Naomi

Nothing made sense, and everything hurt.

I swung between oblivion and pain with very little in between. Every time I came into consciousness, the searing pain in my lungs was the first thing I knew. It overwhelmed everything else. A hacking cough with every breath, never quite feeling like I could get enough air in before the next one. My head felt clouded, thoughts heavy. If someone had asked me my name, I'm not sure I'd have been able to tell them. The only thing I knew was the burning need to take another breath.

Am I dead?

Is this what it's like to become one of the undead?

It was hot. Too hot. A light came from somewhere, but I couldn't see a fire. Couldn't smell no smoke. Felt like it should be close. Felt like it was inches from my goddamn skin.

Momma was right: I'm burning in Hell.

Heaven's gates wouldn't open for a fuck-up like me.

I was a child again, so alone with my fears, and all I wanted to do was go to Daryl's house. Build a fort like we used to and crawl so deep inside it that nobody could find either of us. Even Merle didn't bother us there.

Wait.

Merle's dead too, ain't he?

If anyone can break us out of Hell, it's Merle Dixon.

I gotta find him.

A face loomed out of the shadows. Fuzzy around the edges. I jerked away from it, trying to focus, but my eyes were watering. My back slammed up against a wall. When I moved, I heard a soft thud as I shed layers of something soft that had been piled on top of me. Sitting up helped ease the coughing, but I could still hear my breath rattle in my lungs when I inhaled.

Something was weird about this place, but I couldn't focus on what because every time I thought I'd got my breathing under control, another coughing fit hit me.

Why does this hurt so much?

Water.

There had been water in my lungs, right? Water everywhere.

"Relax. You're fine. You're safe," someone said, but it wasn't Daryl's voice so I couldn't trust that was true.

I'm not.

I was a wounded animal, stripped back to nothing but survival. A strange voice in a strange, dark place did nothing to soothe me. I didn't know that face that loomed at me. Didn't trust it. I lashed out. The second I did, I felt hands on me, gripping hard on my arms.

Fuck, there's more of them.

More shapes moved in the corner of my eyes. I looked up at more faces looking down at me. Didn't recognize a single one of them. I tried to yell at them to stop, but all I felt was more pain in my lungs like I was inhaling shards of glass. Nothing came out. So, I did the only thing I could do - I fought. My addled brain still wasn't sure if I was fighting people or demons, but I gave as good as I could either way.

"Stay still. We're trying to help you," one of them said.

Fuck off.

"Can you hold her down?"

"...stronger than she looks."

"Fuck, she bit me!"

Did I?

Fuck you for getting too close.

"We sure she ain't one of the Condemned?"

"Last I checked, she had a pulse."

Something scratched my arm. I tried to scratch them back, but they still held on tight. A few heartbeats thudded in my chest and everything started to get heavy. A sudden wave of exhaustion, and I couldn't move.

My eyes closed. Felt like I was being pulled somewhere, sinking.

Back to the down deep.

It was dark, and time didn't move right. I wasn't sleeping so much as… suspended. It was an unnatural kind of dark.

And then it wasn't. Bright lights were above me in long, thin strips. After all of that darkness, they burned my retinas. I squinted against them. A smooth, gray ceiling came into view behind the blinding white. There was a cold, hard surface at my back.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Alien abduction?

No, that's insane.

More insane than the dead rising?

…yes?

My whole body was numb; I could hardly feel it. The parts I was aware of still felt weighed down with sleep. My skin felt cold for once, but something was still touching me. Voices seeped through the fog in my brain.

"Are we sure it's still…y'know?"

"Yes. Look. Strong heartbeat."

"She's a lucky one."

Are they talking about me?

I turned my head. The flat, sterile gray ceiling continued down the walls. A countertop ran along it, about the same height as whatever I was lying on. A sink with one of those handwashing posters stuck to the wall above it. Closed cupboards were underneath, but medical supplies were on top of them.

Mia.

Fear passed through me in a jolt strong enough to wake me up.

I have to get back to Mia.

It was coming back to me in fragments. Before the water had rushed in, I'd been rushing out. Mia was hurt. Needed me. She should be the one in some kind of medical facility, not me.

I gotta go.

There were two people with their backs to me, who seemed to be gathered around some kind of screen. Couldn't remember the last time I'd seen a working screen. Any other time, I might have found that interesting. But not now. I had more important shit to worry about. The urge to cough crackled at the back of my throat. I held my breath in an attempt to keep it in. Didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to myself while they were distracted.

I could take on two people. That wasn't so hard, especially given that I had the element of surprise. There was usually all kinds of sharp shit in doctor's offices, right? I could grab a scalpel or something, arm myself for whatever I was about to face.

I tried to move my arm and found it strapped down to my side. I tried to move the other and found the same. My legs were strapped down, too.

Motherfuckers.

I let out a breath of frustration, which was a mistake. The cough I'd been holding back ripped its way out of me. Once I'd started, I couldn't stop; it was punishing me for trying to hold it back in the first place. My body convulsed with the force of it, and the straps tying me down cut into my skin. One of the strangers was immediately at my side. A woman this time. She smiled.

"It's Naomi, right?" she said.

How do you know that? I couldn't have confirmed or denied it even if I'd wanted to. I could not stop coughing. So, I just glared at her while it felt like my lung was trying to eject itself from my ribcage. My chest hurt.

It didn't put her off. That smile didn't even falter. "I'm Jocelyn."

No offense, lady, but I don't care.

Jocelyn started loosening the strap around one of my wrists. Another woman stepped up next to her, looking nervous. "Are you sure you should be doing that?"

