt, fear maybe, but no doubt.

"A'right," Daryl looked down at the table, grabbing his own torch. "You want your own light?"

I thought about it for a second. "Everyone else has one?"

He nodded.

"No," I shook my head. "Enough light, I think. Want my hand free."

Daryl thought for a second but agreed anyway. He seemed to be done waiting around after that because he looked up at the others. "Everyone, ready?"

Everyone gave a nod, glancing around at the person next to them. We all then walked into the tombs, and Daryl closed the gate behind him as the last person in.

"Any cells that are open, close 'em. After we pass, we don't want a walker to stroll in and surprise us on the way back."

Someone did as Daryl had just instructed, and I couldn't see them, but I heard a cell door squeak shut. I looked behind me and saw Oscar walk past us to in front of Daryl. He gave me one glance of acknowledgement before walking ahead to join Merle out in front.

I slowed, letting Daryl walk farther ahead of me.

Glenn was also walking just in front of me and Daryl, and I didn't know if it was a coincidence or just his way of keeping between me and Merle. I just did as Daryl said, letting Glenn blow his top because it seemed harmless right then.

There was a hand on my shoulder that made me jump.

"C'mere," Daryl said, stopping me from walking behind him.

"No," I shook my head. "I'll go behind you."

"Want you where I can see you," Daryl argued, pushing me forwards again.

"No," I stopped walking altogether to speak to him. "I got your back."

"She's right," Glenn said, stopping to look back at us. "She'll just distract you."

Daryl still seemed unconvinced, but let out a sigh and nodded. He started walking behind Glenn again, glancing back every few seconds to make sure I was still behind him. Apparently, wherever I stood, it was still a distraction.

I'm ready.

The end of the hallway split into a different direction. Daryl motioned for us to stop, peeking out. I watched his hand movement closely, warning us what was one direction.

As we all prepared, Daryl let out a silent whistle. I heard some groans and growls in response, shuffling of walkers' feet as they moved toward the noise.

I hung back at first, a few came around the corner. They worked together, each taking a turn. There was no reason for me to rush forward, I would only get in the way, T-Dog was beside me, hanging back as well.

While we were vocally silent, the motions, grunts and sound of weapons echoed through the halls. That easily explained the attention we'd grabbed. I heard the sounds behind us, turning, someone else yelled before I could.

"Behind us!"

I turned to see a walker coming from a doorway behind where I was standing. After glancing back over my shoulder, I saw that everyone else was busy, way too busy to take care of this walker coming up from behind us. I knew what I needed to do.

My turn, I thought. No more kid stuff.

I stepped forward, "I got it!"

I swung my leg around, kicking the corpse as hard as I could in the ankles, which made it lose its balance, and it fell to the ground in front of me. I stepped to the side of it, planting my foot in the centre of its back, and smashed the box hatchet down into its head, once, twice until it stopped moving.

When I had finished, I saw that the others were also done killing their walkers. Merle had been looking at me as I finished mine off, but didn't say anything and just waited for the others to take care of their own problems. Everyone took a second glance around as they finished, making sure all the walkers were down.

"Is that all?" Glenn asked.

"Can't ya see?" Merle huffed.

"Merle!" Daryl stepped in before Glenn could start fighting with him again. Merle just rolled his eyes, taking a step away. Daryl sighed and turned to the rest of the group, turned to me. "Come on. We should keep goin'."

Further down the hallway, there was a quiet groaning up ahead, which made the group stop just before a corner where the hallway turned. I could just see the bars of a metal gate around the corner, but the door that was connected to it seemed to be open.

"I hear walkers," Glenn whispered.

"No shit," Merle drawled. Glenn was staring at him, eyebrows furrowed, trying to hold back whatever comments he had about Merle, who was taking a step closer to the sound. "Sounds like a few up ahead," Merle whispered back quietly. "Couple dozen at least."

