The ride back to the prison is long. I tell Rick I don't know what happened. I don't know why Jeff and Charlie attacked me.
He doesn't believe me.
After everything that happened, I can't risk another person knowing I'm immune and having my life almost taken from me. I don't even know how they found out.
Jonah didn't tell them; I know he wouldn't. Maybe it was other doctor—Levi. But I don't understand why out of all people he would tell Jeff and Charlie. Before gathering together to get the medication, I had never associated with the brothers. And I had never seen Levi talk to them either. Unless one of them overheard Daryl and I talking about my immunity. That's the only logical explanation I can think of.
Pushing the speculation from my mind, I try to focus on how relieved I am. I have the medicine. I have the medicine that's going to save Daryl. Everything's going to be okay. He's going to live—and Robbie too.
I stare out the window, watching the trees blur by. I look in the side mirror a few times to watch Sinclair. There's so much I owe him for saving my life. He doesn't ask me any questions about what happened. He just sits in the back seat staring out the window and says some comments to Rick on the way back.
When we get to the prison, I don't waste any time. I run so fast to the infirmary I almost trip over my feet. I start screaming Jonah's name once I see the door. He appears in the window and smiles in relief when I show him the pill bottles.
"Now, please let me in. Let me see him," I beg, my heart racing in my chest.
He looks uneasy. "Macy, I appreciate you retrieving the medication. You have no idea how many people you've helped. You—"
"He's dead," I blurt out the words. There's no other reason as to why he won't let me see Daryl. I have the medication. I did what he told me. He has to be dead. Daryl's dead and that's why Jonah's not letting me in.
"He's not dead," Jonah says quickly. But there's still something off about him.
"Then tell me what's wrong."
He looks at the floor and then back up at me. "Just a few minutes ago, Logan passed away. The bullet wound became infected."
"Wow. I don't—I don't—" I don't know what to say. I don't know what to feel. "Robbie? Is he okay?" I ask.
Jonah nods. "Robbie should make a full recovery. Leave the medication at the door. I'll let you see Daryl tomorrow after he has a chance to respond to the amoxicillin, you have my word on that."
My first instinct is to argue. I nearly got killed twice trying to get these bottles. All I want to do is see Daryl. "Fine," I say, gently laying the bottles beside the door. "But I don't understand how Logan died so quickly. I just saw him and he was okay."
Jonah leans against the window. "His immune system became weaker as it was healing the bullet wound, making him more susceptible to contracting diseases. He got pneumonia and then the infection became worse. His death was most likely a result of both altercations."
I remain silent for a moment. "Okay, well just make sure everyone else lives okay?"
"I'll try my best. Thank you, Macy."
I give him a small smile before I leave.
The next day is pure agony. The waiting is killing me. Sam won't stop asking for his dad. All he does is cry. The minutes pass by like hours. I've debated just going down there and breaking the window. I've never been this long without Daryl. I need to see him. I need to know that he's okay.
"He's going to be okay."
I'm outside in the courtyard, watching Sam as he plays with the other little boy who lives in the prison. I turn around to see Carol standing behind me.
"I hope so," I respond.
She watches Sam for a minute before she speaks again. "I've only known Daryl for a few days but he seems like a fighter."
I laugh. "Yeah he is. Always has been."
Twenty minutes later I say goodbye to Carol and take Sam back to my cell for a nap. He falls asleep relatively quickly without crying too much. I sit on the floor with my back against the wall and read a book while he sleeps. The distraction doesn't work. All I have is a few more hours left and then I can see him. I can do this. I can make it.
I can't make it.
This whole waiting thing is torture. I feel like I'm thirteen years old again, waiting for my mom to come home. Waiting for her to come back to me.
She never did.
I spent weeks waiting for her. She was my mom; she had to come back. It wasn't until my dad told me to stop hoping—she wasn't coming home—that I finally gave up.
"Macy, I've been looking for you." Jonah stands in my doorway, a pleasant expression on his face. Like he's truly happy to see me.
My heart lurches from my chest as I rise to my feet. "I can see him?"
Jonah nods, smiling. "He's ready to see you now."
Once I grab Sam we begin making our way to the infirmary. Jonah and I are mostly quiet as Sam sleeps slumped against my shoulder. The walk feels longer than I anticipated. I want to run. If it weren't for Sam I'd be sprinting.
Sam.
I stop. "I can't have Sam down there with all those sick people. I'll see if Rick can watch him."
"I'll be waiting outside the door for you then," Jonah says before disappearing down the hallway.
