───── ⋆SEVENTEEN⋆ ─────

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄. I tracked across the yard, seeing where the group was beginning to convene by the fire Carol was tending. It was colder today than it had been all week and I was bundled up in an old jacket, worn brown leather with a fur collar that nuzzled my neck and jaw softly. I'd had it stuffed away in one of the bags I'd hauled around with me since the beginning.

And the beginning seemed so very far away from now.

Hershel had taken my stitches out that morning and I wanted to think Daryl ditched me because I was taking too long but the other part of me knew it was because he didn't want me to distract him. Or get in his way. I'm thinking it's the latter.

I marched across the yard on swifter feet, reaching the small shed and hearing Randall before I'd even closed in on the door. He was moaning, loudly, crying out with every sound of fist hitting skin.

"I told you–" whined Randall as Daryl snarled, "You told me shit!"

I put a hand on the door, wondering if I should just open it and get it over with but I waited a beat, listening to Randall grunt as his chains dragged across the wooden floorboards.

"I barely knew those guys! I–I met 'em on the road."

Daryl took a step back and I watched him through the broken panels of wood. "How many in your group?" he asked.

Randall's head swayed side to side, his lip busted and bloody, his eye nearing the same feverish color as the wound in his leg. When it didn't seem like Randall would answer, Daryl pulled his knife from his sheath against his leg. I patted my own side and cursed myself under my breath. It seemed he'd snatched it away from me sometime the past few days. I hadn't noticed, not with me running back and forth to the house for Beth.

"Oh, oh, no, no, please, no," moaned Randall as Daryl squatted down beside him. "No, no, no, come on, man, no–"

Daryl slammed the knife down into the wood near Randall's leg and shouted, "How many?!"

It was strange to see him in this position after wanting to separate himself from the group. He'd kept himself away from our camp, off near the fence-line and the wood chopping block. How suddenly he flipped the switch inside himself to become this executioner, to become this judge and jury all himself. This interrogator, when shouldn't it have been the police officers duty to uphold? Was this not their own profession not long before the world ended? This wasn't supposed to fall on Daryl, he shouldn't have felt the need to take that weight–

Randall stuttered out an answer, "Th-thirty! Thirty! Thirty guys."

"Where?"

"Uh–I–I–"

Daryl ripped Randall's bandage off and I opened the door as the boy shrieked from pain. Daryl gave me no mind or look as I entered and closed the door behind me, slowly with a click.

"You'd better answer him," I murmured, coming to stand behind Daryl and lean against the small work table.

"I–I don't know!" cried the boy and I shook my head. He looked at me and his eyes were wide and begging. "Please, I swear, I don't know–I don't–"

"It'd be best not to lie, either."

Daryl raised his knife from the ground, the tip sharpened to a fine curved point.

"We were never any place more than a night!" screamed Randall, seething through his bloody teeth.

"Scouting?" asked Daryl as he lowered the blade and I heard the squelching noise it made when it dug underneath some of the stitching. "Planning on stayin' local?"

Randall shook his head, trying to squirm but Daryl had a firm hand on his thigh. "I–I don't know. They–they left me behind!"

Daryl ignored his terrible answer and gritted his teeth. "Ever pick off a scab?" he snarled and I watched his wrist move, slowly before the knife did.

"Come on, man!" sobbed Randall. "I'm tryin' to cooperate–"

"You start off...real slow at first." Randall let out a seething 'no' as Daryl continued, "Sooner or later, you've just gotta rip it off–"

"Okay! Okay!" I crossed my arms as Randall spoke, near delirious. "They–they–they have weapons! Heavy stuff, automatics. But–but–" Daryl wouldn't let up his grip on the knife or the boy's leg. "–but I didn't do anything!"

"Your boys shot at my boys, tried to take this farm," snapped Daryl. "Shot my girl, had her bleedin' out in the fuckin' streets. You just went along for the ride, huh? You're tryin' to tell me you're innocent?!"

Randall hit his head back against the wall. "Yes!" He let out a deep breath, his chest rising up and down quickly. "These–these people, they took me in. Not just guys, a–a whole group of 'em. Men and women," Daryl sat up, "and, uh, kids, too. Just like you people."

