The Lucky One//twd

044. First Strike

Madison's POV

The prison felt smaller lately.

Not because of space — but because of the air. It was tighter now. Tense. Heavy with words we weren't saying out loud.

They were coming.

Woodbury.

The Governor.

Merle.

And none of us were sure who'd make it through if things went sideways.

⸻

Rick started assigning double shifts for watch duty. Michonne sharpened every blade in camp. Carl stopped smiling.

Even Beth started learning how to shoot.

Blake and I patrolled the fences with Daryl. The three of us rarely spoke more than a few words while we worked. But it was comfortable. Focused.

I caught Daryl watching me once — really watching me — while I fixed a tear in the chain-link.

He didn't say anything right away. Just leaned on his crossbow and muttered, "You're different."

I didn't answer.

He kept going. "Back then... when Shane died, when Lori—" He stopped himself. "You shut everyone out. Thought you didn't care."

"I did," I said. "I just didn't know how to show it without falling apart."

He nodded. That was enough. Maybe it was his way of saying we were okay now.

Blake walked up beside me a few seconds later, nudging my shoulder gently. "Progress," he murmured.

⸻

Later that night, Daryl found me outside the cell block, sitting with my back against the wall and watching the moon rise above the prison yard.

He lit a cigarette with shaking hands.

"You know Merle and I weren't close," he said, staring ahead. "Not in the way brothers should be."

I didn't interrupt.

"But he's still blood. And now he's working for a psychopath."

"What'll you do if you see him again?" I asked.

He exhaled smoke. "Don't know. Depends if he aims a gun at us."

I leaned my head against my knees. "We're all someone else now."

He looked at me. "Yeah. But some of us got better. Some just got mean."

⸻

The next morning started like any other — except for the silence.

Birds weren't chirping. No wind. Even the walkers outside the fence seemed quieter than usual.

It wasn't until Blake spotted the first one that we understood what had happened.

A walker stumbling toward the fence. Then another. And another.

All of them had something tied to their chest.

Knives.

Grenades.

Tripwire.

"Oh, hell," Daryl muttered.

"Back away!" Rick yelled, waving everyone off the front gate.

One walker caught on the barbed wire and exploded — chunks of shrapnel slicing through the air. Beth screamed and hit the ground.

No one was hurt, but it was a message. Clear as hell.

"I know where you are. I know how to get in."

We found a flag planted just outside the tree line, red cloth fluttering in the wind.

A note nailed to it. Michonne read it out loud:

"Consider this a hello. Next time, we won't be so polite."

The Governor's handwriting was neat. Elegant. Which somehow made it worse.

⸻

The mood that night was like a coiled spring. Everyone kept busy — sharpening weapons, reinforcing fences, double-checking ammo.

I helped Glenn and Maggie boil water for stitches. I sat with Beth while she cleaned Judith's bottles. I even offered to take a night watch shift — something I hadn't done in weeks.

Blake found me again, later. Up on the catwalk, where we always ended up when the world was too much.

"You okay?" he asked.

"No," I said honestly. "But I'm here."

He leaned against the railing beside me. "You've been different lately."

"I had to be."

"Is this you... coming back to us?"

I looked at him, at the way his eyes softened even in the dark, and nodded. "Trying."

He reached over and brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Good. Because I don't want to lose you. Not now. Not ever."

I didn't kiss him. Not this time. But I held his hand. And for now, that was enough.

⸻

Rick stood in front of everyone in the main block, jaw tight, eyes cold.

"This is war," he said. "Whether we wanted it or not."

His voice echoed through the prison walls like a final verdict.

"We prepare. We hold this place. And if they come—"

He looked around the room. At me. At Carl. At Judith.

"—we finish it."