"It'll ease her coughing if she can sit up a little," Jocelyn said patiently. The other woman took a big step away from me.

Yeah, that's wise.

With my ties loosened on one side, I could sit up a little. It eased the pressure in my lungs. I turned to one side, which helped even more. When the coughing fit finally subsided, I looked up at Jocelyn. "I need to go home."

"We can't let you do that," she said. "You're not well."

"I'm fine," I said, although I knew it wasn't true. I was still shivering. A cold sweat dampened my skin.

"You have pneumonia. You need to rest."

"I can rest at home," I said. "I'll be fine. Please. Please just let me go."

As long as I could get to Alexandria, I'd be fine. I could curl up next to Mia and recover at the same time she did. It would be like the Christmas when we both got the flu and spent two weeks huddled under the same blanket. Only this time, I wouldn't have to drag my aching body off the sofa to get us soup and medicine, Daryl could bring it for us. I bet he'd even enjoy taking care of both of us like that.

Daryl.

Oh, God, Daryl.

How many hours have I been here?

"I need to go home," I tugged at the restraints. It wasn't a request.

The nervous woman was looking nervous again, "She's getting agitated again."

'She' can fucking hear you.

I tried to sit up further, and the room spun underneath me. My stomach lurched as I felt off-balance. Jocelyn's hands took my shoulders. Her smile was still there, but her grip was like a goddamn vice. I couldn't stop shivering.

"Come on now," she said like I was a child refusing to go to bed. "Rest up, and then we can talk, all right?"

"No," I said. I tried to resist her, but my body was weak. Shaking. The nervous woman darted closer. I tried to reason with them, plead with them. "You don't understand… my kid… she got shot. I need to go home."

Did that bitch just scratch me?

I glared at the nervous one. Jocelyn looked at me, her voice soothing like she'd done this kind of thing before. "It's all right, Naomi. It's all going to be fine. Just relax for me."

"Please. I need to go home," I said. My thoughts were slowing down, my words slowing with them. "My kid… she needs me… and my husband… he… he'll be…"

He'll be losing his fucking mind.

I felt that familiar tug trying to pull me under. My limbs were like concrete. I tried to resist the darkness clawing at my back, but it pulled me down again. To the deep.

It looped like this: the dark places, the bright ones, a rotation of faces I didn't know.

Or maybe it didn't. Maybe it only happened once and then looped in my dreams while my brain tried to process it. Spinning me like a fairground ride gone on too long. Malfunctioning around me - dark, light, disembodied voices swirling stomach-churningly fast. Dark. Light. Unfamiliar faces twisting out of the shadows. Demons and their fire. Clawing at my arms. Momma. I wanted to get off. Go home. Build a fort.

Daryl.

And then it stopped.

I woke up alone. For a moment, I didn't move. Listening hard to check for movement or disembodied voices. It was blissfully silent. I still felt too hot, but no longer like I was on fire. My fever had broken. I was bundled up under something soft and warm.

Like a wounded animal testing a broken bone, I prodded gently at my memories. I clung to the few concrete things I had; Mia had been shot, I needed to get back to her, I fell through the ice, and someone pulled me out. Now, I was alone in a weird, dark somewhere.

Then, I tried to sift through the hazy middle; I thought I'd been in a car. I thought I'd recognized one of the voices in there with me. I probably wasn't in Hell. And those probably hadn't been demons holding me down. That was most likely the fever talking. But had the people been real? That weird medical room with the screen?

In an attempt to calm myself down, I reached for my ring finger. Empty.

No.

I lost my ring!

A horrible sinking feeling in my stomach as I imagined it slipping off my finger and sinking too, right down to the bottom of that damn lake. But it was so well made, I didn't see how that could've happened.

Did they steal it from me?

Something was off about how dark it was. I could barely tell that I'd opened my eyes. Wherever I was, I don't think it had a window. Light wasn't leaking in from anywhere. But there had to be a door, right? They had to have gotten me in here somehow.

I got up slowly. The ground was unnervingly soft underfoot. Cold and uneven. Something shifted between my toes.

Bastards took my shoes.

The rest of my clothes were gone, too. They'd put me in some kind of weird, long gown. But, given how sopping wet with ice-water my clothes had been, I guess it was to be expected. And it was nice of them to let me borrow a nightgown while my clothes dried off somewhere. At least, that's what I hoped was happening.

I reached out a hand in front of me. I couldn't see it. Slowly, I inched forward until I reached the wall. It was damp.

Is that blood?

I pulled my hand away sharpish. Some of it crumbled away with it, and I sprang back.

What the fuck is this place?

I took a few breaths to calm my spiking heart rate. Air still rattled a little in my lungs, but the urge to cough wasn't as all-consuming. As I breathed in, I finally noticed the smell of the place. Earthy.

Holy shit.

I'm underground.

My arms itched, but I stretched them out again. I needed to find an exit. I needed to stop thinking about the weight of the earth over my head and how many feet below me I might be. What kind of people had built this place? A fair strategy, I had to hand it to them. I'd never seen a Walker digging, so, underground was a safe bet. But still, how structurally sound could a place like this be? How hurriedly had it been built?

I felt my way along the wall, hitting on tree roots and pieces of stone as I did. Slowly, methodically, I worked my way around what felt like a very small room until the surface evened out under my fingertips. Smoother than the earth, but about the roughness of sanded wood. I felt my way along it; the length of it, the height. A handle part of the way down.

Fuck yeah!

