Daryl felt lost. The prison seemed so different anyway—so many people lost to the sickness, all the fragile peace and trust and hope destroyed—but to come home and find it without Carol, too, was more than he had been prepared for. She was his rock, his daily reminder that there was more to living than just survival.
He didn't blame her for killing David and Karen, not really. There was a hard streak in Carol, a part of her that would do anything for the people she cared about, and she wasn't one to back down when she got an idea in her head. But he wished she'd talked to him first, let him help her or talk her down or … something.
And he blamed Rick. For taking matters into his own hands, for making the decision without consulting anyone. For not letting Daryl say good-bye, or choose to go with her, or … anything. And he had the standing now to say so, to let his voice be heard in a way he never would have before. "Man, you couldn't have waited till we got back?"
"Until Tyreese got back?" Rick asked.
Daryl remembered how crazy Tyreese had gone at the loss of Karen, but … "I could've handled that," he said dismissively. Anything to keep from coming home to this … emptiness.
"Hey. Hey," Rick said urgently, waiting until Daryl, pacing angrily, turned to look at him. "She killed two of our own. She couldn't be here." They stared at each other, Daryl wanting to argue and knowing he couldn't—that even if there was an argument to be made, Rick wouldn't hear it. "She's going to be all right. She has a car, supplies, weapons. She's—she's a survivor."
But Daryl could hear the doubt in his voice, and he knew they were both remembering Carol the way she had started, when they first met her. Fear was tearing at him, fear of Carol alone out there, of Carol giving up, of never seeing her again. He snarled at Rick, "Stop saying that like you don't believe it!"
Rick nodded, admitting his doubts. "She did it. She said it was for us. That's how it was in her head. She wasn't sorry."
She wouldn't be. She'd have dealt with her fears and her guilt and her grief before she did it, and she would have acted without hesitating. Daryl was proud of her, even as he was angry with her for acting on her own. Her and Rick, two damned stubborn people.
"Man, that's her … but that ain't her." He glared at Rick, wishing he understood that. But it was too late now. What was done was done. Daryl's job was what was left, which was the girls Carol had taken on to raise. "What are we supposed to do about those two girls?"
"I told her we'd look after them."
He couldn't even have let her take the girls, take someone to love and care for. Carol lived to care for others—what would she do out there alone? Daryl bent his head, resting it on his arms, feeling tears stinging his eyes and refusing to let them form.
"I haven't told Tyreese yet," Rick admitted. "I don't know how he's going to take it."
Badly. He'd go crazy. He'd blame them. Maybe he'd hit them. The way Daryl felt, he wouldn't mind letting someone hit him, maybe doing some hitting back. "Let's go find out."
He led the way, and Rick followed him down the metal stairs.
But they never had the chance to tell Tyreese. The words were hovering in the air, ready to be spoken, when an explosion shook the prison.
Outside, they found a group of cars surrounding a freaking tank, and standing on the tank, the man they'd all hoped they'd seen the last of. The man who had killed Merle, turned him into a walker, made him attack his own brother …
The Governor. And he had Hershel. And Michonne.
Armed men led both of them, their hands cuffed behind their backs, to the perimeter of the fence, forcing them to kneel.
Rick tried to avoid the confrontation, shouting back at the Governor that he wasn't the man in charge anymore, hoping to convince him that they didn't need to be against each other, but that had never been the way. The Governor was a sick man, twisted and punishing and cruel. Daryl had seen as much. There was no stopping whatever he intended. Not by talking. Maybe not any way.
The Governor told Rick he had to make the decisions today, that it would be the two of them facing off or nothing.
Rick and Daryl looked at each other, understanding each other. There was nothing to be done. They were all too tired, too spent, to fight these people.
Rick went down alone, while both sides watched him. Once he drew closer, Daryl turned to the others. "We can't take 'em all on. We'll go through the admin building, then through the woods like we planned. We ain't got the numbers no more. When's the last time someone checked the stash on the bus?"
"Day before we hit the Big Spot," Sasha said. "We were running low on rations then; we're lower now."
"Yeah, we'll manage. Things go south, everyone heads for that bus. Let everybody know."
"What if everybody doesn't know when things go bad?" Tyreese asked. "How long do we wait?"
"As long as we can."
Daryl moved away restlessly, wanting to do something. Anything.
And below, in the yard, Rick approached the Governor.