A WRETCHED SCREAM WAS still audible from the next room over, and that got people talking fast. At dinner, after Carl and Jane had loaded up their plates with whatever vegetable the chefs had mashed up today, it was all people were on about. The two kids had known about what had happened since earlier that morning, when Rick had explained it to them.
Their new friends from Woodbury seemed intimidated and shocked by the news, but the Atlanta group weren't too phased. The bodies had been killed - stabbed probably - then burned. Apparently, according to the rumours floating around the dining room, the hallways were covered in blood and body parts were found in different rooms. The kids knew that wasn't true, but still wondered anyways. Jane felt terrible for Tyreese, who's girlfriend had been one of the charred ones - her once tan skin burned to a crisp black.
But, loss was just a part of everything now.
No one was very scared that there was a serial killer amongst them, or even perhaps a real threat. Everyone had caught on that there was a sickness going around - and Rick had calmed the innocents before any panicked had begun to arise. Carl knew he knew something, but failed to tell the girl seated in-front of him.
The two of them tried to stay silent about it during dinner, hammering into their mashed up nonsense to avoid speaking. Though, within ten minutes, their unspoken rule had been broken.
"Who do you think did it?" Carl asked, almost shameful he was indulging in the controversy.
"I don't know. My mom told me they were sick, and that she thought it was right. So, that's what I'm believing." She said, shrugging her shoulders in a haphazard manner.
"She said that?"
NOT ONE OF THE new civilians had moved on from the incident quickly, forcing Rick to go into an investigation about it. He liked it - not the fact that it had happened, or that people were dead - but the policing. He didn't quite realise how much he yearned for his old job, and somehow, for a few days, it had found its way back to him.
There was another thing he didn't like, though. Something he knew. This knowledge was placed upon him, for whatever reason - maybe because he knew the ins and outs of her so well, and yet he had seen her face when the bodies were discovered. She was good at lying, but not so good to him. But maybe, she never was - not to Rick personally. She knew he'd find out soon enough, it was just what he chose to do with this knowing. This churning, critical argument inside him could not let him rest, not today.
As Rick sat stiff and disorganised, Jane dragged her feet along the floors, and spun her fingers across the walls. She passed countless cells - filled with families, friends, elders. She watched as this place turned from a prison to a sanctuary. Each one of the cells had once belonged to a convicted criminal - some killers, some thief's, and few innocent. Now, the walls promised them all something: life.
When they had really settled in here, which took time - Jane vowed that she might take so many free breaths there would be no oxygen left. Only for one simple reason: she felt alive once again. Not dead, or even remotely buried in black ink like the days in the past. Alive. Alive and breathing and okay.
As she approached the empty passageway ahead that connected the two blocks, she continued on throughout, looking at the pictures Glenn had taken that were strung up on the wall. She smiled at some, and sharply exhaled at others. There were some beautiful captures of Maggie, as expected. Some cute ones of Glenn, being smiley with the people. One of Rick and Carl that had been taken completely candid. Each photo had a crackle of texture, but a luminescent glow to combat it.
She found her fingers tracing one of her and Carl, leaning over the banister and looking down at the camera. This one was candid too, as she hadn't seen it before, and neither kids were baring their teeth like usual. It was sweet.
She examined Carl's face in the photo. Seemingly, it had been taken at just the right second, as he looked almost angelic. Light flow illuminated his back, casting a shadow on the dormant floor below. His face was beautifully warm, sprinkled with golden freckles that tickled at his nose and faded out towards the creases of his eyes. The wisps of hair that grew so quick now had fallen perfectly in dominoes around his face, framing it acutely. She liked to admire him, in moments like these. In fact, that was exactly what she was doing in this photo - looking at him like he was a constellation that glittered effortlessly in the sky.
