[ iv. coward ]

october 28th, 2012

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"JESUS CHRIST, SIMON! I didn't mean to shoot the damn kid. What the fuck's the matter with you? Look at the mess you've made! I am sincerely sorry, miss. I really fucking am."

Astrid Dixon barely heard Negan as he addressed her. His low, taunting voice was rippling, lost beneath invisible waves.

In a distant corner of her mind, a place severely turned numbed and hollow, Astrid vaguely, of all things, recalled her days before the end of the world. The long days she had spent wasting away in nursing school, in a career she did not want. Her instructors from that time had not taught her about healing in the beginning; rather, they had drilled into her the harsh reality of death. How to confront it, accept it, or be consumed by it.

Death, with its insidious fingers, crept into every single life, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. It was a force that knew no mercy, no discrimination. People still reacted to it in myriad ways, either hardened or shattered under its weight.

Some embraced the inevitable of dying, while others clung desperately to denial, suffocating in its cruel illusion. There were those who valiantly fought against it, defying the Reaper with every breath, and then there were the resigned ones, accepting their fate, letting death consume them without resistance.

Astrid had seen each approach. Both before and after the world's ending. And yet, she still grappled with those dying around her ceaselessly. Each death, each accident, each murder—she found only pushed her closer toward an eroding cliffside. Soon, she would fall. Perhaps, she already was. Because no longer could she breathe. No longer did this life feel like one she wanted to exist in.

She wished, oh how she wished, that she could—for just once—defy death's choice. That she could reach into the cold earth and pull her friends, her family, back into her, back into the warmth of life.

But wishes were fragile, pitiful things in the face of such finality. Countless faces Astrid had cherished, had known so intimately, were now just shadows. Her mind a mess of memories and echoes. Memories and echoes that could not ever fully remake a proper voice, a beautiful face. A person she loved.

Negan and his Saviors had taken one too many people away from Astrid. Now, her grief consumed her. It was as though a woven, irretrievable part of her had been violently ripped away. The hole in her heart was not just a metaphor. It was a tangible ache, with no sign of healing.

Not from this.

The death of a child was a gaping wound that would never close for Astrid Dixon.

"Welcome to a brand-new-fucking-world, you sorry shits!"

Negan's ensuing shout tore Astrid from the buzzing that was deafening in her ears. Her eyes still overflowed with tears as she lifted her head, her body still quaking with tremors as she cradled Bailey to her chest. Bailey, with her eyes shut, her once rosy skin now pallid as snow. Despite the pool of blood staining her clothes, still wet and seeping, the young girl appeared almost serene, her tiny hands clutching securely to Astrid's sweater. Her blood-splattered cheek nestled against Astrid's chest as if only in sleep.

If only.

"I'm going to leave you a truck," Negan continued darkly, as he resumed his pacing up and down the lineup. "Keep it. Use it to cart all the shit you're going to find me. We'll be back for our first offer in one week." Rick's hatchet, which he had still arrogantly held, now clattered to the ground. "Until then . . . Ta-ta!"

With a whirl, the leader of the Saviors spun on his booted heel and started toward the nearest vehicle. Almost instantly after, his dark-clothed followers fell into step behind him. The Alexandrians were left to litter the blood-soaked gravel, still frozen and hunched on their knees.

Astrid refused to watch the Saviors go. Instead, she refocused her attention on the still form of Bailey Stratton. She felt so light in her arms. Her mind began to ring again. Such a young life so brutally stolen was a tragedy too heavy for Astrid—especially understanding that she was at fault for it. Negan had targeted them from that very moment he had climbed from the RV, had likely been looking for an excuse tear them apart, whether it came from Astrid or Daryl. She had been the one to give it, to provide the spark to his match.

Now, her world was burning.

Astrid only dared to lift her head again as the last vehicle—the one carrying her captive husband—vanished from sight. She wondered if Daryl knew. If he had heard her cries, or Bailey's yelps. If he was trying to tear through metal that very moment to get back to them. If he was, he was not quick enough. With the van's departure, Astrid crumpled into herself once more, her heart constricting with a pain beyond words, beyond even sound itself. Her left hand, which no longer clung to Bailey, dug back into the rough gravel, her bottom lip bitten to stifle the silent, breathless wail that threatened to escape.