"We are not the same as you," I snapped behind Daryl as he stood and fell back to stand with me. "We don't steal from others and we don't try to kill 'em, either."

Randall shook his head. He was sweating, not meeting our eyes. His first of many mistakes. "Thought I'd have a better chance with them, you know?" He finally met Daryl's eyes but never mine as he continued to speak. "But we'd go out–scavenge–just the men."

My skin prickled. The way he said it, it wasn't right. What he was trying to imply made my new scabbing scar itch.

"One night we–" He shook his head. "–we found this little campsite." He was using 'we' not 'they' and I took that for what it was in the moment, a potential lie coming undone. "A man and his–his two daughters–teenagers, you know?"

He was using 'you know' as if Daryl would get it, what they 'had' to do. He was trying to force Daryl, a man just like him, to see what they did that night out scavenging.

"They–they were real young. Real cute."

Beside me, Daryl stilled entirely. My nails dug into my palms. I could've reached out with claws and torn him to shreds, I could've struck him across the face and watched the whole world burn, just so he'd feel a fraction of what those girls did.

"Their daddy had to watch," explained Randall, "while these guys–they–" He seemed to trail off for a moment before he glanced back up and said, "And they didn't even kill him afterwards! They just–they just made him watch as his daughters...they just–just left him there." He seemed to daze off for a moment, like he was caught in a memory before he realized where he was, who he was with, and stuttered out, "But–but I–I didn't do nothin' to 'em! I–I didn't touch those girls."

"Sure you didn't," I murmured, pushing away from the table. "I bet you just watched them, right? Just watched your men as they touched them without their consent, as they forced themselves on them. Is that right? You just watched them?"

"No, no, I swear I didn't touch those girls–"

"That wasn't what I asked."

"I didn't touch 'em, I didn't–"

"Oh, sure you didn't," I said in a voice that I did not recognize as my own. "You only watched, right? You sat back, watched them go at it, but you didn't touch 'em. You only watched. You didn't speak up, say it was wrong, you didn't try to stop your men, your people, from doin' that. Right?" He could barely meet my eyes. "You only watched."

"Please," he whimpered, "please, you gotta believe me!"

"Do you believe him, Daryl?" I asked in a condescending tone, staring down at Randall as Daryl's head step creaked against the wood. I felt like a mother scolding a child, an authority figure stepping down on the little guy.

Randall shook his head. "I'm–I'm not like that!"

"He says he only watched," I said, feigning forgiveness, feigning kindness. "He says he didn't do a thing wrong. Do we believe him?"

Daryl answered me by sending the toe of his boot into Randall's side. The boy lurched and slammed back against the wall before sagging with a loud moan. He did it a second time and the boy nearly collapsed and I felt a smile come to my face, one I would later be ashamed of but I couldn't help it.

Everything he said and how he said it with the coy looks up towards Daryl for a reaction, for some type of camaraderie while also trying to completely screw with his head. Randall might've been a kid but he was a damn good liar.

"I–I ain't like that," he groaned again, trying to sit up but Daryl struck him until he was struggling against the floorboards, blood and spittle leaking from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were squeezed shut.

Even then, it wasn't enough pain.

Daryl and I left the shed, locking it up tightly. His knuckles were red and bleeding, so I took the lock from him and worked it through the door's latch and snapped it shut. He used an old bandana in his vest pocket to press against his hand. It was cold enough out for him to finally be wearing a shirt that didn't have the sleeves cut off. But he made sure to be wearing his vest and the silly cut off flannel underneath because who was Daryl Dixon without something shredded and sheared?

"What'd ya think?" he asked me after a beat, flexing his hand.

"I think he's a liar."

"Really?"

I nodded, glancing back towards the shed. It was quiet from where we stood but I couldn't help but imagine Randall staring through the cracks in the walls hoping to catch our eye or our voices. "He shot at us, nearly got us killed. If he'd thought it was wrong, at any point, wouldn't he have done something?"

Daryl shrugged. "Not if he thought his people would kill him." I tried my best to hide my scowl but he saw through me anyway and added, "I don't trust him, there's somethin' that ain't right about him."