"Light's down," Daryl told everyone. "Don't wanna attract 'em, just yet."

"How we doing this?" Oscar asked.

"Tight formation," Daryl said. "One at a time. Nothin' gets past us."

Oscar nodded and moved around towards the corner of the hallway, standing close to the furthest wall. This attracted one of the walkers, and Oscar killed it quickly and quietly. He managed to catch the body and lower it to the ground silently, keeping the attention of the others away from us.

Merle moved over next to him, and Glenn stayed far away from either of them, closer to me than anything. I went to join them, but Daryl stopped me, shoving me back a step by my shoulder.

"Stay behind us," he said. "There's too many up front, don't want ya in the way of this shit."

"I'm always in the way of shit."

"Oh, don't I know it," I heard Merle mutter from the other side of the group.

My eyes rolled automatically.

I listened to Daryl and took a few steps back, making sure I didn't get in the way of shit. Once I was out of the way enough for the others to take down the walkers, Daryl whistled, which attracted more and more of the walker's attention.

"Stay in formation," Daryl told them.

"Got it," I heard Oscar reply in front of the group.

I watched as, one by one they took a step forward, taking a swing at their assigned kill, before stepping back to allow the others enough room to squeeze to the front and kill their own walker. The formation, I assumed, meant all of them standing together, taking turns and not allowing a single corpse to get through their group.

As each of them moved back step by step, as more walkers pushed their way forward, it pushed my position behind them back further and further, and the walkers did not let up. I didn't know how many people could fit in this prison, but the number of prison jumpsuits I saw seemed like too much.

T-Dog suddenly had a hold of one, his hand gripping the back of a collared shirt as it grabbed someone else. He was able to yank it off, but the weight made T-Dog stumble, and he struggled to get his footing.

"Hey," I said, just loud enough for him to hear over the noise. T-Dog shared a look with me and nodded as he let out a sound of frustration, trying to keep the walkers down as it reached around for the others.

I stepped forward, lifting my box hatchet over my head and slamming it down into its skull. It stilled immediately, I'd done it in one hit that time. My arms burned in protest, but I smiled in relief. T-Dog nodded at me, turning back to help the others after dropping his hold on the corpse.

I took a moment, not moving with them all right away to catch my breath. There wasn't a lot of physical exertion for me yet, but with the mix of the panic, the worry, and the movement I was giving, it was tiring.

Further back from the others, I froze when I saw the danger. Instead of jumping forward like I'd been doing. Through the gaps, spaces in between the group, I could see Daryl at the front. A walker was practically on his back, hands digging into his shoulders.

"Careful!" I called out.

"I got it!" Merle shouted, his voice sounding somewhat annoyed, as he was put it. His hand went to the walkers head, making it crane its neck backwards before shoving the metal rod attached to his arm through its head.

My body relaxed in relief.

I was standing with my side to a prison-gated door, with bars that looked like it should have led to a cell but actually just went down another hallway. I pushed it with my hand, and the metal door rattled but was locked and did not open.

With my initial glance being that the hallway was empty, I paid it no mind and focused on the group in front of me. Their number of walkers had thinned down, and they were now. More walkers tried attacking at the corner, where Daryl was standing. He managed to take them down, but it seemed like a close call.

I didn't see as an arm reached through the gate beside me, the fingers wrapping around the top of my arm.

The scream ripped out of me.

I tried pulling my arm free of its grasp, but the walker was stronger than me and pulled me into the bars of the door. They were wide enough that most of my body fit through, up to my shoulders. No amount of struggling was helping me get away.

"TOBY!"

My head and cheeks banged and pushed painfully hard against the bars, my shoulder and arm pulled deep into the gap. I was in such an awkward position, pulled against the metal and walker I couldn't do anything. With my opposite arm, I couldn't get the walker through the bar, I couldn't even see it. I dropped my weapon, trying to reach it, trying to get it off me.