Long after the Saviors had gone, the Alexandrians remained in that deadly clearing.

Silence consumed the scattered lineup. Even the wildlife of the forest around them stayed still. The dawn stretched into morning, then afternoon, the air still cooled by the thickness of autumn.

No one ever moved. Rick and Carl still sat before the entirety of their kneeling, defeated family, the father and son's own traumas worn upon their pale, wet faces. To Astrid's left, Maggie and Sasha still quietly wept for their murdered loves. Beyond them, Aaron and Eugene's faces were twisted with morbid, disheartened shock. To her right, Michonne and Rosita simply stared at the gravel, expressions closed off, their thoughts lost.

And Astrid, somewhere in the middle of them all . . . she was stuck. Stuck with a butchered soldier at her side, and a dead child in her arms.

Many more minutes passed. Only the dull thud of Astrid's heart as it beat against her ribs kept her grounded, kept her from seeping into the gravel herself to stay there forever. Her unfocused stare, burning without blinking, drifted aimlessly until a flicker of movement caught her eye. Maggie was struggling to rise to her feet. Her skinny, trembling legs betrayed her, and she staggered, though she ultimately remained upright. Clutching Glenn's pocket watch, her sobs echoed through the clearing as she began to walk.

The Rhee woman was the embodiment of suffering. Her shorn-off hair was now a tangled mess, sticky with sweat and blood that was not her own. Currently, with every breath she took, she dry-heaved, and it took no stretch of imagination for Astrid to piece together that her pregnancy was in the midst of a setback. The Alexandrians had likely been on their way to Hilltop, to get her to a proper doctor. Only they had never made it to safety. Instead, they had become stranded in Hell itself.

"Maggie."

It was Rick who abruptly spoke.

"You need to sit down," He called.

Maggie, lost in her own torment, brushed off his concern. She continued to limp forward, only wanting to reach Glenn's body. Rick cautiously rose to his feet and moved to intervene, his hand reaching out for her.

Maggie shook him off. "No."

"We need to get you to Hilltop," Rick insisted softly. Reluctantly, he let her go on towards Glenn, staying close behind in case she stumbled.

"You need to go get ready," She weakly corrected him.

"For what?" Rick asked, confusion evident in his tone.

"To fight them."

Astrid's stare settled. She watched Maggie carefully and instantly shared her sentiment wholeheartedly. The atrocities committed by these Saviors could not go unanswered. They had taken lives, their own people, and now retribution was the only response left. Knowing this, Astrid's eyes, despite their tears, blazed again with a burning desire. Even covered in gore, even still down on her knees, Astrid was ready to fight, to shatter Negan's skull with his own barbed-wire bat.

She would not ever let the Saviors get away with this. Rick could not let them get away with th—

"They have Daryl. They have an army. We would die. All of us. We . . ."

Astrid's blood turned to ice. Rick's words cut through her like a knife. Even if he did not have the strength to finish aloud, she still heard his protest.

We can't.

Her gaze hardened into a piercing glare against his audacity. How dare he insinuate, even for a moment, that there was no intention of saving her husband? How dare he?

There was no longer a mere tightening in Astrid's chest—but a searing blaze that turned her vision red with rage. She would not lose anyone else. Rick would not take anyone else from her.

With delicate care, even as it killed her all over again to let go, Astrid lowered Bailey's tiny, unmoving body to the gravel. Then, an unyielding force pushed her back onto her feet. Her soaked legs trembled, blood rushing back in a tingling sensation, but she steadied herself swiftly. A distant voice called her name, but Astrid's narrowed focus was singular, her former friend in her crosshairs.

As Rick pivoted to meet her approach, Astrid clenched her broken hand into a fist, ignoring the pain, and delivered a brutal blow—thick cast and all—to his nose. A deep crack echoed, and Rick gasped as he immediately dropped to the ground. Startled, he attempted to rise again, only to meet another punishing strike from Astrid.

"You fucking coward!" She screeched.

"Astr—"

Astrid hit him again, cutting him off. "You allowed this to happen!" She harshly accused. Tears began to stream furiously down her flaming cheeks and into her open mouth. "You let that monster kill Glenn, and Abraham, and Bailey! Three of our own! You might as well have killed them yourself!"

