[ xxxii. perceived necessity ]
november 14th, 2010
➸➸➸
LATER THAT EVENING, THE entire group reconvened in the expanse of Hershel's spacious living room, the weight of fate hanging heavily in the air. The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked away, echoing the seconds of indecision that plagued them all.
Rick had granted Dale an entire day to build his case, to sway the group's conscience into sparing Randall's life. Yet, as the hours had passed, a troubling thought had been gnawing at the edges of Astrid's mind, finding its way through the cracks of her better judgment. She could not believe she was even contemplating it, but a cruel consensus was settling in—perhaps it was best if Randall were to meet his end by their hand. If it meant safeguarding the fragile peace of their new home, could this evil within her be justified?
Astrid hated herself for thinking such a way, and a storm of guilt churned within her almost immediately as she leaned her head back against the cool wall. She could feel Daryl's watchful gaze upon her, likely silently probing her thoughts from where he stood beside her.
The clearing of Rick's throat cut through the growing tension like a blade, drawing all eyes toward the sheriff at the center of the room. His eyes, normally so steady and confident, now held a touch of unease. "To start things off, let's just see where everyone stands so then we can talk through the options," He suggested.
Shane's swaggering confidence reacted first. One hand found its place casually resting on his hip, while the other clenched tightly around his pistol. "Well, where I sit, there's only one way to move forward," He said. The man's tone held a certain arrogance, as though he already held Randall's life within his lethal grasp.
"And that's killing him, right?" Dale snapped. "I mean, why even bother to take a vote anymore? It's clear which way the wind's blowing."
Rick's gaze shifted from face to face, seemingly trying to collect their individual thoughts like precious fragments of a shattered mirror. "Well, if people believe we should spare him, I want to know," He replied.
"Well, I can tell you it's a small group. Maybe just me and Glenn. Possibly Astrid—but even I don't know where her thoughts lie on Randall anymore," Dale said as his eyes found the Lancaster woman's. He dared to look into her soul, and she hated the spotlight it brought.
"You heard exactly what I said earlier," Astrid's voice cut back through the room, a steely resolve underpinning her words. Her eyes locked onto his with a defiant challenge. "I want what's best for this group. Our group. Not Randall's. If killing him is the best option for us, then we have no other choice. You want to protect this group, right? Someone is going to die either way. Now, it can be Randall—or it can be one of us when we risk the chance of his group finding him here. So, whose blood would you rather have on your hands, Dale? Mine? Or Randall's?"
Dale's mouth opened as if to speak, but the words seemed to evaporate before they could manifest. A tremor seemed to electrify the air, and Daryl, sensing Astrid's turmoil, gravitated closer. His movements were subtle, a mere inching closer that conveyed more than words ever could. Astrid's chest tightened, her breaths deep and ragged as she tried to calm herself back down.
Shane swallowed audibly. "Astrid makes a damn good point," He highlighted. "I'd kill any number of Randall's men just to keep one of our own safe."
As the room's many stares effectively bore down on him, Dale's voice trembled. "Well, then, maybe it's just me and Glenn," He confessed.
Glenn's discomfort was suddenly noticeable, the weight of his loyalty to the group clashing violently with the belief of sparing a life still so tainted by uncertainty. "Look, Dale, I think you're pretty much right about everything, all the time, but this—"
"They've got you scared!" Dale insisted.
"He's not one of us!" Glenn argued back, standing his ground. "We've lost too many people already."
Maggie eyed her new partner with concern and laid a gentle hand on Glenn's shoulder. "Couldn't we continue keeping him a prisoner?" She suggested.
"He'd be just another mouth to feed," Daryl muttered.
"Or he could be an asset!" Dale implored earnestly. "Give him a chance to prove himself."
Rick's authoritative tone sliced through the fractured debate. "We're not letting him walk around," He stated firmly. "I don't think anyone should be subjected to being his escort."
"Rick's right," Lori confided. "I wouldn't feel safe unless he was tied up."
"Well, we can't exactly put chains around his ankles and sentence him to hard labor," Andrea reminded them.