The pain was the next thing I felt. I couldn't even remember who had screamed my name, who had tried to warn me, but it was too late. There was a blunt squeezing pressure pulling the skin of my shoulder together, I couldn't register what the pain meant. Not until after, all I knew was that it hurt.

The pain stung and pushed hard into me, I felt the squeezing tension of it, and then I felt the pull-ripping sensation, and I screamed.

There was still a hand on my arm, the walker's hand on my arm. As its grip loosened and the teeth pulled away, I fell forward onto the ground, my side hitting the concrete wall. Everything that followed was a haze.

I heard myself screaming, and others screaming. Glenn?

I watched the boots that sprinted past, the room lighting up with the flashes of gunshots, and the lower half of the people who knelt in front of me. I couldn't distinguish the voices through the cloud that had formed around my head.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"

"Daryl?!"

"What do we do?!"

"Daryl!"

Am I still screaming?

"Move!" I was lifted, I thought. Everything felt so floaty that I could have been carried in someone's arms a while ago. "I got you, kid."

"We gotta go!"

"You get us back to the cell-block!" Oscar. I could just barely make out his face above mine.

"Ya think I ain't trying?!" That was Merle, that had to be.

"Just do it!"

"This way!"

My head was against Oscar's shoulder, rolling from side to side as he ran. The worst was when my hair brushed up against the wound, stinging the wound like it had been doused in antiseptic. I screamed again, if I had even stopped in the first place, the hot tears rolling down my face as I sobbed.

"It's okay, you're okay," Oscar was muttering.

"Through here!" Someone yelled.

The room lit up. No . . . I had been brought to a different room that was brighter. The cell-block. The common room. I had to be in there, the one outside the cell-block where we'd been getting ready before.

"What the hell happened?!"

"She was bit!"

"Where?!"

"Shoulder."

I didn't have the energy to decipher the voices, everyone sounded the same. I was sobbing, the pain worse with every jerk of my chest. I kept seeing their faces, each one passing by so quickly I couldn't keep up.

"Here! Put her here!"

Oscar was over me, my back laid down on a cold service. It felt good. For the briefest of moments, I had felt something else other than pain, other than the wetness of blood. But it was short-lived. In the panic and adrenalin, I was hot, on fire, and the cold of the metal on my back was gone. I no longer felt it.

I could see the ceiling, vision blurring at the edges whenever I opened my eyes. It was better to keep them closed. Scrunching my face, wincing felt natural. My teeth ground against each other as more sobs racked out from me. Drool and snot and tears coating my face.

"We have to do something! Cut it out!"

"We can't!"

"What can we do?"

"Ohmygod, oh shit! No, no."

"We can't do anything!"

"Move, out of the way. We need to stop the bleeding. Maggie? Maggie! More towels, bandages, anything, NOW!"

Hershel's face was over mine, close, I blinked, trying to keep him in focus.

"Press that there."

I felt it then and screamed. The pressure as something was pushed hard against the area between my neck and shoulder, above my collar bone. With my face pinched together in pain, I could just barely see T-Dog through the slits of my eyes, he was pressing something on me.

Dark spots gathered in my vision. I tried to blink them away, opening my eyes wider as I turned to Hershel as my right. He was doing something, I was unsure what. I couldn't tell.

My head began to feel light and I sucked in a breath as they all scrambled panic, but the air in my lungs stuttered, and I couldn't take it in. I tried again, but nothing, then again. I couldn't get the air in.

"H-Hurts," I cried, the word came out in pieces, strangled by my failed attempts to breathe along with my sobbing.

"I know, dear, just keep still for me. Stay awake," Hershel instructed firmly.

Keep still? Am I moving? That was unclear; my arms and legs felt nonexistent, detached from myself. My body felt heavy and floaty all at once, I was surprised I was able to move my head.

I tried again to breathe, my chest was so tight, constricting. "He-H-He-lp."