She moved away from the picture, not wanting to dwell on it much longer. It's perfection wasn't what mattered, in this world. The inevitable slip of laminated card would eventually be gone; destroyed by this world like everyone would soon be. Like she would soon be. It's strength didn't compare to its beauty, and that was what made it dangerous. She silently shuffled through the hallway and met her match at the end of it, hearing a muffled sob through a closed curtain.
She usually didn't like to intrude, but she thought she might just this once as she recognised the softness of the sound behind the veil. She pulled back the cloth, not bothering to clasp it out of the way once she had entered - letting it fall back on itself behind her.
"Maggie?"
The girl sat with her head in her hands, on the edge of her springy mattress. The 'pillow' had no indent, and the blanket had been neatly folded beside it. Clearly, someone had been in here to calm her already; to no avail. The girl shot her head up at the mention of her name, her shallow face stained with tear trails.
Jane slowly sat down next to Maggie, lowering down carefully as if she was treading on cracking ice. She went to take a mental note of the girls state, but the only word she could gather was: dishevelled.
"What's wrong?" Jane whispered, as it felt like if she spoke too loud the harshness of her breath would shatter maggie into a million little pieces.
"It's Glenn, he-he's....he's sick," she took a deep breath, "very sick." All Jane could do at her fourteen years of age was place one comforting hand on her back, rubbing it up and down ever so slightly - attempting to calm the storm raging in the woman's mind.
Maybe it worked, because the next minute Maggie was springing into Jane's arms, latching onto her like she was the last thing alive. Jane didn't mind much, but a hug was generally an unusual thing nowadays. She was never hugged - not even really from her mother.
She let Maggie's words linger in her head a little longer. Glenn was sick? He'd been fine just yesterday, when she had helped him dish out more bedding for the other families. Rick hadn't mentioned anything about sickness, had he? She had hear dribs and drabs about cold catchers recently, but nothing serious.
"How's he sick?" She asked, but Maggie didn't reply.
Carl did, however. He had been standing at the door for minutes now, watching the interaction.
"A few people have caught the flu. My dad and your mom are out on a run, fetching things for them."
That was when Maggie finally broke away, turning to look at Carl quizzically.
"When will they be back?" Maggie asked, her accent protruding thickly from her pursed lips.
"They said a few days. Could be 2. Could be 7." He said, looking down at the ground. He didn't like it when Maggie, or anyone really, was this upset. Jane stood up, saying swift, reassuring goodbyes to Maggie before closing the curtain door.
The flu. Sophia had caught it, back when she was just about to turn eight. She remembered her father had refused to take her to any hospital, stating she was fine, and that they couldn't afford it. He was right about the money, but wrong about Sophia. The girl and her mother tried everything - cheap medications, rituals, cold showers. Nothing worked, and they slowly started to lose hope as she declined more and more into fever. That was when Carol found an old book, that told her the herb Echinacea (a word none of them could pronounce properly) could be ground into a soup and consumed, curing any common flu or cold.
These herbs were incredibly common, and thankfully, Jane had spotted some in the forest, when they had arrived at the prison. They lined the edges of the fences, growing up them in large twisted green shapes. Yes, that's what she would do. That's how she would help.
She moved past Carl swiftly, grabbing some rubber gloves and a steel bucket from the abandoned cleaning trolley that was knocked over in the next room.
"Where are you going?" He said, panicked, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear. He always seemed to do so, but never specifically.
"There are specific herbs around the rim of the fences, one's for curing common flus. I'm sure it won't magically make everyone better, but Hershel could make some sort of soup out of it and at-least make them feel a bit better."
"How do you know? What made you a herb-expert?" He asked un-seriously, a haphazard smile plastered on his softened face.
"My mom. It helped when Sophia had the flu."
Carl let out a quiet breath. Now he'd done it. He'd unintentionally brought up Sophia. The girl they never, ever talked about - though she consumed their everlasting minds every second of the day.
"I'm coming with you." He said, matter-of-factly.
"No, you're not. You're supposed to stay here. I can do this on my own. I want to do this on my own."
