The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter five

The cellblock was quiet, the only light coming from a single lamp Hershel had managed to rig near the corner. Glenn sat on the edge of Measi's makeshift bed, his hand resting lightly on hers, trying to offer some comfort without waking her fully. Hershel crouched beside them, quietly checking the rudimentary IV and bandages, his brow furrowed in concern.

Measi shifted in her sleep, her body trembling slightly.

"Glenn," Hershel whispered, his voice low. "She's burning up again. Her fever's higher than last time."

Glenn nodded, watching her chest rise and fall unevenly. She was mumbling again, words barely understandable.

"Get... off... get... off... please... don't," she whispered, voice cracking, clutching at the thin blanket as if it were holding her body together.

Hershel's hand went to her forehead. It was hot, too hot. He frowned. "She's slipping into a nightmare. Night terrors. The fever is making it worse."

Glenn tightened his grip on her hand, his own heart starting to race. "I know... I just... she keeps seeing him... all of them... I think it's all—" His voice broke.

Hershel nodded slowly, understanding more than Glenn could say. "It's not just the fever. The trauma she's endured... her body and mind are reacting. Her brain can't separate memory from reality. That's why she's muttering, why she's fighting even in sleep."

Measi twitched suddenly, her hand jerking violently, her fingers curling as if grabbing for something unseen. She let out a strangled cry, and Glenn felt a cold knot in his stomach. He leaned closer, softly brushing the sweat-soaked hair from her face.

"She's seeing him," Glenn whispered, voice barely audible. "Merle... the Governor... all of them... it's like they're in the room with her."

Hershel's face tightened. "We can't interfere directly, Glenn. She has to process it herself—but we can keep her safe. Make sure she doesn't hurt herself while she's trapped in this vision."

Measi's breaths came in harsh, uneven bursts. Her lips quivered as she muttered again, words overlapping.

"No... don't... leave me... get off... no..."

Glenn swallowed hard, feeling helpless. He gripped her hand tighter. "I'm right here, Measi. I won't leave you. You're safe. You're okay."

But even as he spoke, she thrashed against the thin mattress, arms flailing, body twisting in reaction to whatever specter haunted her mind. Hershel gently, firmly, held her shoulders. "Steady, steady... just keep her from falling, Glenn. That's all we can do right now."

Glenn nodded, feeling the weight of every nightmare pressing into the room. He whispered over her quiet sobs, "You're not alone. Not now. Not ever. I'm right here."

Measi's muttering slowed slightly, but her brow was furrowed, teeth clenched, fingers digging into the sheets. Hershel glanced at Glenn, his voice a quiet murmur.

"She's deteriorating faster than I expected. If this keeps up, we'll need to medicate—carefully—but for now... we watch, and we stay with her. She needs to feel some kind of anchor."

Glenn nodded again, eyes never leaving her face. Every shudder, every strained breath, every whispered plea—he bore it with her.

And somewhere in the fevered shadows of her mind, the ghosts of her past prowled relentlessly, relentless, and very real.

The cellblock was chaos. The air hung heavy with the stench of sweat, blood, and disinfectant. Every few feet, someone coughed violently, hacking up fluids, their fevered bodies shaking under the thin blankets.