𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 | Daryl Dixon

35 | CAN'T BE IT

Axel died in the attack. The very first bullet that was fired, was aimed straight at his head. Carol said he was smiling when it happened, telling a story about his brother, laughing as he spoke. He died instantly, of course; that was about the only solace they could take from it. He may not have been with them a long time, but he had earned his place with the group. A good man, like Oscar.

That took the tally up to two. Two people, killed by the Governor. 

Tori wondered how many more little lines would be added to the chart before the fight ended. If it ended. The tally she used to have in her head where she counted the walkers she slayed was a huge mess by now, white chalk scribbled all over a blackboard, an impossible number of lines to count. She could only hope that this new count of human lives never got to such an amount.

"We're not leaving," Rick spoke with finality, but the conversation had only just started.

Hershel snapped back, sat on the stairs. "We can't stay here."

"What if there's another sniper?" Maggie questioned, starting to agree with her father. "A wood pallet won't stop those rounds."

Beth folded her arms. "We can't even go outside."

"Not in the daylight," Carol added.

"Rick says we're not running – we're not running," Glenn spoke up, still strong on his refusal to even consider other options. Options that might have been safer.

"Nope. Better to live like rats," Merle Dixon sarcastically drawled. He was locked out of the cell block, leaning against the door with his good arm through the bars, hanging limply over the other side.

Rick looked over to him. "You got a better idea?"

"Yeah, we shoulda' slid outta here last night, lived to fight another day," Merle lifted his shoulders. "But we lost that window, didn't we? I'm sure he's got scouts on every road outta this place by now."

Daryl paced slowly up and down, arms by his sides. "We ain't scared of that prick," he mumbled.

"Y'all should be," his brother countered. "That truck though the fence thing – that was just him ringing the doorbell. We might have some thick walls to hide behind, but he's got the guns and the numbers. And if he takes the high ground in this place? Shoots... He could just starve us out if he wanted to."

Tori's fists clenched in her pockets, nails digging into her palms, almost drawing blood. She sat perched on a stool in the corner, the fresh bandage on her leg making the wound ache, hard to stand on. Carl stood beside her, taking a place between her and the door where Merle stood.

Sick of hearing the older Dixon's voice, she uttered, "Can we lock him up somewhere else? Maybe a shallow grave?"

"No, he's got a point," Daryl mumbled from across the cellblock, the brunette woman refusing to look in his direction.

"This was all you!" Maggie snapped at Merle. "You started this."

"What's the difference whose fault it is?" her sister rolled her eyes. "What do we do?"

"I said we should leave. Now, Axel's dead," Hershel said, clearly frustrated that too many people were still willing to stay and fight when it was such a risk. "We can't just sit here."

Rick pulled the strap of a rifle over his shoulder, walking toward the door without speaking.

Hershel got to his feet in a flash. "Get back here!"

Everyone in the cell block was silent, looking between Hershel and Rick, that latter freezing on the spot. The older man's voice was still bouncing off the high walls, creating an echo that made Rick's ears ring. He stayed still, not even turning around as he listened to Hershel's crutches get closer.