"My dad told me, before he left, that I had to look after everyone. I'm not letting you be the first one to die over some herbs!" He said, raising his voice slightly.
"Carl, they're not just herbs. They might just keep people alive for a few days longer, until they can get the care they need. You don't have to be a hero all the time!" She answered back, anger apparent on her face and in her voice.
"They can't save anyone if they don't make it back."
THEY STOOD OUTSIDE THE fences, where Jane picked at herbs and weeds and Carl stood watch, stabbing the occasional walker. The leaves she held and pondered at meant nothing to him, but she could clearly see the differences between their stems and roots. He just watched her sort them, in a quiet peace that couldn't quite be explained. He wasn't sure why, but he found himself watching her in the majority of these sequences - staring, If you will.
But not in a creepy way, in a 'you're so interesting' kind of way. Was interesting the right word? Who knows. All he knew was that he felt a nice feeling when he looked at her, and when she looked back at him, he never wanted her to turn away.
"Done," she said, with a bucketful of greens in her hands. Carl nodded, as she stood up and started to walk back around to the main gate, careful not to make too much sound.
They high fived, just for fun, conversing happily as they entered the main cell block. The place was vacantly cold, and un-explainably empty. The two hated it, because all of it's character seemed to fade so quick when there was no one around. It also made the grand ceilings, covered in cobwebs and echoes, thirty times more frightening. The kids had decided to head straight to Hershel, knowing he'd have to use the goods right away. Pulling back the curtain to his cell, they found nothing but emptiness. A few things were strewn on the floor, but nothing important.
"D'you think he left in a rush?" Carl asked from behind, looking into the space over her shoulder.
"It doesn't matter. We have to find him."
The two searched the rest of the prison, but clearly their luck had run out long ago. Hershel was no where, as expected. The few people still vacant in their cells had no information to hand out, and yet, they were still hopeful. Heading down to the one place they hadn't checked, they found a whole lot more people than they had bargained for.
A steel door sat aggressively in the middle of the wall, looking impenetrable as always. It had one circular window and a big turning wheel, like one of those doors you'd see on a pirate ship. The room was cold, and almost blue - like someone had slapped a filter over the atmosphere. Carl's hands immediately flew up to massage his upper arms, crossing over his body as he shivered. It was so cold that he could see his breath form delicate shapes in the air.
"This must be where all the sick people are. It's where Glenn is." She said, placing the bucket down and getting up on her tiptoes to peer through the circular glass window. She saw nothing but another steel door, that was clearly guarding whatever horror awaited her on the other side. She didn't bother taking her rubber gloves off to turn the wheel on the door, and to her surprise, it clicked open without effort.
That was when Carl stepped forward, pressing a hand to her shoulder blade carefully. Even in this dark, dingy room, he stayed warm and gentle to her.
"You can't go in. I won't let you."
"Unfortunately, you can't stop me." And with that she turned back to the door, almost making it out before Carl grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to him.
"I can come with you." He said, grabbing Jane's arm.
"No. You need to stay and keep Beth, Judith and the other kids safe."
"What about you? And all the others?" He said, their faces inches apart. She could feel his breath against her lips, and the hesitation in his eyes. He just wanted to grab her and throw himself into that room, to prevent her from any danger she might meet face to face. But he restrained himself from doing so, losing his grip on her arm finally.
"What happens if you don't come back. What if you catch it? People die, and then they become.......just don't. Because what would I do-"
"I'll be fine," she said seriously, leaning up slowly to place her soft, innocent lips on his cheek. He blushed slightly, but cursed himself for doing so. How could he be standing here, starstruck, whilst she was getting ready to speak with death, face to face? To know it's name, and to hear it's voice?
That was when she turned away from Carl and didn't look back. He watched her go, as he stood there longingly. He wanted to stay rooted to the spot, and he wanted to wait. But that wasn't an option. He had to tend to the others, and protect them. Protect them from what he couldn't shelter her from.