"I'm doing what I can," he replied. More pain followed, burning, stinging. I had no idea what he was doing, but it hurt. I let out a strangled scream, as much as I could with almost no air in my lungs. "Breathe now, take a deep breath. You need to breathe, take a deep breath, come on."

I'm trying.

I can't.

Can't he see that I can't?

"Da-Dar—" My voice is strangled, sound are difficult without oxygen, but I still tried. Forcing my voice out, I didn't know if he could understand me, the sound was high pitched but low as it came out. "D-ar-Dar-yl-"

A deep rumble in my throat escaped as something moved on the wound.

I turned my head, trying to look through the faces, searching. My eyelids were heavy, tough to see, focus and keep open. I still searched. Daryl.

Hand on my cheek, pushing my face to look back at Hershel, "you need to stay with me. Focus, eyes on me."

"Daryl?" Someone else called.

Where? My head weighed a ton, I could do nothing to move it.

"Daryl!"

I don't see Daryl.

My throat felt raw and I wondered if I was screaming. It felt like it but I couldn't be sure. It was all I could think about.

Where's Daryl?

The hand pats my cheek. Eyelids fluttering, I could see Hershel, if only for another second before they began closing again, "Toby? Toby, dear, look at me."

The edges of my vision blurring, like fog surrounding my senses. Slowly gathering and clouding until everything was gone. Their distant cries, panic, and any instruction or assurance could only barely be heard. Until that was gone too.

Then I could see.

Kind of.

I blinked. My surroundings were dark and blurry, the chaos of just a moment ago, disappeared.

Everything was out of focus, but still normal in a way. In another way it was wrong, out of place.

There was a faint throb in my shoulder and neck, but it wasn't painful, as if my body was reminding me something was wrong, but too out of it to feel.

I wanted to get up, to talk, but that was all, I just wanted to. I wasn't doing it, I couldn't try, my actions were not my own. I was not in control.

My eyes blinked more, I hoped it would clear my vision. There were odd spots, like fog in my vision, but not around me.

I was pretty sure I was in a cell, lying in the bottom of a bunk, from what I could just barely see. The shapes and colours around indicated that was a possibility.

My head turned, the only part of me that would or could move. The whole world stopped when I saw him, the fog didn't matter, the faint throb didn't matter, what happened didn't matter. Only he did.

"Hey, kiddo."

I sobbed at the sound of his voice, sure I'd forgotten how it really sounded. But that was it: gruff, gentle, full, and alive.

His head was still shaved, the way I remembered. There was that large bruise, faded, but noticeable enough on the right side of his face, discoloured around the eye. His appearance, facial features, that bruise, all the same, how I'd last seen him. What was different was the clothes.

Instead of what I'd last seen him wear, it's the dark brown t-shirt, taut against his body and tucked into the beige cargo pants held up by a black belt.

My body wanted to leap at him, jump and squeeze, or punch and scream. But I couldn't seem to move, my body heavy and useless. Frustration building at my inability to do what I wanted.

I could barely just make out the rest of the cell around him, none of it mattered. He was sitting on some chair not far from my bed, facing me, the black Mossberg shotgun between his legs. His head was tilted down, holding the barrel with one hand while the others used a cloth, swiping up and down to clean the weapon as he'd done on so many occasions. Although he kept his head down, focused on the task, I saw his eyes flick up to me every so often.

"I saw you," I got out between another sob. "I finished it."

His actions stopped the hand with the cloth stopping in a swipe mid barrel, "I know. You did great, I'm proud of you."

"Yer not here," I was surprised at my capability to talk, to hold myself together. Every word he said, the very sound of his voice, shook my core.

He sat up straighter, placing the hand with the cloth on his leg, changing his focus from the gun to me. "No."

Resting my head on the pillow, looking to the side and watching him, I went quiet. We simply stared at each other. Sometimes, when I imagined him I had trouble, like my brain was erasing his features, but that was all him. All the details of his face were like I remembered.