I'd found a door.I pressed my ear to it to see if I could hear anyone out there. They didn't know I was awake yet, and that was an advantage. If I could slip out without killing anyone, it would sure make the journey home a lot easier. They might not chase me if they weren't looking to avenge anyone. Hearing nothing, I tested the door, pushing on it gently. It didn't budge. Slowly, quietly, in case there was a silent guard out there, I tried the handle. Nothing.

I took another few deep breaths to keep myself calm. I'd check the rest of the room, and if nothing else presented itself, I'd kick the door down. Shoeless, it would hurt like a bitch, but that was okay. I could limp home. Hop if I had to.

The other walls yielded nothing. I reached up, spidering my fingers across the ceiling next. Again, the earth made way for smoother wood. A square this time, rather than the rectangular door. A trapdoor. Most likely, it led to the outside. The door probably led deeper into whatever hellscape bunker this was. The trapdoor felt like a safer bet, which was a discomforting notion in and of itself.

A dim light illuminated the edges of the door I'd just found.

Shit.

I'm out of time.

I pushed up hard on the trapdoor. There was a metal 'clunk' as something unlocked, and the door opened, scraping against the dirt floor. A familiar face, illuminated by an oil lamp, looked back at me.

"Dwight?"

I knew I'd heard him.

He didn't look surprised to see me awake, but he did breathe a huge sigh of relief. I almost hugged him.

"It was you that pulled me out, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he said. "What the hell were you doing out there in a snowstorm?"

"I was hunting down Negan," I said.

"Negan?" the way he said it and the look on his face told me it wasn't a name he'd thought about for months.

"He recovered. Resurfaced. We banished him for a while, then he shot Mia," I said, giving him a cliff notes version of everything he'd missed since his own banishment. Dwight's eyes widened. "She survived, but… I still want him dead. Take it that means he ain't here?"

"No. Sorry."

Damn.

"Well. Thanks for saving me all the same," I said. "How come this is the first I'm seeing of you, or…have you been here before? My memory's a little fuzzy."

"No. I don't usually work this area," he said. My eyebrow shot up. 'Work' sure was an interesting choice of word. Dwight clarified, "Security or healthcare."

I guess that made sense; if Jocelyn was real and to be believed, I had been extremely ill. And I would remain an extreme security risk unless they let me go real soon.

"They thought a familiar face might… calm you down," he said, stepping quickly into the room. He was holding a bowl of something that looked vaguely edible. My stomach rumbled. "You hungry?"

My stomach rumbled again. "Yes."

He passed me the bowl. Beans - canned - which was a novelty because most of our canned food had run out ages ago.

"We don't have long," he warned as I wolfed it down. I didn't like the way he said it, kinda hushed like he didn't want someone to overhear. I glanced at the still-open door.

"That's fine," I said, mouth full of beans. "I gotta leave anyway."

Dwight grimaced. "That…might not be so easy."

I set down the bowl and spoon. "How's it whenever I wind up someplace I don't wanna be, you always end up as my jailer?"

"I'm not your jailer, Naomi, not this time," he said but I didn't like the way he said it. It didn't sound like he meant it in a you-can-leave-anytime-way, it sounded more like a we're-both-trapped-here way.

"What's taking so long?" another voice asked, booming in from wherever was outside that door.

"I'm letting her eat," Dwight called back. "She's hungry."

I picked up the bowl again as the door pushed further open. I was hungry. Damn hungry. But my stomach was also starting to hurt. I knew, from all of the other times I'd been out of food, that I was eating too fast for an empty stomach.

Another man looked around at both of us. His face was vaguely familiar but I couldn't place it just yet. There was a scratch across one of his cheeks, but it looked pretty fresh so that didn't help me place him either. He glowered at me and then Dwight, "We gotta get moving. The Colonel's waiting for her."

Dwight gave a tight nod.

"Colonel?" I whispered as I followed Dwight toward the door. "Like the fried chicken guy?"

My stomach rumbled again. I regretted leaving the half-eaten bowl of beans on the ground.

"Stay calm," Dwight said quietly, glancing back over his shoulder. "As calm as you can, okay? It's your best shot."

At what?

The other man waited for us both to pass him. I stared at him as I walked past, trying to figure out where I'd seen him before. He stared back, unsmiling, his gaze unwavering. I turned to follow Dwight and heard the other guy close the door we'd come out of. He walked a little too close behind me.

What lay beyond was a long, narrow corridor carved into the dirt. The ceiling wasn't all that much taller than I was in places. Now and then we'd pass another crude wooden door. All of them closed.

Under other circumstances, I'd have found it interesting that Dwight was down here with this weird cult of mole-people. Might have asked a few questions or tried to explore a little. But as it was, all I was interested in was getting home.

The corridor widened. The walls slowly changed color and texture. It looked more like rock, which at first felt more comforting. Sturdy. And then I thought about how much the rock above our heads would weigh. How much would it take to cave in?

I glanced back, ignoring the half-familiar man behind us, and studied the path we'd walked. We'd been walking down a gentle slope, almost imperceptible unless you were looking for it. Descending deeper into the earth.

The tunnel continued dead straight for a while and then Dwight took a series of turns. Tunnels branching off the main one, if that's what it was, and then off each other. It was a goddamn labyrinth in here. I memorized them in reverse so that I'd be able to make my way back. If my hunch was correct and we were heading down, then there was a very good chance that the trapdoor I'd found was close to the surface. It could lead straight out.

The light from Dwight's oil lamp bounced back at us from something at the end of the tunnel. Silvery and reflective, for a horrible second I thought it was more goddamn ice. But, as we drew near I saw it was metal. A big, metal door in the middle of the rock. It looked so out of place, so wrong, I wanted to stop and walk in the other direction. But Familiar Asshole was still on my tail.

