-Mikey-
Enid and Carl ended up sleeping at Mikey's house last night. Mikey wakes up before either of them, feeling calm and safe as he watches his friends from his dad's recliner as they snore away, curled up on the living room sofa. Enid's eyes flicker open not long after Mikey wakes up. He wonders if maybe it was just one of her magic powers, to know when someone else is awake and watching her. Either way, she's now well and truly stirred from the land of dreams. Carl is still deep in that world, so the other two decide to let him stay there.
The two make their way to Enid's place, keeping quiet since the sun is barely up and Olivia's probably still asleep. They start doing the weekly food rotation to feel useful, and Mikey is more than happy to finish off a box of stale chocolate bars he finds on a back shelf. He almost drops a jar of pickles when Maggie walks in the front door right behind him and accidentally makes him jump.
"Sorry," Maggie holds her hands up to show no threat, Mikey brandishing the pickles at her until he realises.
Maggie has a rifle hanging from her denim-clad shoulder, and as she moves into the armoury to grab a box of bullets, Mikey realises she must have first guard shift this morning.
Enid quickly snatches the jar of pickles from Mikey's grasp, pushing it into Maggie's arms. Then she takes Mikey by the wrist and drags him to the door.
"Where're you going?" Maggie calls after them, holding the pickles like she's not quite sure what she's supposed to do with them.
"We'll take your shift while you rest," Enid tells her.
"Enid..." Maggie sighs.
"Just for a few hours," Enid smiles back at her. Mikey looks as lost as Maggie in the offer. "Let us help."
Maggie looks terrified by the idea as she glances at the jar.
Enid sees it. "Put up your feet and eat some pickles."
Maggie lets her lips curl into a short-lived smile, but she doesn't let the fact that neither of them has a gun pass her by. "Maybe get Rhys to go with you?"
"Where is he?" Mikey hums, hugging himself when Enid remembers to let go of his wrist.
Maggie's eyes dart back to the pickles, picking at the sticky label with her nails. "Probably still asleep. I haven't spoken to him recently."
"We'll let him sleep in," Enid purses her lips. "We'll be fine."
-Rhys' POV-
I hold my arm out the window as we drive down a desolated highway, wind flowing up my sleeve and down to my shoulders. I feel like Jane Eyre, a bird flying free with the wind under my feathers. When I get bored of the feeling, I clamber my way into the front with Carol.
She's rolling her eyes at me as I pull my rucksack into the front with us and start to root through it.
Her eyebrow cocks when I pull out a CD.
"No," she groans.
"Come on," I flip it around. "It's Jonny Cash."
Carol squints at the cover, grinding her teeth together. "No," she repeats, sounding like she could give in this time.
"I'll let you pick the song," I hum, flipping the case round again to show her the list of tracks. Carol lets her eyes quickly scan down the list before turning back to the road and letting out a huff.
"Fine," she shakes her head. "Track nine. The last one."
I grin, pushing the disk into the dash stereo and flipping through the songs until number nine plays.
'I was on my way to you and I was worried
I was all torn up and nervous 'cause I knew that you'd be gone
I knocked and crossed my fingers while I waited
And I couldn't hide the teardrops when I walked away alone
It's all over, It's all over, my heart echoed it's all over
Every minute that you cry for her is wasted don't you know?
It's all over, it's all over, my heart echoed it's all over
Stop your cryin' turn around and let her go.'
-Mikey-
Enid and Mikey are perched on the guard platform on the west wall, playing patty cake to pass the time.
"You're really not great at this," Enid tells Mikey in a voice so dry that he actually takes it personally.
"Yeah, well, you're not great at— shut up," Mikey shoots back, his tongue between his teeth as he tries to focus on her hands.
"Wow... good one."
Mikey shakes his head, knowing she's just trying to psych him out. He keeps staring out over the wall. It's probably the reason he keeps messing up the game. Neither of them brought a gun, but they agreed to just run and yell for help if they happen to spot any Saviors.
"You worried about the Saviors?" Enid asks.
Mikey shakes his head a few times, not looking super sure in himself. "I'm worried about Rhys and Carl. Feels like they're gonna break up."
"They'll be okay," she tells him. "Not sure one of them can function for long without the other."