"Okay, look—maybe we let this kid join us. Maybe you're right. Maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice," Shane began, tendrils of skepticism wrapped around each word. "But what if we let our guard down, and he runs off, bringing back his thirty men?"
"So, the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime that he may never even attempt?" Dale demanded, appalled. "If we do this, we're saying there's no hope. The rule of law is dead. There is no civilization."
"Could you drive him further out?" Hershel suggested. "Drop him off like you planned?"
"We barely made it back last time," Astrid countered, shaking her head. "Between the walkers . . . The car could break down, or we could get lost. There's too much to worry about to consider trying it again."
"We shouldn't risk it when we already have a better option," Shane insisted sharply.
"Better option?" Dale exclaimed. "Killing him is the better option?"
In the crevices of her thoughts, Astrid considered the unsettling concept again. Maybe, she almost whispered. Yet, she held her tongue, feeling sick.
"If you go through with it, how would you do it?" Maggie wondered, voice wavering. "Would he suffer?"
"We could hang him . . . but shooting seems more humane," Rick admitted with a heavy exhale. "I don't know what we'd do with the body, though. Probably bury it or burn it."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dale cried. "You're all talking about this like it's already been decided! This is a young man's life! It is worth more than a five-minute conversation!" He yelled angrily. "God, is this what it's come to? We kill someone because we can't decide what else to do with him? You saved him first, Rick, and now look at us. He's been tortured, and now he's going to be executed. How are we any better than those people that we're so afraid of?"
Rick's paling expression carried with it the weight of his own culpability, an admission of the moral trap they were ensnared in. Guilt exchanged glances around the room, a mirror reflecting the darkness within them all. Astrid did not know where to look without seeing the worst parts of herself.
"Alright," Rick tried again. "Anyone else who wants the floor has the chance."
"You once said that we don't kill the living," Dale reminded Rick.
"Well, that was before the living tried to kill us," The sheriff replied coldly.
"Don't you see that if we do this, the people that we were are gone?" Dale's voice resonated with raw desperation. "The world we knew is dead, and this new world is ugly. It's harsh. It's survival of the fittest! Now, that's a world I don't want to live in, and I don't believe any of you do either," The elder man quivered on the brink of tears, and drew in a trembling breath, as his gaze swept the room in search of a glimmer of understanding—of hope. "Please. Please . . . Let's just do what's right. Is there anyone that will stand with me?"
The silence that followed was a cruel entity. Each individual, inextricably ensnared in their internal struggle, cast a hesitant gaze upon the abyss of their choice to spare or kill an eighteen-year-old boy. Moments stretched like taut strings.
Then, amidst the hushed crowd, Astrid's gaze shifted, and her eyes met Dale's tearful ones. His words resonated deep within her, striking chords of introspection and empathy. His plea for compassion, for a higher sense of justice in a world stripped bare of its former order, stirred within her mind, honest and true. And in that moment, a surge of clarity washed over her—a moment of decision that transcended her personal fears.
Astrid's lips tightened into a firm line, and in the presence of her fellow survivors, she found her voice—a voice that spoke not only for herself, but for the shared ideals they had to continue to cling to—to fight for in a world turned upside down.
Astrid squared her shoulders, her gaze unwavering as it swept back across the living room. "Dale is right," She said loudly, bravely, surprising even herself. "We can't allow the world we knew to slip away entirely. It's true that this new reality has forced us into corners we never imagined . . . trapped us into choices that were once impossible to consider, let alone make. But surrendering our humanity in the process—becoming what we fear—isn't the solution. It can't be. We have to find another way to do this." Finally, her eyes landed back on Dale, and she sent him a nod of solidarity. "I'll stand with you," She promised.
Hesitation clung to the room like a tangible mist. It was as if time itself had halted, suspended between the past the group yearned for and the present they could not escape. The room, once a place of refuge, now felt like an arena for their souls to clash in a battle of ethics. And then, as if sensing the vacuum of indecision that had enveloped them, Andrea Harrison emerged from the stillness. Her voice was a gentle defiance, a note of camaraderie that shattered the impasse.