On the outside of it, there was a large wheel. Dwight turned it, paused, turned it the other way, paused again, and turned it back. The door opened.

Some kind of combination lock?

Fuck, how am going to learn that?

The door swung out toward us rather than in. Dwight had to back up a little to get it open. Light poured out into the tunnel. So bright I flinched. The space beyond the metal door was the same kind of sterile gray I'd seen during my visit to the medical room, which was looking increasingly less likely to have been a fever hallucination.

Maybe I'm still hallucinating.

Dwight stepped into the long, well-lit corridor. There was a smooth, gray wall opposite the door. It was a stark contrast to the rock tunnels we'd been moving down, like a spaceship had crash-landed in a series of catacombs. I didn't want to follow. I didn't want that heavy metal door with its mystery combination lock to shut behind me, seal me off further from the world above. From my family.

"Move," the guy behind me demanded.

Dwight looked back at me, his eyes pleading. "Come on. You'll be fine."

Liar.

I followed. Didn't have much choice. There was a step over the threshold into the corridor beyond. It was like stepping into a whole other world. We were now in a long, well-vaulted hallway. It curved away on either side of the door we came through, bending out of sight. There were wooden doors leading off it, but only running along one side. I reached out to touch the walls. Cold but not metallic. If I were to guess, it was probably reinforced concrete.

Preppers.

This is a doomsday bunker, built to survive the end of the world.

God, I bet they were smug when they were right.

I looked back at the man behind me, who was stepping through the door, which I now realized was a blast door, built to withstand explosions, maybe even nuclear fallout.

But not built to withstand me.

"Did you build this?" I asked. His scornful scoff was the only kind of 'no' I received. The metallic slam of the door shuddered down my spine. I heard it lock. It already felt like there was less air down here. Dwight had turned off his oil lamp. It was non longer needed.

Every part of this place was working to make you believe it was a normal building, but that somehow made it more off-putting. The perfectly smooth walls were taller than those tunnels we'd walked through to get here but felt more confining than the earth and rock. The bright lights in a strange yellowish hue were designed to make you forget that the sun couldn't reach you down here. All it did was make me remember. It was clean, especially compared to the dirt and mud I'd woken up in. My bare feet left wet footprints on the concrete floor. It was clean to the point of feeling sterile. Sure, you could survive down here, but live? There were no signs of that.

No noise, either. It was hard to gauge how big this place was. Had one paranoid person built it and taken in a few lucky friends and survivors? Or, was it bigger than that? The walls were thick, and although the doors that branched off this hallway were made to look like they were made of wood, I was willing to bet that was a superficial wrap over something much thicker. Something that kept any sound being made in those rooms from seeping out.

Dwight led me down the corridor that curved to the right. Most of the doors we passed were on the right-hand side. Dwight stopped at the first set that led to the left. It was different from the others, too. A double-door, metal, no pretenses of normality. Before Dwight could knock, a bearded man opened it and beckoned us inside. He also looked oddly familiar, but I didn't have time to get a good look at him as I walked past.

The room I entered was large and circular, with a domed ceiling high above us. It was some kind of central hub for this place, encircled by the corridor we'd just walked down. Dwight could have taken me in either direction, and we'd have ended up here.

A man sitting in one of the high-backed black chairs in the room, stood up as we entered. He didn't look the way I'd expected a prepper to look. He was clean-shaven, and his salt and pepper hair was neatly trimmed, cut close to his slightly square head.

Behind him, there was a series of monitors showing black-and-white images of what I assumed were other parts of the bunker. That was unnerving, but more what I'd expected. A man paranoid enough to build a bunker this big for the potential end of the world was definitely also paranoid enough to keep a close eye on its inhabitants. They'd probably watched me wake up, which explained how Dwight had managed to get there so fast.

Jocelyn was standing by his side, smiling.

So she was real…

Interesting.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes. Much better. Thank you." It was mostly true. I didn't feel good, but I didn't want to give them a reason to keep me here. "And I'm real grateful to you all for looking after me."

Beside me, Dwight relaxed. It seemed like a good start. I think he'd been expecting me to come out swinging like I would have if Negan had been in the room.

"You're welcome," the man said, there was a touch of surprise in his voice. I guessed all of those demons I thought I'd been fighting had snitched on me to their boss. "I'm the Colonel, and the building you are now in is our Stronghold. There are a few ground rules we need to go over before I welcome you in."

Why can these assholes never have a normal name?

"That's okay," I said, fighting the urge to back away. I forced a smile that I hoped looked vaguely placating and not at all panicked. "I can't stay. Thank you all for saving me. For looking after me. But, I have a family and a community who need me. I need to go."

"I'm afraid we can't let you do that," he said. Dwight's hand landed on my shoulder like he was ready to hold me back. The Colonel continued, "The survival of this place is dependent on its security, and the secrecy of its location."

"I have no idea where I am," I said, and tried not to let the magnitude of that sentence overwhelm me. "Just… let me go home. I won't tell anyone about you. Or come looking for you. I swear, you have my word."

The Colonel nodded as I talked, but there wasn't a flicker of emotion or understanding in his face. "We don't know you. We don't know if your word means much. Or how likely you are to keep it. The world out there has changed people, made them more desperate. Paranoid and violent."

Says the man with a doomsday bunker and a military title.

"I understand," I said, keeping my voice even. "But I wasn't conscious when you guys brought me down here. I don't remember the journey. If you blindfolded me and dropped me off by the lake you so kindly pulled me from, I'd never be able to find my way back here."