"Know what time it is?" Mikey changes the subject.
Enid squints up at the sun as it hides behind a cloud.
"About six... in the morning, obviously."
Mikey looks at her in awe. "How do you do that, wizard?"
Enid flaps her shoulders lazily like some sleepy eagle. "Picked it up when I lived out there."
Mikey looks overly impressed in his usual way. "Cool."
Enid pokes him in the ribs when he gets distracted from the game again.
"Hey, if I tell you something, do you promise not to laugh?" Mikey hums the query sceptically.
"No," Enid answers honestly.
Mikey rolls his eyes, crossing his arm and trying to make it look like he won't tell her, folding in on himself, only to burst out with it like she knew he would. He rifles through his oversized jacket pockets, pulling out a pair of round spectacles and holding them out, their tortoiseshell frame catching in the sunlight.
Enid takes them off him, frowning a face of recognition at the glasses.
"Were these your dad's?" she asks, putting them on and squinting blindly out of them.
"Yeah," Mikey smirks at her inability to see. "Spence gave them to me."
"Why?" Enid asks, taking them off and handing them back. "You don't wear glasses."
"Well," Mikey does a weird head movement somewhere between a nod and a shake, "Sasha was giving me some shooting lessons the other week—"
"Why?" Enid interrupts, "Rosita or Rhys normally teach you."
"She's been weird since Abraham broke up with her... and Rhys, well, he's been— you know... ever since, well... you know."
"Yeah." Enid sniffs away at her cold nose, which has gone a little red at the end. She still remembers when the group got back from the slaughterhouse. Carl had refused to be there for it, still mad at Rhys for going, but Mikey and Enid were there. She can remember how they hardly recognised Rhys when he got off that RV with Sasha under his arm to keep him upright. His face was black and purple all over. Swollen, scarred, and burnt. Streaks of dried blood coming from just about everywhere his face could bleed from.
"Anyways," Mikey hops back on his story, "the lesson with Sasha— my aim sucked."
"More than usual?" Enid smirks.
"Knock it off," Mikey says. "I'm better than you."
"You've never seen me shoot..."
"Exactly... now let me tell the story."
"—Sorry"
Mikey goes on. "Sasha thought it was strange— because my aim's fine normally—"
Enid snickers at him.
"—So she sent me to see Denise, to get my eyes checked. Turns out I need glasses. Spencer said it used to run in the family more, same prescription and everything. Dad had terrible eyes— he wore glasses all the time. Aiden only had them for reading. But for me? Denise said that we can only wait to find out. I didn't tell anyone at first because it seemed kinda dumb after everything that happened to Rhys, Maggie, and Carol... then Denise passed away."
"She didn't 'pass away,' Mikey," Enid tells him. "She was killed."
"I know..."
Enid lets her face soften. "Let's see them on you," she points.
When Mikey gives her a goofy look, she snatches them out of his hand and pushes them onto his nose. They droop low on his face the same way they had on his father's. He shifts them up with a finger, peering at Enid through the lenses.
"Well?" he sounds nervous.
"You're adorable."
When Scott takes over on watch for the teens, the sky opens up and starts pouring down. They both go home. The two sprint in opposite directions as the weather beats down on them.
Mikey gets home, dripping from head to toe, jumping on the spot and shaking like a dog that just jumped headfirst into the lake. When he's done, Mikey realises Carl must have left because the big house goes eerily quiet, and he remembers how dead his family is.
"That you, Mikey?" A voice calls from the belly of the house.
"Certe!" Mikey responds to his brother in Latin because he feels like it.
Mikey follows the sound of his brother's voice until he reaches his late mother's office in the basement. The oak desk is messy with papers and pens, as usual. A bottle of nearly finished whisky sits on the desk with no glass. Spencer's sat at the desk.
"You know Mom's rule," Mikey says to his clearly drunk brother. "Drink out of a glass so you can measure yourself."
Spencer lets out an amused hiccup. "Well, I'm sure she won't mind just this once," he says, raising the bottle to the ceiling. "Where have you been all day?" Spencer asks his little brother as he watches him hover by the door.
"On watch duty, with Enid," Mikey tells him, wandering over to an antique globe and giving it a spin, his finger randomly stopping it on Budapest.