"He was looking to you for confirmation," I said as we glanced towards where Rick was speaking with the group still. "Like...like he wanted you to agree with him, that you'd get it."

"And I don't."

"I know that–"

"I ain't like him," said Daryl, not angry with me but with Randall and his assumptions. He had tried so hard to get under his skin and while Daryl would never admit it, it seemed like he had. "I ain't...I'd never sit back."

"I know," I whispered, reaching out and touching his shoulder. He clasped his hand on top of my own, squeezed it and nodded. I wanted to say more, maybe even mention how he'd call me his girl. A slip of the tongue. An accident in a heated moment. "Come on," I murmured, "Rick's got 'em all waitin' on us."

He let go of my hand and I dropped it from his shoulder as we began our walk back towards camp. The sky was an unsettling gray above us, thick clouds no doubt preparing for a storm. The air had been heavy, even with its chill. We would get rain, potentially tonight but the looks of the sky and the darkness settling down above the tree-line.

Rick and Shane stood before the rest of our little group, both with bruises and cuts across their faces. I'd tried to get more information out of Rick late the night before when it'd just been us out on the porch, unable to sleep, but he wouldn't let me in. Even Shane was avoiding me, a shameful look in his eyes every time he'd pass.

Rick saw us as we approached and nodded in our direction, the group's heads turning.

"Boy there got a gang," said Daryl as we approached. "Thirty men. They have heavy artillery and they ain't lookin' to make friends. They roll through here? Our boys are dead." He glanced towards me. "And our women, they're gonna–they're gonna wish they were."

"What did you do?" asked Carol, seeing the obvious on his knuckles. Bloody, raw, and bruising.

"Had a little chat," said Daryl.

I nodded. "He did what he had too."

"And what you think, Sam?" asked Shane, the first time he'd been able to meet my eyes since he'd returned yesterday.

"Untrustworthy," I answered, hands in the pockets of my jacket. "Tryin' to get a rise out of us in there. He says he's got thirty men but," I glanced at Daryl and he nodded, agreeing with me before I'd even spoken, "there could be more. Says there are women and children, but how they're bein' treated is a mystery. We don't want to run into them, not just for the sake of our lives but for the women here. Randall...he said some disturbin' things."

"He ain't some fool kid," added Daryl. "He knew exactly what he was doin' and sayin' in there, but the...extent of what he says could be true but..." He shrugged.

Rick nodded, a protective hand on his gun by his hip. "No one goes near this guy."

Lori stepped forward, frowning, "Wait, Rick, what are you gonna do?"

"We have no choice," said Rick. "He's a threat. We...we have to eliminate the threat."

Dale stepped forward and the energy shifted as his brows did. "You're just gonna kill him?" It was an accusatory tone, one that didn't settle well in my gut.

"It's settled," said Rick in an authoritative voice. "We'll do it today."

Dale went after him immediately once Rick stepped away. Shane stayed for a moment, his eyes burning into the side of my face as I kept my attention focused on Daryl as he walked back towards his camp. I wanted to follow him, to desperately ask him about the comment he made but it all made me feel like I was some high schooler again. A teenager fawning over the boy, wondering if he liked her and if he had a crush on her. It was too childish, but not asking him about it was too.

Still, I refused. Nancy took my arm, her hands strangely soft and she walked us towards our tent with Shane's eyes burning two holes in the back of my head.

"How are you feeling?" asked Nancy as we settled inside the tent. I laid back on my makeshift bed, one that I had not been excited to return to. "Your side giving you any trouble?"

I shook my head, folding an arm behind it as I sighed, "Not yet, still haven't tried to run today."

"But it went well the day before, right?"

I'd gone running, well, jogging the past few days to get acclimated. I nodded again, curious as to why she was being so nice. She'd been suspiciously nice ever since I'd gotten shot and this wasn't something I was used to.

"It's just a little road-burn, walk it off."

"Don't get blood on my good sheets! Go! Get into the kitchen! You're fine."

"It's sprained? I told you not to run in the house."

"What do you think about the whole Randall situation?" I asked her, wanting to change subjects.

She shifted on her bed, her hand brushing the water stained pages of a few books she'd been reading. "He got you shot, he deserves whatever Rick's gonna give 'em."

"Really?"