Rick desperately reached for Astrid's wrists as she swung, but her frantic energy defied his attempts to restrain her. Blow after blow rained down on Rick's exposed face, his blood eventually coating her skin, her knuckles re-splitting. Groans of pain escaped him, his flesh bruising beneath Astrid's fists.

She did not care for it.

Finally, Rick ceased struggling altogether. Arms lowering, he succumbed to defeat and collapsed in a heap of shame, allowing Astrid to ravage him. "I told you to stay out of this!" She thundered as she stood over him. She threw another fierce punch across his jaw. "This wasn't our fight! I begged you to understand, but you refused to listen! Look at what you've done! This is your fucking fault! You did this!"

Suddenly, strong arms encircled Astrid's shoulders, forcibly wrenching her away. She resisted, crying out, digging her heels into the ground, but her strength was spent, exhausted from beating her leader. A glance backward revealed that Carl was the one restraining her, his hold firm but not aggressive. As he further tightened his grip, he leaned his head against her shoulder, his young voice broken and pained in her ear.

"Astrid," he pleaded gently, "please, stop."

Astrid's cries only intensified.

But Carl, perhaps, was the only one who could pull her back now. Anyone else, she might have turned on next. The boy—No, the young man, now, who had matured alongside her in the harshness of the apocalypse, who had likely become even more seasoned in survival than she was. He displayed a bravery the Dixon woman could never have, a strength she could never craft. In the wake of this destructive night, in the wake of losing three people they loved, in the wake of losing Bailey, Carl held Astrid when she should have been comforting him. A fourteen-year-old consoling a weeping adult.

Astrid swayed where she stood, and they soon crumpled to the ground together, Carl still holding Astrid close as her legs gave way beneath her. Hunched over on her knees, she sobbed tearfully into the gravel, while Carl crouched behind her and placed a steady hand on her lower back.

Nearby, Rick spat blood, his swollen eyes locked upon Astrid, reflecting both disbelief and regret.

Their relationship was over.

The entire lineup was witness to it. Maggie most of all, still standing so close. Silent tears traced her pale cheeks as she observed them. "Go home," She commanded weakly, addressing everyone. "I can get to Hilltop by myself."

Rick spat out another mouthful of blood, his voice strained. "You can barely stand," He pointed out.

"And now neither can you!" Maggie argued back. "I need to go. You need to go back to Alexandria. You were out here for me."

"We still are."

At Rick's gentle reminder, Maggie hesitated. Unable to speak, she tilted her head skyward, her sobs rupturing her frame all over again. Her body trembled, fighting to remain upright against the crushing grief. Astrid watched on, understanding the depths of her friend's pain. They were both prisoners of unbearable loss, trapped in this new, ugly world without those who had made it beautiful, who had made it good.

Maggie straightened her shoulders once more. She drew a sharp breath and wiped her tears from her cheeks. "I-I can make it now," She shakily claimed. "I need you to go back. I c-can't have you out here. I can't have you all out here anymore! I need you to go back!"

Somewhere behind Astrid, Michonne rose to her feet. "Maggie," she said calmly, "we're not letting you go, okay?"

"You have to," Maggie pleaded softly.

"It's not going to happen," Rick declared sternly.

Meanwhile, far behind them, Sasha, her eyes red and swollen from unshed tears, had been sitting motionless, her face buried in her hands. But with a deep breath that seemed to carry a thousand sorrows, she rose from her knees. Her feet carried her across the clearing to where Maggie stood.

Placing a hand softly on Maggie's quivering lower back, Sasha's voice was barely a whisper. "I'm taking her," She decided. Her words were more an assertion than a suggestion, directed not just at Maggie but at the universe itself. "I'm going to get her there. I'm going to keep her safe." She leaned in closer to Maggie, her eyes fiercely protective. "I'm not giving you a choice," She added quietly.

Maggie looked up at Sasha. For a moment, the former appeared to be on the brink of another protest. Then, she leaned tearfully into Sasha's embrace, her forehead pressed against the other woman's. "I'm taking him with me," She whimpered.

Sasha nodded in silent understanding, before allowing Maggie to pull away and stumble towards her husband's lifeless body. The sight of Maggie sinking to her knees, a haunting, moaning sound escaping her blue-colored lips, tore at Astrid. With trembling hands, Maggie reached out and clutched Glenn's still back, her fingers curling around the stiffened fabric of his blood-soaked shirt. As she collapsed against him, forehead lowering to his torso, her lips pressed to his skin in a final, farewell kiss.