"I'm with Dale, too," She murmured.
Rick's response was another heavy sigh tinged with an almost seeable disappointment. It was as if he knew that even in moments of unity, the conclusion and aftermath of this choice were destined to be fraught with heartache and betrayal. The sheriff's watchful gaze swept the crowded room once more, looking for others that might have had their own say.
"Anyone else?"
The silence that followed spoke magnitudes.
Astrid, Andrea, and Dale stood together, defiant islands in a sea of opposing voices, yet their plea for mercy, for a shred of humanity to prevail, was drowned in the unyielding tide of majority rule. The power of their ideals had been overshadowed by the looming specter of a perceived necessity. Despite their efforts, Randall would still be killed. A young life would be lost before midnight, and there was nothing that any of them could do about it. They had been outvoted in this democracy—a cruel yet simple fate.
And then, Dale's bitter laughter—laced with the acidic tang of despair—sliced through the quiet. His words lashed out like a whip, twisted with cynicism and frustration, piercing the fragile bubble that had encapsulated them all. "Are you all going to watch, too?" He sneered, his tone dripping with bitter sarcasm. "No, you'll all go hide your heads in your tents and try to forget that we're slaughtering a human being. Well, I won't be a part of it." He started for the hallway, but as he balanced on the threshold, he turned his gaze, a poignant arrow aimed solely at the Lancaster woman. "You know what, Astrid?" He called out to her. "You were right. This group is broken."
Then, without another word, Dale Horvath stormed out of the farmhouse, leaving the room in silence.
➸➸➸
ASTRID LANCASTER WAS QUIETLY fuming.
The weight of her frustration pressed heavily against her chest, coiling, and ready to break free. "You don't have to agree to everything Rick or Shane says," She grumbled from within the shadows of a tall oak tree. She had already long since locked her arms tightly over her chest, the gesture both a shield against the world and a prison of her own making.
Her gaze shifted beyond the tense outline of Daryl's form as he stood before her, fixating on the scene playing out before her. Rick and Shane led a blindfolded Randall towards the execution barn that had blatantly become a symbol of their moral descent.
The hunter intervened in her line of sight. "Astrid, I'm doin' this for you," He insisted. "To keep you safe."
Astrid's frown only deepened. "By killing a kid?" She challenged. "Daryl, he's just a kid! Why can't anyone else seem to get that?" The boundaries of her anger were expanding, pushing against the limits of her restraint. She scoffed to herself as she took a defining step back. "Maybe this group is becoming a twisted version of itself," Astrid muttered. "I'm starting to regret the day I ever chose to get in that car with Glenn when he found me on that highway."
Inching closer, Daryl's stern gaze held hers. "You don't mean that," He admonished, his voice low. He bridged the gap between them, the proximity forcing her to confront what flashed dangerously in his eyes. "You can't make it alone."
Astrid's stubbornness radiated. Before she had even found this group, she had grown accustomed to solitude, to the necessity of relying solely on her own instincts and strength. With each word Daryl spoke, a sense of defiance only bristled deeper through her veins.
"I can make it alone," She asserted through gritted teeth.
In that moment, her proclamation hung between them, a challenge to the very idea of needing anyone else. Astrid's eyes glared back into Daryl's, unflinching, determined to make him see the strength she had cultivated within herself—without ever needing him.
However, as soon as the words left her lips, Daryl's reaction was swift and surprising. His strict exterior softened, his form immediately backtracking a step, as if her claim had struck a chord he had not anticipated. It was as though her words had caught him off guard, unsettling what had been lingering in the balance between them.
Astrid's brow furrowed as both confusion and realization washed over her. Then her gaze softened as she saw, not just through Daryl's reaction, but into the depths of his intentions. The hunter recognized her strength, he saw the fire that burned within her, and he understood that she was more than capable of facing the world alone. Yet, his step back was an admission that, perhaps, he did not want her to. In the shadowed depths of his irises, Astrid discerned a desire for her to remain, to be by his side in a world that had grown cold and unforgiving. He wanted her there beside him, not as a liability, but as a partner.