"What woulda happened?" I choked out the question. I was unsure what made me ask it, maybe it was just the thoughts of that last day, those last moments. "If it was just us, like you said."

Shane didn't look surprised at my question, even quirking a smile as his eyes left mine to look upward as if thinking it over, conjuring an answer.

"We would have been on the road. Travelled for a time."

"To Fort Benning? Did we find it?" There was an urgency in my tone. Again, there was a question as to why this mattered, why I was asking. It wasn't like I hadn't thought about it in the last few months. If we'd really left, got away like he wanted. I would never know, I could never ask. Maybe because I could, he was there, but I knew he wasn't. It just felt so real, I had to keep him there, make sure he didn't leave again.

Shane was still looking off into nothing, making no indication to answer.

"Do we get there?" I pressed.

Finally, Shane nodded, "we get there. It doesn't work out, not the way we wanted it to."

"Oh . . . Then what?"

His smile returned, flattered or amused by my curiosity. "we'd be on the road, a long time. Longer than you were this winter. It's hard, but food hasn't been a problem. We take whatever we find, and with just the two of us to feed, it's easier. We go fishing sometimes, you're a great help cleaning and cooking the meat."

"You said I can't eat fish."

"You can't, I can," Shane's head tilted with a smirk. "When I eat the fish, you get more of whatever else we have. Including the peaches, you get every can."

"I like those." My urgency, fear and worry disappeared. Distracted and lulled by the story, imagining what life on the road would have been like, if I hadn't felt like I had before. If I hadn't been so angry and sad. So lost and crowded by the people, the people who I'd slowly accustomed myself too, but were virtually strangers. Even more so after Shane's death.

"We find a place. We made it, and for a while, it's home. You don't call me Shane anymore."

Shane's smile was more convincing, more real than I'd ever seen. I imagined what he says, that there's a place, maybe like Woodbury, without the Governor. I wanted to know about that place, I wanted to be there. So I continued asking, hoping he'd tell me about it, I don't get the answers I want.

"What happens there? At home."

"It falls. Like every place does," Shane's head and eyes moved to look around the cell, "like this place will."

I frowned, no longer relieved or content as I'd been when he was talking. I didn't doubt his words though, after the Governor, after everything. How could we win? Even just in the prison, we were dying without the Governor's help.

"Back on the road, it gets harder," Shane continued without my prompting. I was glad for it, the sound of his voice was both soothing and infuriating. "We fell into a trap, it's stupid. You're gone, I can't find you."

The cloth suddenly was nowhere to be seen, as Shane ran a hand over his head, brushing against the bare scalp like I remembered he used to. Tears were in his eyes, he used the same hand to wipe at them before continuing. "You taught me to track better, I'm trying, but there's nothing."

I continued to watch his expression forlornly. I could feel and see the desperation, the guilt, and so much more. I had no words, the emotions were contagious, and so overwhelming making it impossible to speak.

Shane's face shifted, and tears fell but with a smile. Relief, and happiness, were reflected in his eyes and words. "Then they find you, I'm with them. They bring you back. And everything's okay until it's not."

Something in me crumbled, worse than the first time he told me it didn't work out. It was different somehow. I waited, watching, hoping for him to go on.

For a very long time, Shane wouldn't speak. I decided to prompt it out of him, digging for an answer I knew I didn't want, but somehow needed.

"What happens?"

"That's enough story time, kiddo," hand on the barrel of the shotgun, he lifted it from between his legs, moving it over his legs to lightly bang the butt of it on the ground on his side, still holding it in a standing up position. I remembered that movement, I knew his body language, he was going to stand, to leave.

"No!" The outburst escaped my throat, and my head jutted out desperately, reaching forward to grab onto him, but I couldn't seem to grasp anything. "What do you mean? Who are they? What happens?"

Shane only looked back at me as he sat there with his legs spread, expression just shy of solemn.

