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Daryl watched from afar as Rick and the Governor talked. He wanted to know what was being said, but really, it didn't matter. The Governor wanted them all dead. They knew that. Everything else was so much bullshit.

What he really hoped was that no one would notice as Daryl quietly got weapons to his people. It was all there was left to do—either save their home or die trying.

He held at the gate with Carl, both of them with weapons ready, in case things went south.

"We got to do something," Carl said. No surprise the kid was impatient—he was just a kid. And he'd had to go through a lot more than any kid should have to in his short life.

"Your dad's got it."

"They're talking. We could kill the Governor right now."

"From fifty yards?" Daryl had a hard time believing that.

"I'm a good shot. I could end this right now."

"Yeah. Or you could start something else." A missed shot right now would be the worst thing. If they had any chance of the people with the Governor coming to their senses, they needed to be the defenders, not the attackers. "You got to trust him."

Carl's hands shifted on the gun, but he held firm. For all that he was an impatient kid, too sure of himself, he had good instincts.

Down below, the talk continued. Daryl held, forcing himself to take slow breaths. This was like stalking a deer, nothing more. Patience. Wait for it to move.

Trust Rick.

And then there was movement. Carl's finger moved on the trigger, just a bit, but the kid held firm. The Governor got down from his tank and disappeared for a moment, but Daryl didn't breathe any easier for all that. This was bad news. It had always been going to be bad news. There wasn't ever going to be a way to back this asshole down.

The Governor reappeared with a blade in his hands. Even from this distance, Daryl could see it was Michonne's. He felt her anger, seeing her weapon being held by someone else.

Down below, the blade was resting at the side of Hershel's neck. Maggie and Beth rattled the fence, weeping and terrified. Nothing they could do now. Nothing any of them could do but watch, and wait … and maybe hope, if you had any of that left. Daryl didn't.

He lifted his head, gauging the distance. Could he make the shot? 'Course he could. He could take the Governor out from here, easy. Didn't make it a good idea. One shot from the prison, and that tank would open up, maybe they all died.

"We've got to," Carl whispered desperately.

"We can't. They'll kill us all."

"But—Hershel!"

"I know." In his mind, Daryl had already given Hershel up for lost. Maybe not Michonne—she was young, she was resourceful, and she was ruthless. But Hershel was too old to react in time, too injured with that missing foot to move fast, and too gentle to act in his own defense the way he'd need to.

It was chicken between Rick and the Governor, who would blink first. Maybe it would be Rick; maybe the sight of Hershel in danger would make him back down.

There was more talking down on the field. There was silence from the fence as Maggie and Beth held each other's hands. Praying, Daryl guessed. He hoped it made them feel better.

Hershel held himself proudly, his eyes fixed on Rick. And then Daryl saw it, like it was in slow motion, like the way sometimes you could see the prey and know just what was going to happen in advance—the blade pulled back, Hershel's eyes moving past Rick to his daughters far up the hill, watching …

And the Governor took a firm two-handed grip on the sword and swung, true and hard, and it was over. Not just the stand-off, not any chance of peace, not just Hershel's life, but the life they had known, what they had tried to rebuild.

Whatever happened from here, there could be no safety in the prison anymore. These people would either win the day or destroy the fragile fences and let the horror inside. And if they didn't win, if they withdrew and left the walkers swarming the prison, they would be back.

Daryl lifted his head, shock and grief causing time to stop, everyone frozen in this moment, Maggie and Beth's screams echoing across the field and into the woods.

Even as Hershel's body sagged to the side, Rick was screaming himself, pulling back, taking aim at the Governor. Carl took his shot and the Governor clutched at his arm.

And then the battle was on, gunfire spattering. Daryl took aim, trying for the asshole in the tank. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Michonne, her hands still bound, rolling to the side, out of the line of fire.

Rick came around the side of the fallen bus, a bullet clipping his leg just as he made it.

The Governor disappeared between the cars. Daryl couldn't see what he was doing, but he saw the flash of the blade raised over and over again.

The tank started moving forward, pressing against the outer fence. Daryl thought about all the time they had spent keeping those fences up, all the hours pushing the walkers back, preserving this little bit of safety, and now here came this asshole with a tank and it was all over.

The inner fence was down now, too, and the cars were filling in the field.

One by one, the others from the prison were falling back, running for the bus.

The tank was aiming for the walls of the prison, blowing holes in it. Daryl hoped to hell everyone behind those walls was hauling ass for the bus. There was nothing left now but running, and maybe taking the Governor out on the way.

Daryl moved along the fence, aiming for individual attackers, taking some satisfaction in watching them fall. He held as long as he could, until a walker came up behind him and nearly took him out. He stuck a piece of rebar through its head and used it for cover, tossing a grenade in the direction of the attackers to give himself some space to maneuver.

Making his way through what was left of the prison, taking down the walkers that were already swarming in, he found himself next to the tank, and took a moment to throw a grenade down the barrel in and inside. He waited while the asshole from inside tumbled out, giving the man a chance to get his breath and stand up before he turned to find Daryl standing there with the crossbow ready. Asshole lifted his hand like he was going to beg for his life, and Daryl gave him a bolt to the chest.

It didn't make up for what had been lost today, but it was as much as Daryl could do.