"Are you and her...?" Spencer raises an eyebrow twirling his wrist to make the drink slosh around inside the bottle.
"No," Mikey snorts.
"What about the gay kid?" Spencer asks. "You said he was staying here last night because the other one isn't quite right in the head?"
Mikey rolls his eyes.
"Carl's bi, not gay," Mikey says, rolling his eyes again when Spencer shrugs. "And Rhys isn't 'not right in the head'... he's just struggling after what happened at the slaughterhouse."
"I hope he's okay," Spencer says, actually sounding sincere.
"Me, too," Mikey tilts forward on his toes, looking behind the globe only to find a surplus of dust.
"Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" Spencer asks as Mikey heads for the exit after a moment of awkward brotherly silence.
"You mean Dad's glasses," Mikey corrects him, patting the pocket they're sitting comfortably in.
"Dad is dead, Mike," Spencer tells him.
"Don't call me that," Mikey hisses.
"Why?"
"You know why," Mikey holds himself. "That's what Dad called me."
"Fine— baby brother... that better?"
"Anything but Mike."
Spencer leans back in their mother's chair, linking his fingers over his chest. "You alright?"
Mikey nods briefly.
"Because what happened with Denise..." Spencer grimaces like this whole conversation physically hurts. "That's... hard."
"I guess."
"Load that one for me, Mikey?" Maggie requests, pointing to a handgun on the trolley of guns that Mikey had pushed here from the armoury.
Mikey and his brother ended up having an argument. He had stormed over to Rhys' house only to catch Maggie and Glenn leaving. Maggie told him they were doing some prep work for if the Saviors show up and that they could use a hand, and if Mikey was being honest, the distraction was welcome. Now they're standing by the wall that runs alongside the main gate.
Mikey struggles to put the clip into the gun.
"Other way around, bud," Glenn points out.
Mikey goes red in the face, loading the weapon properly.
"We'll have these, but we should hide a few," Maggie says as she loads another, slotting it into a holster hanging off the side of a barrel filled with loaded rifles. "That way, we can find them, but strangers can't."
"You really think the Saviors could get in here?" Mikey asks, his voice worried.
Maggie gives him a look, her eyes going round and serious as she loads another pistol from the trolley. "In case anyone does get in."
Glenn looks at them both. "They won't," he assures them.
Mikey isn't sure if it was more for him or Maggie.
Michonne struts over to them from the main gate, wearing her leather vest over a soft cardigan, somehow managing to look both prepared for war and ready for an afternoon book club with a mug of hot cocoa. She's about to say something, but Daryl's motorbike revving its engine as it rolls up to the gate gets everybody's attention.
"Oh, no," Michonne murmurs as the four watch Daryl ride up to the gate.
Rosita's on gate duty, and Mikey can see her ask Daryl something as he climbs off his bike and opens the front gate. Daryl says something to her, but none of it is audible to Mikey.
"No shit, you got specifics?" Abraham yells down from the watchtower above the gate, clearly having heard whatever Daryl said.
"What the hell is he doing?" Glenn says, watching too, grabbing a rifle from the barrel they'd just stocked.
"Something he shouldn't," Michonne replies, rushing to the gate, Glenn and Maggie following. The excitement sends Mikey after them.
By the time the four reach the gate, Daryl's angel-winged vest is barely visible, dust kicking up behind him as he speeds away from home on his bike.
Mikey watches as Michonne and Glenn climb into the run truck, painful memories of his late brother still flood his brain whenever he sees it.
When it rumbles to life, Mikey jumps, yanking open the backdoor of the truck and leaping inside.
"No way," Michonne twists in her seat to growl at him.
"Yes way!" Mikey yells back.
"Mikey—" Glenn starts, scratching his nails against the wheel as Daryl slips further away.
"I know where he's going," Mikey interrupts. "You need me! I go on patrol now. I can handle it!"
Michonne still looks angry at him, but Glenn starts driving forward, not having much of a choice if he wants to catch up to Daryl.
Abraham jumps in front of the van before they make it out the gate.
"Make room for my freckled ass!" he yells, slapping the hood with his hand that's not holding a giant rifle.
"No," Rosita pushes past him, climbing in next to Mikey. "Cover my watch," she barks at Abraham.