Nancy nodded, firmly. "He's a weaselly kid with a no good outlook on life. If he's a threat then I say kill him."

"Dale doesn't think that."

"And why would I care what that old man thinks?"

I hid my side, running my hand over the side of the tent. "You two hang out, a lot."

"I could say the same about you and Daryl." Nancy's tone had turned sour. "Or you and Shane. Perhaps even you and Rick. Collecting them, aren't you?"

"I'm friends with people, what's the big deal?"

"You were never like this at home."

"So?" I was becoming more wordy with her, ready to banter and swing fists with only conversations.

"I don't get how much you've changed," she muttered, shifting and rustling with her sleeping bag. "You never spoke out at home, you never made the effort to help, you never–you never made one shot right. You were terrible, Sam, awful."

"I was faking–"

"I know, I know." She shuddered with a sigh. "It just makes me wonder...how much else you were faking 'round us." She kept her eyes down into her lap and she looked small, no longer the woman pretending she was prominent. "When you met that man...god," she scoffed, "I hated that man but he changed you. Somethin' shifted and I could see it so clearly when you'd visit. There was..." She shook her head. "There was life in you."

"You punished me for it, remember?" I said, moving so I could sit up with my feet planted on the ground. I was ready to run at any given moment. "I asked you and dad if Conner could live with me, because I'd gotten my act together and had a job, an apartment, a stable boyfriend, but you refused."

Nancy looked away and towards the open flap of the tent. The wind was blowing it softly, rustling. "I had to."

"Why?" I asked. "Conner's grades were slippin' with me gone, he stopped goin' out with friends after school, he barely left his room–"

"If he left, I'd be alone," interrupted Nancy in a small voice. "Without him..."

Sad realization settled in my gut and it burned and festered with anger. "Finish your sentence."

"You already know."

I shook my head, feeling my nostrils flare. "Say it."

Nancy looked away again and nibbled on her bottom lip. "Without him, I would've been the only thing left to hit."

It was a hard truth but a truth nonetheless. "So you let the ten year-old get his ass kicked by his father instead?"

I'd been twenty-four at the time, begging for the second year in a row to take Conner home with me. I'd asked the same question again at twenty-five, at twenty-six. Dating Him had helped put a stable home and caring environment suitable for Conner but each time, Nancy refused and John threatened to crack my head open with every ask. I'd dated Him for so long, it only seemed right for me to take in Conner. He knew Him well and enjoyed his company, a father figure that treated him with a kind look and soft hands.

Always gentile. Always slow.

There was never a rush, always just the safe embrace of a hand on his shoulder as a guide or the smooth voice of someone who would never dare raise his voice.

It's funny how fast things can change.

"I know," whispered Nancy, breaking me from my thoughts. "What I did...I'll never forgive myself."

I sighed deeply, bowing my head as I rubbed my hands together. "I should've fought harder, forced y'alls hands."

"Taken us to court?"

"If we'd had more time and the world didn't end, yeah, I would've."

Nancy nodded, firmly, when I looked up. "I wish we could've been around to see that."

"Think I would've won?"

"No doubt about it."

The bruises and living arrangements would've been enough. Maybe even an examination, a pa–

A body stopped in front of our tent and Shane's bald head popped down as he looked inside. His eyes met mine and he spoke in a low voice, "Can I steal Sam away for a minute, Nancy?"

Nancy, with a sudden glimmering smile, nodded and said, "By all means."

I stood stiffly, following Shane out of the tent and towards the shed a little ways away. It was always better for us to speak when there wasn't anyone around, better for him to show his true card instead of a fake one presented to the rest of the group.

We settled near our favorite spot in the trees, a good distance from the shed to keep an eye on it as we spoke. His face was bruised, his left eye all shades of purple and red. The bruising arched over his cheekbone and over his temple, lost in his hairline.

"God," I muttered, finding myself feeling soft around him. I reached out and grazed a finger over the bruise on his cheek and he didn't flinch as I touched the swelling. There was even a deep-ish cut on the bridge of his nose, another matching bruise on his other cheek. "He got you good."

"Yeah, well," he muttered on a half-laugh which surprised me, "I'd say you should see the other guy, but..."