I find Rick in his cell with Judith on his lap.
"Do you mind watching Sam while I go visit Daryl? He shouldn't be any trouble. He just fell asleep a few minutes ago."
Rick rises to his feet to take the small child from me. "Yeah, of course."
"Great. I'll be back as—"
"Macy, what really happened back there, at the hospital?" he interjects. He uses his interrogation voice and it reminds me he used to be a police officer. I should've known he wouldn't buy my story.
I stare at the floor. "I don't know. They just attacked me, Rick. I don't know." I don't want to be standing here, doing this. I haven't seen Daryl in days. The last thing I want to be doing right now is answering questions about what happened. And it's stupid. I know that I can trust Rick. But after what happened I can't risk someone else overhearing or something else going wrong. I almost lost my life.
Rick nods. "All right, well when you're ready to tell me I'll be here."
"Thanks again," I say, practically sprinting down the hallway.
I almost run into a few people along the way and I don't bother apologizing. I just keep going. Jonah is waiting for me like he said he would be. As soon as he unlocks the door, I burst through it, making a beeline for the cots lined up along the wall.
Daryl is in the very last one, sitting up with his back propped up against a pillow. He's incredibly skinny. His eyes are sunken in. But when he looks at me they light up and I see the Daryl that I know.
"Hey you," I say.
He gives a weak smile. "Hey."
"Are you feeling any better?" I sit down on the floor beside his bed.
"I am thanks to you." He reaches out his hand to gently touch my shoulder.
"Eh, Sam made me do it." My body ignites at his simple touch. "
He laughs. "That kid is pretty damn convincing."
We sit in silence for a while. It's a comforting silence—a silence that I've missed. I keep stealing glances at him to make sure he's real, that he's really in front of me right now. With the way things are he could be taken away from me at any moment.
"How is he?"
I stare at him, puzzled. "Who?"
"My son."
"Oh, right," I answer. "He's fine. Misses his dad, though."
Daryl smiles again. "I think I should be getting out of here in the next couple of days."
"Good. I've missed you."
"I missed you, too," he says, unexpectedly.
I grin. "You need rest. I'll be back tomorrow, though."
He hesitates and I wait for him to say something before I get up. "Macy, you shouldn't of gone and got those pills. You coulda died out there and—"
"Are we really arguing about this?" I ask in disbelief, rolling my eyes.
"It would of been my fault if you died," he counters.
"Yeah and it would've been my fault if you died. So for once let's just not argue, okay?"
He grunts. "Just get outta here and let me sleep. Who told you to come here anyways?" He tries to hide the smirk on his face.
I roll my eyes again as I stand up. "I'll see you tomorrow, Daryl."
"All right, Macy."
The next morning I'm on dish duty. And this job wouldn't be difficult at all if it weren't for Sam.
I stand in the kitchen, with two buckets in front of me as Sam runs around to pick up every sharp object he can find when I'm not looking. The kid is driving me insane and I've already lost my patience with him three times this morning. I don't know how Daryl does this whole raising a kid thing.
"Samuel!" I yell when he grabs a knife from the dirty dish pile.
He looks at me wide blue eyes, making the cutest face he can muster.
I snatch the piece of silverware from him. "You can't grab knives, okay?" I warn in a soft voice.
"Sorry Macy," he mumbles before taking off in the opposite direction. He trips over his feet and stumbles—hard—onto the cement flooring.
"Shit, Sam are you okay?" I drop the plate I was washing into the bucket and run towards him. He's screaming by the time I get to him. There's blood on his knee. I pick him up, bouncing him on my hip.
I can't do this anymore.
If I have to watch this kid for another hour I'm going to exile myself from the prison and give my flesh willingly to the infected.
"Macy."
I hear my name being called and look up to see Robbie entering the kitchen. I stare at him in disbelief. "How're you standing right now? You're supposed to be sick. Does Jonah know you're out here?"
He laughs. "I'm fine. I was already recovering by the time you got the meds. I promise I didn't escape the infirmary."
"Oh," I smile. "That's great. Glad you're okay."
His skin is tan and his eyes are dark blue and he makes me nervous. He's too perfect to be standing in front of me.
"I wanted to thank you," he goes on. "For getting the medication. For risking your life. You didn't have to do that for any of us."
Sam finally quiets down and he starts squirming so I put him back on the floor. "Yeah, you're welcome."
"I wanted to give you this as a thank you."
I'm staring at the floor when he speaks, and by the time I look back up at him he's leaning in to kiss me.
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