"Hey," Glenn shouts, "we should keep numbers here."
"Mikey might know where he's going," Rosita tells him, "but I know what he's doing."
Not being able to argue again, Glenn sighs through his nose, exasperated before driving out.
-Carl's POV-
Earlier that morning:
I fell asleep on Mikey's sofa, but he and Enid are gone when I wake up. I cross the room to peek out the window, morning dew on the window panes, a light rain decorating the porch in tiny dots. Mikey's not here, and I can hear his brother storming around in the kitchen, sounding angry at the world. Holding my sneakers in one hand, I open the front door with the other, aiming to sneak out and go home, but halfway there I decide to go to Enid's first.
Enid answers the door when I knock, her hair wet from the rain and she invites me in for coffee. I tell her it tastes like burnt shit, but Enid tells me to come in anyway. We talk about yesterday's funeral as she sips on piping coffee, and I grimace after each gulp she takes.
Olivia comes downstairs, her hair a messy thicket of dark threads. She's putting on her glasses and dressing gown at the same time.
"Morning, Enid," she yawns. She glances at me. "Carl."
"Hi, Olivia," I give a tight smile.
"You here for the gun?" she asks.
"Huh?" I ask. Enid, looking equally confused.
"The gun," Olivia repeats, holding a glass bottle of Hilltop milk in one hand, and a large coffee mug in the other. "The one Rhys dropped off last night. Said to give it to you when you next show up."
I stand up, somehow crammed with worry over something I can't put my finger on.
"Show me?" I ask quickly, striding out of the room and already halfway to the armoury.
"Carl, what is it?" Enid squints at me for being rude.
I don't apologise. "Show me."
"Okay," Olivia frowns, still holding the milk. "Just let me make my—"
"Now!" I yell, not meaning to.
Both women stare at me.
"Please," I whisper.
Olivia grumbles something under her breath, opening a cupboard and grabbing another coffee mug from the very back. I almost yell again, but she pulls a hidden key from the cup.
I'm let into the armoury, and Olivia searches for the gun, tutting at me as I bounce on the spot, still filled with unfounded worry.
She hands it to me.
It's his new one. The one he got from the Saviors.
I take off home at a sprint, leaving a confused Enid and Olivia behind.
Carl,
I'm hoping you don't find this until I'm gone.
Carol's leaving. I don't really know where. Somewhere east, I think.
I'm going to go with her.
You said these things take time, and I want to give you that. Maggie needs it, too, and everyone else seems so happy.
I'm coming back. I'll find Tara, and in a week or so, we'll be back.
Please don't come after me.
Rhys.
"Dad!"
I trip down the stairs in my frenzy to reach the bottom.
Dad's there, standing by the front door. Tobin's with him. He's holding a letter as well.
"He's gone," I try, tears falling. "Dad, he left."
Dad keeps a fast stride to the gate, holding both Rhys' letter and Carol's in his hand. Tobin and I are on his heels.
"Dad, what are you going to do?" I ask, but he doesn't answer.
"What time did she leave? Do you know what she took?" Dad asks Tobin.
"Sometime in the night. I never heard her go, but she made a bunch of food, took a pack and one of my coats, but—"
"Did she leave on foot?" Dad cuts in. "Was Rhys with her?"
"I don't know..."
"You're going after him, right?" I ask again.
Abraham, Sasha, and Morgan are all at the gate waiting for us.
"Rick," Sasha's face is pale with worry, "I took over at twelve. I was on till six. I never saw anything."
Who even told them?
"Front's been quiet since the others left," Abraham chimes in.
Others?
"What?" Dad hisses. "Who?"
"Daryl," Abraham lowers his head, looking ashamed for letting him go. "He went ICBM after the Saviors from yesterday. Glenn, Michonne, Rosita, Young Mikey— they all went to shut that shit down."
"Mikey?" Dad squints at them all. "Why did—"
"What about Rhys?!" I yell.
Dad looks at me. Looks at me because there's nothing else he can do, nothing he can say. I look back because I need him to say something, anything. We hit an impasse.
"Where's the other car?" Tobin asks out of the blue, staring through the gate's metal bars.
Everyone else follows his gaze.
"We added two more cars yesterday," Tobin points out. "One of them's missing, the one we put right between those two houses."