"You both look like shit."

"Thanks."

I dropped my hand back to my side, taking a seat on the soft grassy hill. I kept my eyes on the shed, Andrea would be taking watch sometime soon. "You've been avoidin' me."

"You've been doin' the same to me," he said, sitting beside me.

"You've been avoidin' me long before I was avoidin' you," I told him, matter-of-factly. "You never came to see me with the rest of the sympathy parade after I was shot."

He rested his arms on his knees. I had a feeling, underneath his shirt, his skin would be littered with bruises. He was silent for a long stretch of time before finally speaking. "You were so pale."

I frowned and let him continue.

"When you got out of that car..." He shook his head. "Your skin looked like paper and there was blood everywhere–" His hands tightened into fists. "I was so sure Rick had gotten you hurt, thrown you into the line of fire."

"Daryl said you nearly attacked him over it."

He nodded. "Not my proudest moment."

"You've been havin' a lot of those lately."

"God, don't I fuckin' know it."

I shifted so my legs stretched out before me, my hands behind me so I could lean back. I kicked my feet side to side. "Rick knows."

He didn't need me to clarify because he already knew. "Yeah, I know."

"He confronted you about it." He nodded. "And you're still here."

"Don't know why I am."

"I do," I whispered. "You just can't seem to leave her."

He shook his head before running a hand up his forehead and down to the back of his neck. He was tense, his shoulders squared with his forearms flexed and angry. His anger could seep into the air, stagnant and unchanging. He would always be an angry man. "It's not her and you know it."

"Beating the shit out of yourself and Rick tells me otherwise," I muttered as a cool breeze shifted past us. It would rain soon and I feared for how cold it would be afterwards.

"I think the baby's mine."

I sighed. "I'd gathered as much." It was obvious, the way he'd been so possessive of Lori. How he'd gone after her without a second though when Rick, Glenn, and I had been trying to coax Hershel home. I'd learned of Lori's daring feat from her during my week of healing. It had left an unsettled feeling in my gut knowing Shane had gone racing after her. "Did you ever want to be a father before all this?"

He shrugged. "If it ever came to it...maybe."

"And now?"

"It's mine. I know it is."

"It's Rick's, Shane," I murmured, shaking my head. "It doesn't matter if it turns out to be yours because Lori's made up her mind. It's Rick's baby."

"Don't matter."

"You're completely unreasonable–"

"It's mine–"

"She doesn't care!" I clamped my mouth shut, feeling my face flush. I didn't know why I was getting so worked up when it didn't pertain to me at all. This was not my future, my potential child. I was just a bystander with no ties in their relationships with each other. "If you keep fightin' Rick, keep comin' after Lori...they'll make you leave or worse."

"Worse?" His dark eyes met mine and I knew he understood what I meant but he made me say it anyway.

"They'll kill you, too."

"I can take Rick," he scoffed, shaking his head.

He was so arrogant it sent red hot coals to my stomach. It was so easy to fall into rage, like him, but I found that I liked the challenge of swallowing that torment instead of letting it shoot out of my head like some unstoppable volcano.

"But," he said in a slow voice, his eyes still on the shed, "I can't take you."

My brows furrowed. I wasn't sure what he meant.

"I thought you were dead," he said in an equally as slow voice as before. "I thought you were dead and somethin' in my chest began to hurt." He patted his chest before fisting his shirt. "I panicked." His hands curled into fists. "And I don't panic, not like that."

"You panicked when Lori rejected you," I said, "and I'm sure you panicked when she ran off after Rick." Shane was silent in return and I whispered, "You can't fool me like that. I know you better than you think."

Hate sees hate.

"That panic sent me into action," he said, shaking his head. "This...I couldn't even fuckin' move." He turned his head slowly and met my eyes. "Were you even scared?"

I nodded. "Of course, I was." I looked away from him to keep my eyes on the fields. I had an awful feeling all of this would end someday soon. "I thought I was going to die but I didn't."

"Glenn said you took down five to seven walkers."

"Had too."

"Rick got shot and went into a coma," he muttered with a shake of his head. "Carl gets shot and has to have life savin' surgery. But you?"