"So you say," he said. "But you could be lying. We could let you go only to find you've led your so-called community at our doors to loot from us or demand shelter."

"I wouldn't," I said. Dwight's hand tensed on my shoulder as he heard the desperation rise in my voice. "And… if this is about the resources and time I've taken from you guys while I've been here, I'm sure I can find a way to repay you. We have… supplies of our own. We could trade."

I felt sick, thinking about how much he might demand and how much Sanctuary was already struggling. But, I would go without. I would cut my own rations to nothing and starve to death so long as I could do it at home.

"A generous offer. We have more than enough to cover the two weeks you've been here," he said. My stomach dropped. I'd assumed a few days at most.

"Two weeks?" I repeated. It felt like I'd inhaled ice again.

They're going to think I'm dead.

Dwight squeezed my shoulder hard. A warning more than a comfort. I looked up at him, "I need to go home."

He shook his head, eyes widening in another warning. His earlier advice echoed in my head.

Jocelyn stepped forward with that sweet smile. "You've been unconscious for most of it, it's no wonder you don't remember."

"I need to go home," I said again. It was all I could say. All I could think.

"I can't let you do that," the Colonel said. "Not right now. Surely you remember the snowstorms?"

"I… I don't care," I said. I was slowly losing my grip on any composure I'd had walking in here. It was slipping out of my panic-clammy hands. "I… I can walk… I can…"

"We would never let a woman in your condition go out there," Jocelyn said. Beside me, Dwight tensed. A frown flickered across his face.

Okay. Maybe walking around in a snowstorm with pneumonia isn't the smartest idea.

But… Two weeks?!

I need to go.

"Besides," the Colonel added. "The ground is frozen solid out there. We're snowed in. Nobody is getting in or out of here. Maybe when it thaws, we can talk again."

I swallowed. Snowed in? There wasn't much arguing with that.

"Do y'all have a radio… or something… I could try and call my family… let them know I'm not… that I'm okay?" I asked. It would be a long shot. I'd have to try every damn frequency out there to have a chance of getting in touch with anyone I knew. But it was better than sitting on my ass waiting for snow to melt.

"No," the Colonel said. But he didn't specify whether he was saying no to having a radio, or no to me using it.

Ain't no way a prepper this prepared doesn't have a radio.

My jaw clenched. "I had a bag with me… there was a radio in there. Did you…?"

I glanced over at Dwight, who shook his head. "We didn't pick it up."

Fuck.

The radio had likely been as fucked up by the cold water as I was, but still… a slim window of hope slammed shut. I had only one left, and it was mostly for my sanity. "I had a ring, too. I might have fallen off, but…"

"Yeah, we've got that all right," the man who'd come to collect me and Dwight said from behind me. He pointed to the scratch down his cheek. "You managed to do this with it."

Now that he was standing next to his bearded friend, I remembered him and where I knew them from. The non-bearded man wasn't wearing his hat, and that had thrown me off. Last I'd seen them both, they'd been driving away from an irate Daryl with a deer he'd shot just for me. I glowered at both of them. "Y'all stole my engagement dinner."

He grinned at me, but there was no warmth in it. "Guess we'll call it even, then."

"I'm sorry," I said, but I turned back to the Colonel and Jocelyn as I said it. It was clear who was calling the shots here and it wasn't Hatless Asshat. "I was… feverish… a little delirious, I think. I didn't know where I was… I was scared, and just trying to survive. Can I have it back? Please?"

The Commander considered me for a moment. I hardly dared breathe. "Yes. I don't see why not."

Jocelyn retrieved it. I felt a little better just by slipping it on. The snow would thaw. I would get out. I would never speak of this place again.

I almost got through the conversation without losing it. But then, as I looked down at my ring safely back where it should be, I caught sight of my arms. I turned my hand over, palm up. There were little red dots along the inside of my arm. Some of them were a little bruised around the edges. I knew what they were immediately.

Track marks.

They drugged me.

Repeatedly.

It felt so obvious now I could see the evidence, all of the unnatural slipping in and out of consciousness. The scratching sensation on my arms. But, it had been a bone-deep fear for so long that I'd blocked it out. Shut out the possibility. But, now there were track marks on my arms. My arms looked just like Momma's.

"What did you give me?" I asked. I couldn't stop myself from shaking.

"It was just to calm you down," Jocelyn said. "Just to help you get some rest."

"Is… is… is it addictive?" I asked, my voice stammering. There were already tears on my cheeks. My throat was closing up, my vision blurry.

Jocelyn was still fucking smiling, "We wouldn't give anything like that to a woman in your condition."

"She's getting agitated again, boss." Someone said from behind me.

"No!" I tried to get away from them. But where can you go when you're sealed underground? "Please! No!"

A scratch on the back of my neck. I was down again in seconds.

Daryl

"Daryl!" Mia's hurried whisper pulled me out of a sleep I didn't remember falling into. I jolted awake in the seat beside her hospital bed, something soft pressed against my cheek. Hadn't slept for that long in days. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept through the night.

"You okay?" I said, immediately alert. "Are you hurtin'? Feelin' ill?"

I pressed my hand to her forehead to see if she had any fever. Siddiq said her gunshot wound was healing well, but I was worried about an infection getting in.

"No, I'm fine," she said, batting my hand away impatiently. She pointed to the window, "Look! The snow!"

Shit.