Daryl's lips parted, and his voice was a gruff—yet gentle—whisper amidst the quiet night. "I just want to protect you."
With a final, lingering look, Daryl retreated further from the Lancaster woman, leaving Astrid with a sense of both longing and fear for what was unfolding between herself and the hunter. But she hid the acknowledgment of these feelings with a roll of her eyes. This was not about her, and she refused to make it about them.
With more pressing matters at hand, Astrid changed the subject and started after him. "How can this kid even be considered dangerous?" She demanded, sharp and incisive. "He can barely walk as it is."
"The ones that seem the weakest are the most dangerous," Daryl muttered. "He comes from a sick group. He denied a lot of stuff but if he got you alone—"
"Daryl, no one is going to hurt me," She declared, reaching out to the hunter with an iron grip. "Please don't do this. Convince Rick of another way."
A heavy silence hung in the air, interrupted only by the faded and muffled sounds of sobbing from within the barn down the drive. Daryl cautiously lifted his hand to hers that rested on his biceps, and loosened her grasp. "I can't change Rick's mind," He told her. "I'm sorry."
Astrid's gaze flashed briefly to the barn's entrance. Then, her eyes locked onto Daryl's. "Then go," She spat, bitterness filling her words. "Don't let yourself miss out on watching Rick splatter Randall's brains against the walls."
"Cut that out," Daryl shot back, his voice sharp as steel. Before he finally walked away, he hesitated, eyeing her figure closely. Then he peeled off his leather jacket, an almost tender gesture that contrasted the harshness of their conversation. "It's cold. Take this."
Astrid shook her head as she pushed the jacket back towards him. "I don't want it," She rejected. "Just go."
With an irritated sigh, Daryl draped the jacket over her shoulders, nonetheless. Then, he turned and strode down the dirt path toward the barn, his figure gradually diminishing in the distance.
Astrid watched him go. Reluctantly, she slipped her arms into the sleeves of the oversized leather jacket, its scent and protection somehow both comforting and suffocating. As she adjusted the cuffs that hung far past her hands, she paused, feeling the reassuring weight of her gun against her waistband. It was a small token of control she clung to, a reminder that she still held agency in a night rapidly spiraling into cruelty.
With a rush of newfound resolve, Astrid decided to take matters into her own hands. She stormed down the dirt path towards the barn. Stopping just outside the entrance, her heart pounded in rhythm with the desperate sobs leaking from within. Without another moment's hesitation, she pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.
"Don't go through with this!" She cried out.
Rick, Shane, and Daryl all turned toward her, their expressions both familiar and disconcerting. The hunter frowned darkly. "Astrid, get the hell out of here," He ordered.
She paid him no mind, her focus solely on the sheriff. "Rick, please don't do this," She begged. "He's just a boy. Think about Carl—about the kind of world you want him to grow up in. Is this the legacy you want to leave for your son, where executions become a part of his daily life? I know you don't want to do this. Please, don't kill him."
Rick's gaze met hers, a silent battle of wills playing out between them. For a moment, it seemed as if he might waver, as if her words as they entwined with his own family's future were a beacon cutting through the fog of his mind. But then, with a sharp shake of his head, he seemed to capitulate to the darkness that had consumed them all.
Rick turned his attention back to Randall, his voice bereft of emotion. "Would you like to stand or kneel?" He proposed to the young prisoner.
Before Randall could utter a word, Daryl acted, shoving him roughly to his knees. Astrid's heart raced as she took a step forward. "Stop it, Daryl!" She yelled.
Shane's exasperated groan vibrated through the shadowy barn. "Daryl, get her out of here," He commanded. The threat behind his words hung heavy, and after a breathless pause, he continued, the edge in his voice sharpening. "Or I will for you."
Daryl recoiled instantly. He stalked toward Astrid, and his grip clamped onto her arm, a forceful attempt to drag her away. But her own willpower was an unbreakable barrier—she planted her feet firmly, anchoring herself down. Not missing a beat, the hunter's strong arm encircled her waist for extra leverage. In a snarl barely above a whisper, his words seared her ear. "Astrid, you're crossin' a line not meant to be crossed."
