A Broken World

Seventy-Five

The morning after Glenn screamed himself back to life was the kind of morning people remember in pieces.

A hand on a doorframe.

A blood smear you missed the first time you looked.

A cup of water that tasted like metal because you were shaking when you drank it.

The prison kept moving, because it had to. It didn’t pause to appreciate that Glenn was breathing. It didn’t stop to mourn the fact Hershel had blood on his cloth and still tried to smile like it was nothing. It didn’t give Rick time to sit down and be scared in the way fathers aren’t allowed to be.

It just kept asking for work.

I checked on Glenn first.

Maggie sat cross-legged on the floor beside his bunk, his hand pinned between both of hers like she could anchor him to the world by sheer will. Glenn’s eyes were closed, face damp, lips cracked, but his chest rose and fell without the violent fight from the night before. It wasn’t smooth breathing. It was stubborn breathing. I respected it.

“He’s asleep,” Maggie whispered as I stepped in.

“He needs it,” I said.

Her eyes flicked up to mine. They were red-rimmed, dry now. That’s the stage after the storm, when you’re too tired to cry even if you want to.

“And you?” I asked.

She made a sound that might’ve been a laugh if she had any humor left. “I’m fine.”

“No,” I said. “You’re functioning.”

She nodded once, accepting the correction like a fact. “Daddy?”

I glanced toward the adjoining cell. The door was shut, locked from the outside. Hershel sat on the cot inside, Bible open on his knee, the cloth in his hand now folded clean like he was trying to pretend it hadn’t been stained an hour earlier.

“He’s awake,” I said. “He’s… Hershel.”

Maggie’s throat worked. She wiped her face with the heel of her hand. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead briefly against Glenn’s knuckles. Then she straightened like she’d just taken communion. “If he gets worse…”

“I’ll tell you,” I promised. “Immediately.”

She nodded. “Good.” Then softer, “Thank you.”

I left her there and walked into the corridor where Rick’s footsteps were already coming.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t pause. He strode in like the room was a crime scene and he was going to arrest the universe.

“You,” he said, looking at me but meaning the whole day. “Fence.”

“Daryl’s on it,” I said.

“I want you with him. Extra eyes. Tyreese too.”

“Tyreese?” I asked.

Rick’s jaw tightened. “He’s got strength and nowhere to put it. Better the fence than my face.”

Fair.

Rick’s gaze slid to Hershel’s cell door. It stuck there for a fraction too long. He looked away like it burned.

“And the kids,” he added. “No one goes near that quarantine hallway unless they’re rotated in. No exceptions.”

“Already done,” I said.