When I looked out of the window, there was very little snow on the sill. I crossed over to it and looked down. The sun was just coming up and there was very little snow on the ground either.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I grabbed my boots from the corner of the room and sat back down to lace them up, cursing how much time I'd already lost. It wasn't supposed to go down this way. I was supposed to be there when the ice melted so I could pull that body out of the lake. One unusually warm night might have fucked it all. "Do you really think it's her in there?" Mia whispered. I paused as I was lacing up my boots. Her eyes were watering, her bottom lip trembling.

"I don't know," I said. Although the lump sitting in the top of my throat suggested otherwise. Every day I'd been out searching the woods, finding nothing, that shape in the lake had started looking more and more like it could be my girl.

"What if it is?" Mia asked. It was the first time I'd heard her entertain the possibility. Even when I'd told her what we'd found, her first reaction had been to flat-out reject the idea that it was Naomi. Now that we were about to get an answer, it seemed it was finally hitting her.

"Then at least she'll be home," I said. "Where she belongs."

It was the only thing I had. The only slight comfort. I knew it wasn't enough, but I couldn't lie to her.

Mia nodded but didn't say anything. I went back to tying my shoelaces, searching desperately for anything else I could say to make it right. I sat back in the chair for a moment. I needed to be out there, looking, but Mia was hurting so much it didn't feel right leaving her. My shoulder nudged against the soft fabric I'd woken up leaning on and it slipped down the chair. I pulled it up from behind me and froze.

A jumper. Didn't need to ask who it belonged to. It had probably been here since she'd fallen asleep in this chair too, looking over Mia. Still smelled like her.

No wonder I could sleep.

I stood up, draping the jumper over the back of the chair. Right where she left it. I hugged Mia goodbye. Neither of us said a word. What was there to say? Mia usually anxiously wished me luck when I went out looking, but not this time. It was the one time we didn't want to find her.

Feeling like a condemned man on his way to the electric chair, I headed toward the cars. Some of the original search party had gone back to their communities, but a lot of people had stuck around. A lot were still out there searching with me and I wasn't sure I'd ever have the words to thank them for it. Used to be that Naomi's Momma would up and disappear and nobody but me checked on Naomi. Now, I had a village out here looking for her.

Carol was at the gates when I drove up. I rolled down the window while I waited for them to open. She didn't ask where I was heading, she already knew. "You want some company?"

I shook my head. If I found what I thought I was about to, I doubted I'd ever want to be around anyone ever again. For their sake as well as mine.

"Can you go sit with Mia?" I asked instead.

"Of course," she said. The gates were open now, so I started to take off. She yelled after me, "Wait! Aren't you supposed to wait for Rick?"

"No time!" I called back through the open window. That had been the plan. Every day, Rick and I would check the lake. I was supposed to go and get him if it had thawed overnight like this, but now that it had happened I didn't want to.

I just wanted it to be me and her again. Nobody else. Even if she wasn't really there.

I should've camped by the damn lake.

The roads were almost clear, which was good because I could move faster than I had all week. But, I worried about the water having melted too much. I might get there and find her Walker had up and left. I wasn't sure how long it took them to thaw.

I parked my car right behind hers. Still couldn't stand the sight of it but couldn't bear to do anything with it either. It was like the more that changed, the longer it seemed she'd been away. I was fighting moving anything, especially something of hers. When I got out , I could hear the creek was running again. I raced into the woods.

The lake had partially thawed. That shape was still there but it had drifted to the shallows. It was almost a relief to see it because at least, even if it was her, I hadn't failed her again.

I waded out into the water. There were still shards and chunks of ice floating in it. My legs went numb pretty fast, but right before it was like they were being stabbed by thousands of ice-cold needles. It was fucking horrible.

What a way to die.

And I could've stopped it.

As I got closer, every beat of my heart hurt in my chest. It was definitely her coat. My knife was out and ready to use if her Walker made any sudden moves toward me, but my hand shook no matter how hard I gripped the handle. Did I have it in me to put a blade or a bullet in that big beautiful brain of hers?

It was suddenly real damn clear to me why Hershel had kept a barn full of Walkers, why the Governor had kept his dead daughter chained up. It felt like if anyone was strong enough to be able to hold onto a part of themselves through the process of turning, it would be her. If there was any bond strong enough to pull out the lingering humanity in a corpse, it was ours.

Remember me, baby.

Even if you're dead.

I grabbed her coat. Just her coat. It came clear out of the lake. Heavy, but only with water. Her body wasn't in there.

"Naomi!" I called. I knew, if she was dead, she wouldn't exactly be able to answer me. Didn't matter what I shouted, any Walker in earshot would come stumbling toward me. I think it was shock, and a tinge of hope, that pulled her name out of me, "Naomi! Naomi!"

I kept searching the water. She could've sunk. Got caught on something. Nothing moved beneath the surface.

Rick's car came screeching to a stop at the side of the lake. He flew out of it all wide-eyed and worried. Bryce hopped out of the passenger side, his face tense.

"Daryl, I told you not to come out here on your own," RIck yelled, running around to the side of the lake closest to me. "I told you we would-"

"It ain't her, man," I cut across him, holding her empty coat above my head for both of them to see. "It's just her coat."

"Get out of the water," Rick said. I couldn't even feel the cold anymore. Which probably wasn't a good thing, actually.

"It's okay. There ain't any Walkers in here," I said. I felt lightheaded. Dizzy with the knowledge that she hadn't been left frozen underwater for two weeks. "It ain't her. It's just her coat."

"It's freezing," Rick said, coming to a stop on the shore closest to where I was standing, still holding her coat above my head like a goddamn trophy. "Get out before you lose a leg to frostbite."