"Different types of wounds." I pulled back my shirt, showing him the jagged line that would soon be a silvery white line. Thick and raised forever. "Nothing major hit, no arteries nicked. Just a shit ton of blood."

"It was messy." Shane shook his head. "Hershel came out with it all over his shirt. Rick pulled you out of that car covered in it."

"Best pray it never happens again," I muttered. "I don't have much blood left in me after that." Blood replenishes itself once it's lost but he understood. I never wanted to see that much blood on my hands again.

He shook down at his hands, as if imagining the same as I was before speaking again. "You think the kid is bad news?"

"Don't you?"

"We can't keep 'em here."

I rubbed the back of my neck, even in the cooling weather it was still sweaty. "You don't think Rick can kill him, do you?"

Shane shook his head. "He can't kill the living, you know that better than anyone."

Jim's face flashed in my mind and I nodded.

"You have what it takes."

"You do, too."

"We're similar like that," he muttered. "We have the same drive, we know when to stop someone."

I didn't want to be anything like him. I didn't even want to be in the same category.

"What I did to Otis...it was all for you, you know that right? You and Carl."

His words were like a punch to the gut every time I heard Otis's name. It had been my secret for so long and now that others knew, I thought the hurt would lessen. It didn't.

"I had to get away, I had to get back to Carl," he continued, like he always did when he began a rant. "And you...they were comin' after you, I didn't know how good you were before then, not really–" He shook his head. Always with an excuse. "I couldn't lose you, too."

He was becoming more of a liar than I pegged him out to be in the first place. He was good at it, getting people to see his side, getting people to turn on others. I loved a liar before, I fell for the sweet whispers and promises. I'd loved the deception even when I knew it was coming, because it always did.

"You know what I'm gonna say," I murmured back.

"Yeah."

I didn't need help. You didn't need to kill him. We were home free.

"Andrea should be here soon to watch the kid," I said, pushing to my feet. I didn't want to stick around him much longer, not when he got stuck on an Otis tangent.

"Don't leave–"

"Got shit to do, Shane."

He watched me walk away, empty words hanging in the air between us. If things had gone differently, if he hadn't done what he had to Otis or to Lori, there was no denying the strange heat between us. Maybe it was just the need to get off, to finally forget what the world took from me and what it continues to take, or maybe I just needed to feel wanted outside of what I did for the group.

But there was a desire there that hadn't stopped burning since I'd arrived with the group and I wasn't quite sure who it belonged to or if it was only old coals simmering for a man who would never return home to me.

"You headin' up to see Daryl?" asked Dale, coming up beside me as I headed through the grass. He'd just come from seeing Daryl, headed towards me with an exasperated look on his face.

I nodded. As much as Daryl liked being away from the group, he couldn't stay far from me. Not after what happened at the bar, what happened when he visited me, and how he spoke about me with Randall.

"You think what he's doing is right?" asked Dale as I slowed my pace to match his. He'd been running around camp, begging people to listen to him. He didn't want Randall to die but he didn't see what I did. "Torturing people?"

"He's not torturing anyone." Wasn't he, though? Hadn't I done the same? Interrogated until I got a piece free, until some of the cut reopened and festered?

"Then you think Randall deserves it?" Dale gripped the strap of his rifle tightly. "You think a kid deserves to die?"

"He's not a kid," I said back, keeping my tone level. I liked Dale, I didn't want to seem annoyed or angry but he was like a gnat that just wouldn't go away. "He held up a gun and shot at us. He's a liar with a group of thirty men who want to kill us. He's not as innocent as y'all might think."

"How can you be so sure he's lying?" said Dale as we neared Daryl's small camp.

"I grew up with liars, it's not hard to see when they're fibbing."

"You have a lot of sway around here, Sam. If you see it the way I do, others will fall into line too. He's just a kid–"

"He knows right from wrong," I said, shaking my head. We'd gotten to Daryl's camp and I'd seen him go off towards the woods to hunt and I was more than ready to go after him if Dale would leave me be. "You should've heard the way he was talkin'...it wasn't good. It wasn't...normal."

"Daryl thinks the group is broken."

"We are."

Weren't we? We'd been split in two thanks to Shane and Rick. We'd been divided since our decision to go to the C.D.C. over Fort Benning, there was a dagger being wedged between us all and it all stemmed from the same person.