"You can barely see between the houses from up top," Abraham says. "Especially at night."
"The notes," Morgan taps Dad on the arm. "Can I see them?"
Dad hands them over, his gaze switching between the gate and me. Then he snaps his fingers at Sasha, thinking. "You never saw any headlights, taillights? Carol's smart enough to cover her tracks."
Sasha shakes her head. "I'll find them," she tells Dad with a purpose-lit fire burning bright behind her eyes. "Gimme a car, and I'll find Rhys."
"I'll hop on that shit, too," Abraham nods. "Bring the two home."
"No," Dad holds up his arm, blocking the way to the cars. "We need to keep majority here, in case the Saviors do attack."
Ignoring him, Morgan gets in a car parked along the wall. I follow him.
"Where are you going?" Dad shouts at us, running over.
"I'm gonna go find them," Morgan tells him.
"Me, too," I second.
"No," They both tell me at the same time.
Dad jogs over, slamming the car door shut after I open it.
"I'm going!" I shout at him.
"Carl, you're staying," Dad tries saying it softly. "I'll go, but you're staying."
"Screw that," I shove him back. "You stay. I'm not sitting around and waiting for—"
"Carl!" Dad cuts me off, and I drop silent. "I'll bring him back, but I need you to stay. We need to keep everyone here safe."
"I can't—" I whimper, trying to speak. "I can't just—"
Dad pulls me into him. "I'll bring him back."
I rip away, shoving him again. "I'm coming."
-Rhys' POV-
"What's your favourite band?" I ask, ignoring Carol's scowl when I set the song to repeat.
"Why?" she groans.
"Because I don't want to sit in silence, and you're shit at starting small talk."
Carol doesn't say anything.
"Okay... who's your favourite singer?" I ask.
Again nothing.
"Favourite song?"
Carol makes a dramatic sigh.
"Rhys, why are you doing this?"
"Because hating you takes more effort than just talking and pretending that I don't."
Carol nods, keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
I stare out at an upcoming stop sign, the red paint peeling and faded, more of a brown now. It makes me sad and I'm not sure why.
"Care of Cell 44," Carol says.
"What?" I ask, looking at her once the stop sign whizzes by.
"That's my favourite song," she tells me, glancing at me for a second.
"Never heard of it," I say.
"Ed, he took me to see Elliott Smith sing it," she says, cracking her neck.
"Your asshole ex-husband?"
Carol nods. A farm goes by on my side of the car, and we both watch it go. A ghostly paddock sits empty of livestock, and a field of wheat lies dead beyond it, but besides the emptiness, flowers grow in the grassy enclosure, and a wild horse wanders through the crunchy plot of fallen corn.
"He wasn't always an asshole," Carol tells me. "He could be sweet when he needed. And one time, when he needed, he took me to see that."
"Still, never heard of the singer," I shrug, shuffling in my seat to get comfy.
"He didn't write it. It was some band called..."
I look at Carol when she trails off, but she's staring at the road ahead, and when I look, it's already happened. There's a car driving towards us on the other side of the road. As it passes, it shoots at us. Bullets thunder into Carol's side of the car. Light spills through bullet holes a few inches from her legs. The tires blow, and we skid to a halt.
The other car stops, too. A green pickup parked behind us. The men on it are watching us as we watch them back. Their guns are raised.
"What do we do?" I pant, checking myself for fatal leaks, finding none.
Three men are sitting in the back of the pickup. One of them is the one that shot at us, another holding a spear that looks like the ones from Hilltop. Two men are in the front of the pickup, their faces obscured. But they're watching us.
Carol turns off the engine.
"What're you doing?" I hiss, reaching for my gun. Carol stops me by grabbing my wrist tightly.
"Hands up," the guy that shot our tired leers, standing up in the flatbed.
Carol shoots me a very serious and grave look before raising her hands. Begrudgingly, I follow her lead. When our hands are all the way up, her rosary beads are sticking out from her jacket sleeve, her hand tucked in.
"Please don't hurt us," Carol stutters.
"Why does everyone always assume the worst?" The guy snickers to his friends before turning back to us. "How 'bout you come on out, lady?"