"Why?" Astrid retorted angrily. "Because I'm standing up for what's right?" Her voice crackled. "Take your damn hands off me."
Daryl's grip on her hips held firm. As their struggle stretched, Rick's interruption was a discordant note, a harsh reminder of what still had yet to happen. "Do you have any final words?" He asked. His gun found its place against Randall's temple.
Randall's wrenching sobs and pleas for mercy clawed at Astrid's soul. She strained against Daryl's arms, a desperate attempt to intercede between Randall and the inexorable fate that loomed. Her heart raced, the powerlessness of the moment igniting a surge of dread. The impending gunshot hung like a pendulum's blade, poised to strike, but the deafening report never echoed. Instead, a small voice pierced the silence, an unexpected intrusion from the shadows.
"Do it, dad. Do it."
Astrid's gaze snapped towards the barn's entrance, her shock morphing into disbelief as she took in the sight of Carl Grimes standing there. The twelve-year-old's attention was fixed on Randall, an eerie curiosity dancing in his eyes.
Astrid immediately peeled back to Rick. "Look!" She spat, her finger pointing accusingly. "Is that really what you want to hear coming from your son, Rick?"
Rick's glare met Astrid's own as he released a sigh laden with his own doubts. The gun he had held with once unwavering intent began to lower, its lethal presence gradually fading. He turned his attention to Daryl, his voice a commanding whisper in the air. "Take him away."
Daryl quickly stepped back, tearing Astrid's attention from Rick as her body jolted upon sudden release. Randall now found himself hauled to his feet under the hunter's firm grip. In the periphery, Shane's movements mirrored Daryl's, pulling Carl back outside and away from the harrowing execution that had almost unfolded. In the wake of their exits, it was only Rick and Astrid who remained within the barn's confines.
"I didn't want to do this," Rick admitted quietly. There was a faraway look in his haunted eyes. "I didn't want to kill him. I know it's not right. But what other choice do I have?"
"There are countless choices," Astrid insisted. "Some are just easier to make than others. This isn't an easy choice, Rick, and you know that. You'll have to live with this decision for the rest of your life. With that kind of cost, you need to think about this for longer than two days. Give it some time."
Rick's nod was a gesture of acknowledgment, a silent agreement. He approached her, his grip firm as his fingers found purchase on her shoulder. "Let's head back to the house," He decided. "We'll talk about this again in the morning."
Astrid fell in step beside Rick as they left the barn. The distant chirping of crickets was all that could be heard as they reentered the camp. Faces soon turned toward them, their expectant gazes searching for answers. Amidst the gathering, Carol's confusion manifested audibly. "I didn't hear a gunshot," She noted. "What happened?"
"We're keeping him in custody for now," Rick informed. Discontent murmurs followed.
Meanwhile, Astrid's gaze swept across the dark camp, seeking out a familiar figure that seemed elusive within the crowd. Unable to find it, she turned and grabbed a flashlight. "I'm going to find Dale," She announced. "He should know what's happened."
"I'll come with you," Andrea volunteered. With a smile on her face, she stepped to Astrid's side.
The encampment began to dissolve into quietude, individuals retreating into their tents for the night. Stepping away, the two women embarked towards the fields, where Dale had vanished earlier. The night air embraced them with its cool caress, a balm against the turmoil that had brewed within the camp's earlier hostile confines. As Astrid and Andrea walked in silence, the moonlight painted them in shades of gray, their footfalls a whispered echo on the canvas of midnight.
Andrea's voice soon broke the quiet. "All night I had been waiting for a gunshot," She admitted. "I can't tell you how happy I am just to hear the sound of crick—"
Before Andrea could complete her thought, bloodcurdling screams pierced the night. The abruptness of the terrifying sound brought both women to a jarring halt, the shadows around them now seemingly alive.
It was a gut-wrenching epiphany, a revelation that cut to the core. A chill slithered down Astrid's spine as the truth suddenly struck her with a force that threatened to upend her. These were not just any screams.
They were Dale's screams.
~~~~~~~~~~