I walked toward him, still clutching her coat in fingers I couldn't feel anymore. Bryce reached out and took it from me as I climbed out of the water.

"It ain't her. It's just her coat," I said, as if it weren't obvious and I hadn't said it a million times already. But Bryce had the same look in his eye that I was sure I did, the same giddy hope that somehow, our girl had pulled off a fucking miracle.

"It is her coat," Bryce said, clutching it in his hands. His eyes scanned the water, like there was something I might have missed. Didn't take no offense to it. The more eyes on this, the better.

"Come on," Rick had his cop-voice on, herding me toward his car. I couldn't feel anything below the knee, my pants were soaked with ice water. He opened up the back door. "Get in."

I got in the back of Rick's car. He blasted the heating. Bryce took his seat on the passenger side again, Naomi's coat still clutched tightly in his hands. We sat in silence for a moment while the feeling returned, painfully, to my legs.

Fuck, this would be awful if it were all over ya.

Bryce looked out at the lake, his eyes still scanning the still water. I could see that initial hope fading in them. Eventually, he said, "I mean…she could still be in there, right? If she was…struggling…maybe the coat came off, but she…sank?"

He was looking at Rick. Asking his professional opinion. I looked away from both of them.

"It's possible," Rick said after a moment. "A body usually floats after a few days, but sometimes they get caught on things down there and don't surface. It's impossible to know for sure without dredging the lake.. which we can't do."

I knew that last part was for me. That was fine. I could keep going in there, especially when it started getting warmer.

I looked back at Bryce. He was staring at her coat. "And if she got out?"

After a moment, Rick cleared his throat. Looking at us with that concerned-dad look he gets, so I knew he was about to say something I wouldn't enjoy hearing. "If she got out, her core body temperature would have been dangerously low. She wouldn't have… she wouldn't have been able to get far. Not without help."

Right.

"Help."

The more heat returned to my legs and hands, the more that hope started to fade again. Warming up was making me realize how damn hard she'd have had it even if she had gotten out of the water. It hurt. I couldn't stop shivering as more feeling came back into my legs and fingers, and I hadn't been in there that long. Hadn't been submerged in it. Breathing it in.

"Might be time I pay Negan another visit," I said. There was a tightness in my chest, an anger rising.

Rick looked uncomfortable, but Bryce nodded. He got out of Rick's car to drive mine back to Alexandria. I don't think Rick much liked the idea of me driving before I'd warmed up again. It was fine. I wasn't in the mood to argue with him. Wasn't in the mood for anything.

The drive back was silent. When we arrived, I got out and asked Rick to meet me by Negan's cell with the keys. He didn't fight me on it. I went back to Aaron's, changed into dry clothes, grabbed Naomi's bag, and headed to see Mia.

Carol was sitting in the chair by Mia's bed. They both stopped talking the moment I came in. Mia's anxious eyes asked the question before she needed to speak at all.

"It was just her coat," I said, saving her the pain of actually asking. "We…didn't find her."

Mia relaxed a little. Carol flinched, and stood up. I knew she was worried about how long this was going on. She knew better than anyone that the longer you search, the harder it hits when it turns out you're too late.

"I'll give you both a minute," she said quietly, walking past me to the door. When she got closer to me, she said, too quietly for Mia to hear, "I'm sorry you didn't find her."

My stomach clenched. Carol thought she was dead. I nodded my thanks but couldn't say anything. That initial hope I'd felt, that warm glimmer, was fading fast. Only Bryce and Mia had taken the news in the same way I had, and I don't think any of us were able to think rationally about this.

How could I look that little girl in the eyes and tell her that at this stage, we were most likely looking at bringing home a body? Before I could say anything, Mia's bottom lip started to tremble.

"It's my fault," Mia said, the dam breaking. Tears flooded down her face. "I'm sorry, Daryl… I'm sorry, I…"

"No," I said, quickly, pulling her into a hug. "No, sweetie, it ain't. None of this is your fault."

"It is," she sobbed. I hugged her tighter."If I'd listened to you…if I'd stayed where you told me to… Negan never would have -"

"No," I said again. "He never should've shot you, Mia. What that asshole did is not your fault."

"But if he hadn't shot me, she never would've…she wouldn't have gone after him. I… I…" she dissolved into tears again.

"It's not your fault," I said again. "Negan was aiming for me, not you. It never should've happened in the first place."

I never should've had you out there.

I never should've gone after that deer.

None of this would have happened.

"You don't…blame me?"

"No. Not even for a second," I said, firmly. "And I don't want you blaming yourself, either. Whatever happened, however this all turns out, I promise you, it's not your fault."

It's mine.

I couldn't admit it. Not even to Mia. She was hurting too much. She needed me. At some point, maybe she'd work it out for herself. At some point, when the dust settled a little, she might see that I shouldn't have led her to Negan's doorstep and she'd be mad at me. Or Naomi would come home and tell her herself.

Mia's crying subsided enough for her to speak. I let go of her and crouched so our eyes were level. "It's not your fault, okay?"

Mia nodded, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. Her voice was basically a whisper. "Okay."

"I want to hear you say that it wasn't your fault."

Mia gulped, hesitated, looked like she was about to start crying again, and then she said, "It wasn't my fault."

"What was that?" I said like I hadn't heard her.

"It wasn't my fault," she said, louder.

"Damn straight," I agreed. She gave me a shaky smile. It didn't reach her eyes, and I wasn't sure she fully believed it, but for now it would have to do. I straightened up. "It was Negan's fault. And he's gonna pay for it."

Mia nodded. No more protests about forgiveness. Even Carl hadn't uttered anything about that since Mia had come back with a bullet in her.

