What Really Happened: A Memoir from the Apocalypse

Chapter 12: Convalesce

"What?" I asked.

"I haven't heard you talk about Andrea since it happened. Just wanna make sure you're okay."

I closed the jewelry box. "I told Daryl and Carl I'd be better off without her. We left things in a bad place. My parents and I were right, I knew we were. But I miss her more now than I did when she was alive."

"I need you to know that the reason she didn't look for you sooner wasn't because she didn't care. Deep down, she knew you were better off here. With this group. She knew you were okay, that you were safe. She knew how much this group loves you. She loved you."

"The last thing she said to me was that she was gonna try to make it work. All of it. That was stupid. She should've killed the Governor. She should've ended it."

"Woodbury's walls made her weak. I tried to talk to her, begged her to get out of that trap with me. But there was nothing I could do. Nothing you could do. She was my best friend. If not for her, I wouldn't be here right now. And I don't just mean this room. But she couldn't see things clearly anymore. She was killed by the man she gave everything up to defend. Her not wanting to choose a side, was how she ended up on the wrong one."
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Carl sat on the bottom bunk and shoved his clothes into his backpack. "This whole thing is bullshit. What's gonna happen is gonna happen. We can't hide from it."

"Your dad is right, though. We can't be stupid. We have to be on top of this. The chances of us getting it are high. Patrick died from it... You already lost a friend to it. If I didn't have to stay with my mom in the guard tower, I'd be going too."

He stood up from the bed and moved close to me. "Then why won't you come with me? We were in the same place when it happened, exposed to the same stuff."

I stared at the floor, and tears formed in my eyes. "Because my dad's sick and I'm not leaving."

"He'll be fine. It's gonna be fine. Daryl's gonna go to get medicine. There are doctors here."

"It killed Patrick. What if it kills him too?"

He put his hands on my shoulders. "It won't."

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2 days later:

I wore Dad's riot gear and spent the day helping Mom defend the prison. I dragged the tree branches into the pile after her and Rick chopped them, so we could use them against the fence to secure it from walkers.

Rick went on a run with Carol, but she didn't come back. Karen and David, survivors we took in from Woodbury, got sick with the illness. She killed them to stop the sickness from spreading. Rick sent her away.

A gunshot sounded from inside the prison.

"What is that? What happened?" I asked.

Mom listened for a second, but continued to chop the tree.

"Go," Rick told her.

"The fence is more important, we need to keep it standing."

"I got this," Rick said.

"Mom, I'm coming with you," I said.

"No. You need to help Rick with the fence."

"I have to see what it is! Dad's in there!"

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We were locked out of the prison's entryway, and the night sky made it dark and hard to see. Mom and I held our flashlights and tried to get somebody's attention.

Mom banged against the door. "Dad! Open the door!"

I twisted the knob continuously, but it didn't work. Mom hit her axe against it, which got stuck and broke in half. The wood that flew in the air looked like electric sparks. She pushed me to the side to turn the knob again, and screamed out of frustration. Yelling sounded from the inside. Through the window, I watched the sick survivors bend over, weak from sickness. A woman ran towards the door to open it.

A walker rushed to me, and I jabbed it through its chin. Grandpa laid on top of the stairs, held down by another one.

Mom aimed her gun to where he was. "Daddy!"

"No! You could hit the bag. We need it for Glenn," he said.

I ran to Dad on top of the stairs. He shook uncontrollably. His forehead was purple, and the area below his nose was red from blood. His eyes were open, but not focused. Blood poured from his mouth as he gasped for air, trying to cough. I froze and stared at him in shock.

Mom sat beside him and held his hand. "He's turning blue!"

Grandpa ran to hold him down and put the bag into his mouth. "Stay with us. Stay with us..."

His gurgling stopped, and he went silent. I fell to the floor beside him.

Mom held my hand and stroked his face. "You're gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay."