The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter three

Measi had no business being on her feet yet. She knew that. Hershel had told her—carefully, gently—that it should be weeks before she even thought about resuming normal duties. Months, maybe, before her body stopped compensating for what it had lost.

But the prison didn't care about timelines. And right now, neither did she.

She and Nathan were the last ones still sleeping in their cell block, which meant it was time to move. They'd already decided on one of the guard towers, the same setup Glenn and Maggie had taken. Isolated if it came to that, but still close enough to be useful. Close enough to fight.

The council meeting was held in a room that smelled faintly of antiseptic and damp concrete. Six chairs. Six people.

That alone made her uneasy.

Doctor S. was gone—already stationed in Cell Block A. Sasha was sick. Caleb too. That left only six council members standing: Measi, Daryl, Glenn, Carol, Michonne, and Hershel.

Measi lowered herself into the chair on the far left, between Glenn and Daryl. The metal was cold through her clothes, and she shivered before she could stop herself, rubbing her arms like the chill had come from the room and not her bones.

She told herself it was nothing.

Her body was still healing. Of course it was off.

She noticed things she wished she hadn't. The sheen of sweat at Glenn's hairline. The way he wiped his palms on his jeans like they wouldn't dry. The faint rasp in his breathing when he leaned forward.

She swallowed, her throat oddly dry, a faint metallic taste lingering at the back of her mouth.

Besides Sasha, none of them had shown symptoms yet. But Measi knew better than to trust that kind of luck. They'd all been exposed. All of them breathing the same air, touching the same rails, bleeding in the same halls.

Hershel stood at the front of the room, shoulders heavy, voice steady in the way only long years of loss could teach a man.

"It's spread," he said. "Everyone who survived the attack in Cell Block D. Sasha. Caleb. And now others."

Measi leaned forward, elbows on her knees, lowering her face into her hands. A dull pressure throbbed behind her eyes—annoying more than painful.

"Oh, Jesus," she muttered, exhaling slowly.

Carol's voice cut through the quiet. "So what do we do?"

"First things first," Hershel said. "Cell Block A becomes isolation. Anyone sick goes there. Same as we tried with Karen and David."

Daryl shifted sharply in his chair. "What the hell we gonna do about that?" His eyes flicked—briefly, unintentionally—to Measi.

She didn't miss it.

Carol answered quickly. Too quickly. "Ask Rick to look into it. Try to make a timeline—who was where, when."

Measi frowned, lifting her head. The movement made the room tilt just slightly, enough that she blinked and steadied herself with a hand on the table. She hid it by rubbing her fingers together, blaming the stiffness from her injury.

"But that doesn't stop it," she said, turning back to Hershel. Her voice came out rougher than she intended, and she cleared her throat quietly. "So what do we do to stop this?"

Hershel didn't flinch. "There is no stopping it. If you get it, you have to go through it."

Michonne spoke from the edge of the room, arms crossed, careful to keep her distance. She was the only one who hadn't been exposed. Yet.