Carol went back in to sit with Mia while I left to meet Rick for my long overdue meeting with Negan. Every time I saw Mia in that hospital bed, it ignited a new rage in me. My grip on Naomi's bag was knuckle-whitening tight.

I should've killed him already.

Rick was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, just like I asked him to. I couldn't tell from the look on his face whether he was going to let me down there again or if he was going to try and stop me. I steeled myself for either option.

"What are you gonna do?" Rick asked.

"What I have to," I said, standing up straighter. "That gonna be a problem?"

I was fine with doing jail time myself if I had to. If that's what it took.

"No," Rick said. "If it was Carl he'd shot, and Michonne who was missing, I'd be the same."

I nodded. Rick got the keys out of his pocket, but hesitated before handing them over.

"If he doesn't have her," he said, a heaviness in his eyes. "You know that most likely means…"

"Yeah," I said. I couldn't bear to hear him say it any more than he could bring himself to say it to me. "I do. But you know I ain't ever gonna stop searching for her, right? Not until I bring her home."

Rick nodded. He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, the other hand dropped the keys into mine. Nice gesture, but I was too far gone to feel anything but cold anger.

I descended the stairs, into the gloom of the jail cell. Negan was sitting against the opposite wall. There were still bruises on his face from the last time I'd been here. I wondered if he'd heard us out there. If he knew what was coming. He didn't move as I got closer, just stared at me with those beady eyes of his. "Still ain't found her huh?"

"Nope," I said. I held up her bag, dangled it right in front of the bars so he could see it. "But we did find this."

"That supposed to be some kinda gotcha?" Negan asked. "I sent that back a long time ago. I see y'all put that stupid bear back on."

Fuck you.

"Found it by the lake," I said. "Not that far from the rat's nest you've been hiding out in. You expect me to believe that's a coincidence?"

Negan shrugged. "Believe what you want. It's the truth."

"So what was it, huh?" I asked. "You lure her out there? Get her out on that lake?"

"I told you," he said. "I didn't see her."

"'Cause if you saved her," I said like he hadn't spoken. "If you have her somewhere safe and sound, we can forget this whole thing. Let you go again."

Negan frowned. "Even after…Mia?"

Rage and hope fought within me. Bringing up Mia was a dumb move on his part. But…was he about to admit to something? Something that would bring my girl back.

"All Mia wants is her sister to come home again," I said. "If you can make that happen, Naomi herself might even forgive you."

Negan didn't answer. He sat back against the wall again, the back of his head resting on the stone.

"That's what you want, ain't it?" I drew closer to the bars. "With all them creepy letters you were writing? She'd never have forgiven you, y'know."

"Look," he said, sounding weary. Bored of this. "I get it, Daryl, I do. Losing a wife…that'll change you forever. And Naomi, she was…"

I snapped.

Something about it. The sympathy in his eyes. Like he understood me. Like we were somehow the same. Her name in his mouth, after everything he'd put her through. After he'd shot her goddamn kid. Those fucking letters piled up in his lair.

I unlocked his cage. Stepped in there with him.

"Tell me what you did with her."

"Nothing," he started to scramble to his feet, but I was already on him. His shirt bunched in my fist as I pushed him back against the jail cell wall. Punched him so hard his head smacked against it.

Before he had a chance to recover, I pulled him away from the wall again and shoved him hard. He stumbled back to the other side of the cell. I knew letting him out of my grip like that would give him a chance to fight back, but that was fine. I welcomed it. Wanted it. I could've ended this quick and easy, but the fight was an escape. The physical pain was so much easier than everything else I was feeling. The guilt. The fear that my girl was never coming home.

Negan lunged at me, started hitting back.

Finally.

The blows numbed me like I knew they would. Pain radiated out from them, but my head was quieter now. Pain was all I deserved. The only home I had left.

"You shot my kid," I yelled, bringing him to the ground. That asshole might've been taller than me, but he didn't have my rage. My reason to fight.

"I was aiming for you!" Negan roared, spit and blood flew everywhere. I'd bust his lip. He'd busted my nose. He punched me around the head. It made it hard to hear the rest of it, "I'd never hurt a kid."

"Well you fucking did," I yelled back. "You shot her!"

He shoved me off, grabbing my arms and twisting so my back was now the one slammed against the ground. His elbow pressed down on my neck.

"Did Naomi see it the way I did?" Negan asked, putting pressure on my windpipe . "Did she see that it was your fault Mia got shot? Did she die hating your guts?"

Yes.

It hurt more than the punch that followed. Tipped me over from angry to something else. A wounded animal. Trapped. Cornered.

I twisted out from under him, bringing my knee sharply up to slam into him as I did. Right in the nuts. He groaned in pain and slipped off me, rolling to the side.

I was on him before he could get up again.

I finally pulled my knife, pressed it hard against the scar Naomi had left when she'd tried to kill him. It pierced the skin, blood trickling down his neck. He called out.

Behind me, back up the stairs, I could hear Rick yelling as he hauled the door open. Negan looked back at me. He seemed calm now it was all about to be over.

"Please," I begged him. Pleaded with him, even though he was the one who was about to die. "Please. Tell me you have her. Even if she's dead. Even if you killed her just… tell me where she is."

I need her to come home.

"I'm sorry, Daryl," he said. "I don't know what happened to her. But whatever it was, it's on you."

I pushed the blade the rest of the way into his neck and watched as the life left his eyes. All of the time I'd spent praying for this moment, and it felt fucking meaningless.

Negan was dead.

It didn't bring her back.