⋆ ★ REQUIEM FOR THE ACCUSED ⋆ ★

HALF RETURN

"standing in the yard, dressed like a kid. the house is white and the lawn is dead." - adrianne lenker

a couple of hours later, the tense atmosphere in the prison hasn't lessened. earlier, hershel had come in to check on glenn, who was struggling with the infection. salem now has a face to match the name. hershel approaches salem and carl, his expression grave. "jack's condition is getting worse," he says softly. "he needs to rest." salem's heart sinks. she looks through the glass at jack, who lies on his bed, looking more vulnerable than ever. the guilt from earlier still lingers, but now it's overshadowed by a deep worry for her cousin.

carl notices the distress in her eyes and steps forward. "hey, salem," he says gently, "why don't you come with me? we can go meet with my dad. he went out to find daryl and michonne's group. maybe we'll have news about the meds." salem hesitates, glancing at jack one more time. but the prospect of doing something, anything, to help distract her from the worry gnawing at her seems like a lifeline. she nods and follows carl out of the corridor. they walk through the prison, the echoes of their footsteps mingling with the distant sounds of people going about their survival routines. the walls, once oppressive and cold, now serve as their sanctuary.

salem's thoughts swirl as they navigate the narrow hallways. she can't shake the image of jack, so frail and sick, from her mind. she wishes she could do more, but in this world, wishing was as useless as a broken weapon. her mind drifts to the past, to the times before the world fell apart. she recalls the days when jack was the one looking out for her, always protecting her from the harshness of life. now, the roles are reversed, and the weight of that responsibility feels crushing.

they reach a small office building just off the prison. an echo of loud footsteps bounces off the hardwood floor. rick's voice shouts through the halls as he calls for his son. "you okay?" carl asks, seeing his father at the end of the hall. "i was gonna ask you that," rick replies panting. "we're fine," carl responds, his voice ringing through the empty hallway--nothing but paper scattering the floor. "no one's sick? you didn't have to do anything?" rick asks. "haven't had to use my gun, dad. salem took one down in the cellblock." rick wipes his sweaty face. "here, i found some food on the run. there's a bunch of fruit leather there. have everybody brush their teeth after." rick explains, tossing the bag toward carl and salem.

salem catches the bag and peeks inside. the sight of the fruit leather brings back a flood of memories. she used to love these as a kid, sharing them with jack and her other cousins. the taste of sweetness in a world so bitter was a rare comfort. she pulls one out and hands it to carl, who smiles in thanks before stuffing it into his pocket.

"can we come with you?" carl asks, swinging the bag on his back. "not just yet, you're safer in here. we don't know where the virus is coming from i'd rather you stay away from the dead." rick answers, shaking his head. "she's covered in it, if it was from the walkers you'd think salem would be sick." carl argues with his father. rick sends him a glare, letting him know to stop talking. "you need to stay here, both of you." rick says before walking down the hall toward the door. "i will. but you can't keep me from it." carl calls after his dad, breaking the distance between them.

salem watches the exchange silently, her mind racing. she understands carl's frustration. they all feel so helpless, stuck in this limbo of waiting and hoping. every day is a gamble, a test of endurance. she admires carl's bravery and his willingness to fight even when the odds are against him. he reminds her of jack and how he never gave up, no matter how dire the situation.

"from what?" rick asks. "from what always happens." carl replies, his voice almost a whisper. "yeah, maybe. but i think it's my job to try." rick says, walking out through the door and leaving carl and salem in the dark office. the office feels eerily quiet now, the silence amplifying her thoughts. she takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. 

carl leads salem back to the cellblock, the corridors now feeling like a labyrinth of shadows and muffled voices. the air is thick with the smell of sweat and despair, but carl moves with a practiced ease. he hands out the fruit leathers to his family, their eyes lingering on salem. she can feel their stares, their curiosity, and their suspicion. she's an outsider, coated in the remnants of the dead, and the weight of their scrutiny is almost as heavy as the grime clinging to her.

they pass by a cell where a girl with an air of quiet strength sits, her gaze fixed on the floor. "that's beth," carl explains in a hushed voice, "she's maggie's younger sister." salem's eyes follow carl's gesture, and she sees beth, who is gently playing with judith, carl's baby sister. the scene is a poignant reminder of what she's lost. judith's laughter, so innocent and carefree, strikes a painful chord in her heart. as beth cradles judith, salem's mind drifts to her own younger cousins. she can almost see their faces, and hear their laughter—memories now overshadowed by the brutal reality of their world. the image of her cousins, so full of life and now lost forever, floods her thoughts.

as the evening settles in, a quiet calm descends over the prison. the sounds of the day—the distant clatter of supplies, the murmur of conversations—fade into a peaceful stillness. hershel takes his place inside the quarantine room, his face lined with exhaustion. he moves between the cots, checking on the sick. glenn's laboured breathing fills the space, a reminder of the battle raging within him, while jack lies motionless on his cot, his face pale and drawn. salem sits just outside the quarantine room, her back against the cold, concrete wall. the night is cool, a welcome respite from the day's oppressive heat, but she hardly notices. her gaze is fixed on the glass window, watching jack as he sleeps, every rise and fall of his chest a small victory.

hershel glances up from his work and catches sight of salem through the window. he gives her a small, reassuring nod, acknowledging her silent vigil. as the night deepens, the prison falls into an almost eerie silence. even the wind outside seems to have stilled, leaving only the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of movement. salem shifts slightly, her muscles stiff from sitting so long, but she doesn't move from her spot. she can't. every instinct tells her to stay, keep watch, and be there for jack in whatever way she can.