The gun wielder is a young Asian guy. It's hard to tell while he's on top of the truck, but he looks short. His hair is neat, and his clothes are clean.
Carol opens the door slowly, climbing out even slower. She's shaking, her voice trembling when she speaks. I remember the lady she became in the slaughterhouse was the same.
"We just have the car," Carol calls out, her hands high above her head as she spins on the spot, showing no other weapons. "And a knife," she reaches down to touch it briefly, "for the dead ones, nothing else."
"How 'bout the boy?" he points the rifle at me, making me flinch behind the dash.
"He's the same," Carol shouts, lowering her hands slowly. "Nothing else."
"Naw," the guy smirks, "you got information. Like where you're both from, where you're going."
Carol's shoulders rise and fall as she stammers, trying to think of what to say. I'm frozen in my seat, my gun sitting in my lap. When their attention lingers on Carol, I lower my hands, clutching my gun.
The man gets impatient. "Aw, come on, it's a lonely world. Let's get to know each other."
One of the guys in the back keeps staring at me with this wide grin, and my core turns rotten as I look away, wishing I was on that farm with the dead corn and free horse.
"I'm Jiro," the guy with the gun says. "Your turn."
"We're nobody, really," Carol says. "Nancy from Montclair," she points back to me, "my son's Noah."
I hold my breath, swapping hands with my gun when the one gets slippery with sweat.
"We've bounced around a lot since then. We... we keep moving," she tells them, crying now. "We're not really from anywhere. We're not really going anywhere."
It takes vast focus not to fall for Carol's charade myself. She's started sobbing, and her lip quivers. I try not to look at her. To focus on the threat.
Jiro grins. "Well... Nancy and Noah from Montclair, at least we agree on one thing— you're not going anywhere." He steps to the edge of the flatbed, putting his foot up on the side. "But you do seem like you're from somewhere. After Montclair, right?"
He turns his head, lowering the gun and speaking to someone in the cab. "Miles, what's that place called? The gated one 12.75 clicks down?"
"Alexandria," the driver calls back.
"Yeah," Jiro grins again. "Alexandria. You know, they got some cars out front. Spikes through them. Just like the one you're drivin', Nancy."
I sit up a little straighter.
"A woman like you," Jiro says. "No weapons, no protection, no clue, you really shouldn't be out here... just you and your boy."
The rosary hanging out from inside Carol's jacket sleeve catches in the breeze, the silver cross twirling back and forth.
Jiro keeps taking. "You know, we were just on our way to your place. We can give y'all a ride back. Maybe they'll let us in if we've got you two with us. No one wants some poor bitch and her brat to get hurt."
Carol's panting— shaking —trying to speak. She looks down at her cross.
The driver smirks out the window, a cigarette between his teeth.
Carol's trying to warn them.
"It doesn't have to be this way," she begs.
They all laugh at her.
"You can turn back, and you could go home!"
They don't stop.
"Nobody has to get hurt!"
They won't turn back.
"It's lookin' like someone's gotta get hurt," Jiro sneers, climbing down until his feet hit the road.
Carol's writhing on the spot, shaking and staggering without stirring a single step. Tears keep falling, and she keeps trying to beg them to go.
"Please," she whimpers, "please."
"Man, why don't you just grab her and the kid before she passes out?" the guy in the passenger calls to Jiro.
They get closer.
"Don't, please!"
Carol raises the rosary, and they all die.
Smoke pours from her sleeve, bullet holes painting the pickup's flank.
Clicking keeps coming from her hidden arm, bodies bleeding.
She's still crying, and the death is done.
No one left but us.
A/N
Felt like doing the very last part in a kinda poem style because when isn't Carol being a badass beautifully poetic.
Sorry about the week delay for this chapter, it's super long and I couldn't find the energy to read through it. In better news, I've taken the time to finally finish planning out all of seasons 7 and 8— Just started season 9 last night and it's been really fun. Feels like writing for season 5 again.
Carol's favourite song is from her dream sequence in Season 10 Episode 3- Ghosts. Researching that song, I found out it was originally done by a band called 'The Zombies,' which I found funny.
Side note— I also really like the idea that Aiden wore reading glasses.
Next Time: Saviors prove hard to kill, Alexandrians find carnage on the road, and a group returns to the tracks.