Shane Walsh would be the death of us all.

"But we can fix that," urged Dale. "We can still come back from this by not killing him, we can spare him, make him one of us–"

"I wouldn't let that boy around Beth to save my life." I crossed my arms, finding the biting cold itching back through my sleeves. "I wouldn't even allow him around Carl. The thing you don't see about Randall is how good he is at tellin' a story, Dale. He can spin it any way you want to make you hear what you want. He tried it with Daryl, he tried it with me. He's not good."

Dale's face paled and I felt a little bad but not entirely so I sighed and added, "It's good what you're tryin' to do and maybe some of the others will agree with you but not me."

His grip changed on the rifle to tight. "If you hadn't been shot, would it be different?"

I shook my head. "I know a bad apple when I see one."

Leaving Dale to walk back to camp alone, I headed for the woods in the general direction Daryl could've gone. I pulled my ax from my waistband as I crossed through the thick foliage and wondered when the trees would begin to lose their leaves entirely. It'd be soon I'd guess, just from how cold it was already getting.

It was nipping and picking at my skin, coating me in goosebumps and forcing the hair on my arms to stand up. Everything would be chilled, desolate, and cold. There would be no life except for the dead who would always be more alive than us.

I followed Daryl's trail, the footprints, the broken branches, the crunched leaves. He'd taught me what I needed to know to find him without even knowing it. I let my ax hang by my side where there was no pain in the growing scar tissue. I'd expected worse but the healing process was better than it could've been if we'd still been on the road. If this had happened out on the highway or even the quarry, I would've succumbed to infection. Would've wasted away under a tree the way Jim was destined to go.

The way we'd all end up, some way or another.

I'd spent the majority of my day hunting with Daryl, collecting squirrels and learning how to properly handle his crossbow when he'd deem me worthy every few turns in the woods. It'd been a day of silence besides a few shared words. There didn't need to be noise or voices, just simply existing. When we'd made it back to camp, we were gathering in Hershel's living room to discuss Randall's fate. It was only to amuse Dale, give him a sense of purpose, like there was a chance he'd win.

But we all knew how the night was going to end. Randall, dead, either with a rope around his neck or a bullet in his skull. It just didn't matter which.

The group was dispersed around the room in awkward areas. Dale leaning against the wall, Glenn on the piano bench, Hershel and Maggie on the couch with Patricia and Nancy perched on small chairs beside them, Carol leaning against the door, T-Dog and Andrew sandwiched Shane by the fireplace where they stood waiting. Daryl was behind Rick and Lori who took up place behind one of the old couches made with a scratchy red material.

I kept myself by Daryl, watching as Carl crept into the room and looked around. He glanced at me, almost pleading for me to beg his parents to let him stay but I shook my head and touched his shoulder to scoot him off towards the staircase where he would no doubt lurk at the top hoping to listen.

The atmosphere in the room was thick as Carl left and it stayed that way. No one looked happy. I guess that was expected, no one really thought they'd be discussing the life or death of a kid this evening.

Glenn was the first to speak. "So, how do we do this? Just, uh, take a vote?"

"Does it have to be unanimous?" asked Andrea, looking at Rick.

Instead of Rick answering, Lori did. "How about majority rules?"

Rick began to shake his head, stepping up to rest his hands on the back of the couch. "Well, hold up, let's just see where everybody stands. Then we can talk through the options."

There would be no options. Only death.

With his fingers gripping his belt loops, Shane said, "Where I stand, there's only one way to move forward."

"Killing him," snapped Dale, "right? I mean why bother to even take a vote? It's clear which way the wind is blowing." The light from the sunset cast an eerie orange glow across his face, like he was being illuminated as some saving grace trying to spare a murderer's life.

Rick sighed, holding up a hand. "Well, if people believe we should spare him, I wanna know."

"Well, I can tell you it's a small group," said Dale, glancing around. "Maybe just me and Glenn."

The boy could barely meet Dale's eyes, we could read the truth clear as day. Even before he spoke, Dale could tell where it was going and my heart broke a little for the old man. It must be hard watching your prodigy fall.

