𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 // 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬¹ (ON HOLD)

.𝟎𝟏𝟑; 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊.

.013; SICK AND WEAK.
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The longer Rowen spent in A block, the sicker she got. More and more people came in, coughing, throwing up. She was on the verge of death, along with everyone else who had entered those doors.

She lost count of the amount of people that had died since she arrived yesterday. She saw Hershel wheeling away bodies of not yet turned, dead people, so he could silently kill them away from the prying eyes of the living.

Over half of the council was sick, Glenn, Sasha, Hershel. The only members not sick being Daryl and Carol. Rowen knew she would die, she didn't want to die, but she knew it was going to happen.

Every time Hershel brought her the nasty tea, insisting it would bring her fever down, she knew she wasn't getting better, and with every person who died, a little piece of her hope of living, died with them.

A small portion of said hope was restored when Hershel informed everyone in the cell block, that a group would be going to an old veterinary college a few towns over. He said it should hold the medicine they all needed.

But even that information wasn't enough to stop the majority of the cell block from turning that day.

☆

Rowen was helping Hershel, Glenn, and Sasha, around the cell block the best she could. Bringing tea to those who needed it, helping Hershel hand out expired Tylenol's. It helped to keep her mind off of the inevitable, the looming reminder that some day soon she would be nothing but a memory.

Daryl and a small group left hours ago to retrieve antibiotics that could possibly save everyone in A block. Hershel remained steadfast that they would return with the medication before dark. That everyone who was sick would get better soon.

"Why don't you go get some rest, Rowen." Hershel's calming voice rang in the young girls ears. She had been handing out paper cups filled with the nasty tea, that Hershel said was a 'natural fever and pain reducer'. Rowen thought the old man was crazy.

She nodded, much to tired to argue with the old man. When she reached her cell, she collapsed into the bed, it was everything except comfortable, but that didn't stop the small red head from being asleep within minutes.

She was awoken a few short hours later with a hand on her shoulder, her sleep haze faded quickly when she realized, that the hand gripping her shoulder, wasn't a live one.

Her screams bounced off of every wall in the cell block, she tried to reach for her knife only to realize she had left it in the office building. Her muscles were weakened, as she struggled to hold the walker away from her, she heard the screams of others.

She pushed against the grip of the walker, but this one was fresh, it's hunger stronger than her. She recognized the man, he arrived at the prison a few months ago, with a daughter that was younger than Rowen. He was kind, he was a good man.

Rowen heard banging on the large metal door at the end of the cell block, she hoped it was Daryl. She knew Daryl wouldn't let her turn, but as her arms began to buckle under the weight of the walker, she heard gunshots.

She heard Daryl and Hershel yelling, and she knew, that even if she didn't come out unscathed, she wouldn't become one of them. The un-dead man above her inched closer and closer to the smooth skin of her neck. Her arms ached, she wanted so desperately to stop fighting, she didn't want to die like that, slow and agonizing as a walker tore her apart.

There was another shot, one much closer to her cell this time, and with that shot the walker above her fell limp beside the bed. Her eyes darted between the body on the ground and the man in the doorway.