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They had all seen it this time; there was no concealing it. Instead of dying quietly in bed, this one had burst from his cell, run into the cell across the way, fallen, and died with the blood gurgling in his lungs for everyone to hear. All the sick had come out to watch, to see what lay in store for them. All of Hershel's careful attempts to shield them from the truth ruined in a single moment.

There was silence when the fallen man had stopped breathing, everyone staring down at him, stunned. Hershel looked up at them. "Everyone, get back in your cells." No one moved, except for Sasha, pushing herself to come down and help even though she could barely stand. "Go on," Hershel repeated, "get back in your cells."

Sasha brought the gurney, and they lifted the dead man onto it.

"Go rest," Hershel told her. He would do this. It was time for him to take on that responsibility as well.

It was hard. Harder than watching them sicken and die and not being able to do anything about it, to take his knife and bring it down into another person's flesh. Some part of Hershel still believed that where there was the life spark, there was hope, that people wouldn't come back without bringing something of themselves with them, despite what he had seen. But he did it, because life now was about protecting and preserving the living, and any dead body was a danger.

Rick was behind him when he finished, and he told Rick that they were losing people, that he had spoken about Steinbeck with the dead man only yesterday. Steinbeck had apparently said "A sad soul can kill quicker than a germ." It's what Hershel believed, it was why he had tried to keep the reality of the illness's severity from his patients, and now … now they would lose their will, and he would lose some that could have been saved otherwise.

"They're seeing you, Hershel. They see you keep going. Even after all the choices keep getting taken away." Rick sighed. "When we get past this thing, it's not going to be like how it was, is it?"

Hershel shook his head. "No." Their last best hope to get back to the old way of life, to peace, lost.

"Was that denial?" Rick asked. "Not seeing things for how they were?"

"No. You just caught a break. You needed some time; you got some. You got lucky. We all did. I still think there's a plan. I still believe there's a reason." If God wasn't there, if God didn't mean something by this, then what was there to live for?

"You think it's all a test?"

"Life was always a test, Rick."

That was when Rick told him about Carol, that she had taken matters into her own hands and killed Karen and David in a desperate attempt to stop the spread of the illness. Going back into the sick ward, Hershel understood what had driven her, if not the actions she had taken. To stop this, to keep it from spreading, wouldn't he have done just about anything? He couldn't blame her, entirely—but he also understood why Rick had sent her away.

His fear wasn't for Carol—she was strong, she would survive—but for all of them. For the kind of people they were going to become as time went on and life became more and more about whatever needed to be done simply to see another sunrise.

And then the chaos began. One person lost, who rose while he was rehydrating Sasha, and another who had passed on while his cellmate pretended he was just sleeping, and then Henry, who had died despite them breathing for him. The first woman knocked Hershel over, and was hauled off of him just in time by one of the sick. The second dead person attacked his friend, and young Lizzie tried to draw Henry away from Glenn and then tripped. Hershel lifted Henry's wasted body and threw it over the railing, where it landed on a metal grate, before helping Lizzie to her feet and pushing her into a cell for safety. Then he went to Glenn, who lay on his side, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth.

There was no time to help Glenn, not with multiple walkers loose. He ran for Caleb's cell, to get the gun he kept there, only to find that his friend the doctor had succumbed and was lost to them, too. Hershel put him out of his misery with a knife to the head and then went in for the gun.

He drew the dead to him, up the stairs and down the aisle, backing up until he had a clear shot away from the others, and then the took them out, one by one, before hurrying back to Glenn's side, rolling his boy over onto his stomach and thumping him on the back to help him clear the blood out of his airway. Glenn was wheezing, struggling for breath. He needed the balloon, to intubate and breathe for Glenn until he could breathe for himself. He ran for Henry's body, which was still on the metal grating.

Maggie appeared just in time, shooting Henry in the head, a clean shot that avoided the bag. Between them, they got Glenn intubated in the nick of time. It was a relief to Hershel to feel Glenn's body relax, to see his chest rise and fall as he got the air he needed. "Stay with us," he pleaded, because he didn't know what he would do if they lost Glenn.

He looked up at Maggie. "I didn't want you in here."

"I know. I had to. Just like you."

His beautiful, brave daughter. He reached out to stroke her face, grateful for her strength.