"I can't tell you."

"Yes, you can!" I cried, arguing. Every part of me was bursting with emotion. "Ya told me everythin' else! Just finish it!"

"I can't tell you. I can't tell you because I'm not there."

I'm not there. We're not there. It's not real. None of this is real.

"I'm sorry, kiddo."

Shane leaned toward me in his chair, hand reaching out. I expected him to hug me, hold me, or even for his palm to wrap around my shoulder, squeezing it to offer comfort like he used to. His hand passed my right shoulder, the one on his side as I was lying down, reaching over my chest to the other.

The action is so quick, and casual that I didn't notice or think until it happened.

I did not get the comfort I wanted, to feel the contact, to feel him once again. I don't get anything like that, I get pain.

Like it always did, his palm does indeed go on my shoulder. But this time, the last time, it's on the injured one. It clasped down hard on the spot between the shoulder and nape of the neck.

I screamed at the contact, my brain disconnecting from any logical sense or reason because it was all I could feel. I cried and begged for it to stop. Shane only continued to hold his hand down, pressing into the wound. I'd scarcely felt it until then.

It felt as if his hand was a torch, burning and melting hot fire into my flesh. My body felt too warm to handle, muscles shuddering in agony as I blinked away the tears.

My eyes were open. I never remembered closing them.

There was no hand on me. The pain was bad, causing me to still sniffle and heave, but it seemed to be ebbing away, fading, but not stopping.

I blinked more, eyes burning. There weren't tears like I thought, instead, my eyes were painfully dry, and so was my mouth. I swallowed in discomfort, wincing at the scratchy sensation.

Shane was not in the chair. I was dizzy, confused, so out of place I couldn't understand who was there.

Something escaped my mouth, some kind of sound. I'd spoken but didn't know what.

"It's Hershel, dear."

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again as his face became more clear. I could see the wrinkles around his eyes, the white beard. He was in the chair next to the bed I was lying in, leaning in close, just a few inches away.

Hershel was silent, giving me the time I needed to understand and pull my barrings together.

I could see the cell better, I was in a cell, the bottom bunk of a cell. No way to tell who's, as they almost all looked the same.

The pain in my shoulder or my neck throbbed, and I felt a sound escape my throat but didn't hear it. I couldn't tell where the pain was coming from exactly, it felt like both, or one or the other, but mostly it just felt painful. It felt hot, sticky, and burning as if I was leaning into a campfire and letting my flesh melt off.

Other parts of me just felt sore, and bruised, like I'd taken the beating of a lifetime.

I moved my opposite arm, ready to reach toward the wound. The sound of clinking metal and the motion being halted startled me.

Hershel's eyes closed briefly as if trying to reign in emotion, keeping his cool. My head turned upward, looking at where my right hand was held upward, hanging. The silver metal of a handcuff circled my wrist, chained to the other cuff, which linked around the metal post holding up the bunk bed.

I choked out a questioning whimper, but I knew. Suddenly my eyes were no longer dry.

My eyes met Hershel's again, this time with harsh realisation and recognition.

Hershel's lips twitched, so many things to say, but none of it was right. Because none of it would matter.

Unable to compose myself, I felt my facial features crumple as I cried out.

Hershel leaned forward more, putting himself over me. A hand went behind my head, pulling my face into his shoulder. His opposite went low around my abdomen, careful of the wound on my left side. I lifted my left arm weakly, all movement on that side stung the wound, and put it to his bicep, my grip squeezing him tight as he held me.

My breath came out in short bursts as I melted and sobbed into him, lips trembling as I fell apart.

I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. I apologize for the ending, I, like many of you HATE cliffhangers, and don't like doing that type of thing, but this was necessary for this part in the story. The next chapters are finished, and I play to post them within a week or few days of each other. I don't know which day yet, but sometime within the week the next chapter will be posted. so you will have to wait a little bit on this cliffhanger, but not long at all.

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