She could die. That's all he was thinking.
Inside, the place was eerily quiet, apart from the occasional cough. Raspy breaths filled the air with a solemn feeling, and as Jane brought her shirt up to cover her mouth, she realised just how many people were holed up here. Somehow, it was even colder than outside had been, sending goosebumps to rise and fall on her bare arms. As soon as she had stepped in, she missed him. She missed Carl's warmth, and his care. Even in that freezing chamber, he had kept her warm - not just with his natural heat, but with his words. His deep eyes. No one had ever done that to her before.
She proceeded into the main hall, bucket in hand. The place was big, and had two floors filled with cells. Maybe, in the past, it had been some sort of more protected section - for the murderers and man-slaughterers. Net hung tightly from the second floor railing, covering the passageway from floor to ceiling - possibly preventing inmate suicides.
It wasn't difficult to spot the old man, in his cell placed conveniently close to the vault like door. He had a neatly organised setup pained with UV's, needles, but no medicine. First, he was startled to see her. Then, his face turned sour as she looked closer.
Something had been behind her then, but she could not see it. For the dead fed on darkness, and boy was there excessive amounts of shadow in the chamber.
He tried to call out for her - reaching and grabbing at something, but it had already got her in it's grasp.
Holding her shoulders tight, it got ready to bite. It bore its horrid, sharp teeth and growled with hunger and desire - a sound that came straight from the pits of hell. Her lungs tightened in her chest, shrivelling up, ready to take one last breath before everything was over. She ran her fingers over her body for a final time, grasping at a leather clasp that clung to her mother's knife.
The holster she had sported since Sophia's death had finally come to use - the one that laid dormant on her side. She fiddled with it, but not for long until the knife was out of its protective sheath and buried deep into the walker's skull. The feeling was retched, and inhumane. She had just placed a knife through something's head, and it had been easy.
The dead thing dropped to the floor mercilessly, landing in a heap on the concrete. Only then, was she free to glance up at the room around her. Glenn Rhee stood a few feet away from her, grimacing at another walker beneath his feet. He had killed one too, in unison to she.
Though these weren't just walkers, they were people. People that she knew, and lived with. She hadn't ever met the walker she'd just pierced, but she knew Glenn's a little. He was a man, who liked to talk to Carl sometimes - just about the weather, usually. This thought scared her more than most, because the truth was, she saw Carl in him. She suspected that's exactly what Carl grimes would be up to in his 60s. Trying to keep it cool with the young ones, and sitting around all day. It scared her because this man had perished so quickly, and so effortlessly, that it was so simple for Carl to do the same.
The teens had come to at-least one revelation today, and that had been: neither could stand to live in a world without the other. This thought shook her roughly, and she tried not to think about it too long, scooting the bodies out of her mind before they had even been declared dead. They were dead to her, anyways. Before she could continue to dwell on it, another walker sprung out of the darkness at her frail being. She managed to kill this one with little to no effort, which would have been exciting if she hadn't tasted the lemonade this walker had made Patrick and her try just last week. It was a hard thing, even for passing neighbours who didn't know a thing about each-other.
"C'mon, we've got to lock the cell doors, so no one gets out." Glenn said, taking her hand and dragging her throughout all the cells, locking them with anything they could: hair ties, string, ribbon, rope. Rocks, you name it. As soon as the two were done locking, they hurried straight back to Hershel. He sat still, brewing something in a bowl. It seemed he had already discovered the bucket of greens that had been placed not too far from him. He smiled at the two, before shouting something inaudible at Glenn. Jane wasn't listening, though.
She knew it was wrong....but she couldn't help but think about those people. Those very much dead people. She felt Glenn's hands placed roughly on her shoulder guiding her back out toward the door, away from all the mess and horror. She had done her job. Yet why did all this feel so wrong?
I love glenn so much 😭😭