Astrid turned away then, giving Maggie the space she needed to say her last goodbye.

She had a goodbye of her own to meet.

Breaking free from Carl's gentle hold, Astrid crawled slowly, painfully, back to Bailey's side. She did not cradle her this time, not wanting to disturb her rest. Pulling the shirtsleeves of her sweater over her crooked, bloodied hands, Astrid ran her aching fingertips across the young girl's smoothed expression and dabbed away at the crimson on her chin that had leaked from her lips. Soon, her hands drifted to Bailey's forehead, where she brushed away stray hairs from her closed eyes. Then, she began to whisper words that none would ever hear.

Suddenly, a shrill cry of agony from Maggie drew Astrid's attention back across the clearing. Michonne, Carl, Aaron, and Rick had now surrounded the widow, ready to begin the heartbreaking task of moving Glenn's body.

"I need to do this," Maggie yelped at them, practically begged at them. "Please!"

"We need to help you," Aaron insisted quietly.

"P-Please let us," Rick said. His carefully collected words were blubbered raw now, spoken through swollen and bloody lips. "H-He's our family—He's our family, too."

Maggie whimpered. Nearly choked on her breath.

It was Carl who finally dared to touch her. He wrapped an arm around Maggie's shoulders and began gently attempting to guide her away from Glenn. With a heavy sigh, her eyes nearly falling to a complete close, Maggie released her fragile grip on her husband's shirt. Her fingers slipped away as she was slowly pulled back to her feet and promptly pulled into Carl's comforting embrace. Secure in the teenager's arms, the weight of Maggie's loss crashed over her anew, and she sobbed loudly and uncontrollably, her tears a river that seemed to have no end.

Slowly, the remaining Alexandrians lifted Glenn's body. A silent procession began, and Astrid watched from her place on the gravel. As they moved towards the waiting truck the Saviors had left behind, Sasha, Rosita, and Eugene followed suit, carrying Abraham's broken body to the same resting place.

Soon, a tall shadow fell across Astrid. She knew what it meant. And she shook her head in silent refusal. Suddenly, the world seemed to spin too fast. The end rushed toward her too quickly.

"N-No," Astrid blindly wept. "Y-You can't take her!"

It was Aaron who knelt beside her. "We have to," He murmured. "Please, Astrid."

"She's not . . . She's not g-going to Hilltop," She stammered, her words a jumbled plea. "She can't be buried there. She needs to go home!"

"We'll take her home," Aaron reassured, his tone soft. "But we have to do this now."

Astrid's head shook frantically. She wanted to dive into the grave herself. To protect, to hold. She could not possibly let go.

"P-Please, please," She whimpered. Her voice broke, catching on a suffocating, strangled wail, as she rocked back on her knees. "Please, no. . . ."

But her steady grasp on Bailey was no longer, and Aaron, with grim devastation, moved forward with his blade. Turning Bailey's stiffened head to the side, Astrid looked away, unable to witness the final act that would prevent the innocent girl from ever returning in a monstrous form. A gut-wrenching sob escaped her lips when, in the next breath, Aaron carefully scooped Bailey Stratton into his arms. Her little body looked no more than a broken little doll as she was carried away from Astrid.

With tears streaming down her face, the Dixon woman buried her anguished expression in her hands.

Astrid had never felt so entirely alone.

Still kneeling, still crumpled in on herself, this was her moment of mourning, a moment she knew would echo in her soul indefinitely. The inevitability of death's grip had found her all over again. But she could not stay within it forever. No matter how much she wanted to.

It took many long minutes for Astrid to finally rise from the gravel, and when she did, her movements were heavy, and numbed, and swaying. But as she stood, she knew it was only a shattered skeleton that held her upright. Because something fundamental, something cruel and unforgiving, had shifted within her from this loss, a fracture that ran deep, marking the end of one life and the birth of a new, scarred existence.

And Astrid knew, deep in her broken heart, that she would never be the same again.

~~~~~~~~~~

and thus concludes the end of the lineup.  arguably the hardest four chapters i've had to write.  but i am proud of them.  i am also quite curious to hear your thoughts on astrid after this chapter.  what are you thinking?