"Look," said Glenn in a slow voice, "I–I think you're pretty much right about everything, all the time, but this––"

Dale threw his hand out. "They've got you scared!"

"He's not one of us!" argued Glenn back. "And we've–we've lost too many people already. You...you weren't out there with us, Dale, when his people attacked us. When he attacked us."

Dale looked away, glancing towards Maggie, Hershel, Patricia, and Nancy. "What about you? Do you agree with all this?"

Maggie gave him a tired look before asking Rick, "Couldn't we continue keepin' him prisoner?"

"Just another mouth to feed," mumbled Daryl.

Hershel sat up on the couch. "It may be a lean winter."

"We could ration better," offered Lori.

"Well, he could be an asset," urged Dale, his fishing hat gripped tightly in his fist. "Give him a chance to prove himself."

"Put him to work?" said Glenn, his voice muffled by Rick snapped, "We're not letting him walk around."

There was an edge in the officer's voice and a look in his eyes as he glanced at me to where I leaned against the wall behind Glenn to listen more carefully to the conversation. His eyes told me there was more to his worry he didn't want to voice yet.

"We could put an escort on him," said Maggie, and I liked that she was trying to find a positive but we all knew it would never work.

"Who wants to volunteer for that duty?" asked Shane, disgust in his voice. If he was left alone with the kid for a second, I was afraid he'd kill him himself.

Dale glared. "I will!"

Rick held up his hand, stopping the conversation the best he could as he stared at Dale. "I don't think any of us should be walking around with this guy."

Lori nodded. "I–I wouldn't feel safe unless he was tied up." Yet, she'd rather give him our food then allow him fresh air, it seemed contradictory to me.

"We can't exactly put chains around his ankles, sentence him to hard labor," said Andrea, her arms crossed.

"Look," murmured Shane, "say we let him join us, right? Maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice. We let our guard down and maybe he runs off and brings back his thirty men."

"So the answer is to kill him?" gasped Dale, leaning forward, his brows furrowed and lips parted in shock. "To prevent a crime he may never even attempt?" He emphasized every word, snapping them out. He was desperate to plead Randall's case. "If we do this, we're saying there's no hope. Rule of law is dead, there is no civilization."

Shane ran a hand over his head. "Oh my god."

"Can you drive him out? Leave him like you planned?" asked Hershel.

"You barely made it back this time," muttered Lori, clutching her necklace and shaking her head. I was getting the strange sense we were just going in circles. That this conversation would never end, we'd go back and forth until Randall died of old age.

I wanted to believe, in a small part of me, that maybe we would let Randall live. That he'd join us, harvest vegetables and fruits with us in the spring and summer, run and play through the snow with Carl and Beth, and be able to experience being a kid again. But that would be a lie.

Lori continued, "There are walkers. You could break down. You–you could get lost."

"Or ambushed," said Daryl.

"They're right," said Glenn. "We should not put our own people at risk."

Dale glanced at me and I narrowed my eyes. I wasn't on his side, no matter how much he looked at me or begged. He clutched his hat a little tighter in front of himself. "Come on, you all. He's a boy!"

I rubbed my forehead, stepping forward to lean my shoulder against the wall. "Okay but if, by some chance, he gets back to his group after we let him out...what do you think he's gonna do to get back in their good graces?" I said with a sigh. "You really think he's just gonna walk in and they're going to welcome him with open arms?" A laugh escaped me and I shook my head. "He's going to sell us out the second he gets. No matter how far he gets away from here, he'll always know who's farm this is and the people on it. We can't forget that."

"We don't know he'll even attempt that," Dal tried to argue but I shook my head again.

"You don't know what this kid's like," I said. "Me and Daryl...we spoke to him. Rick and Shane, they were out alone with him. Y'all...y'all don't see the evil in him like we have." I pressed a hand to my side. "He held a gun at us, shot us, I got shot because of him, because of his group. I'm not going to sit back and let this kid eat our food, sleep under our roof, because he might not run off and alert his militia."

Dale gave me a shocked expression. "So we just kill him?"

Patricia's voice was a small one but enough to have all of our attention quickly. "If we go through with this...how would you do it? Would he suffer?"

How would you kill him?

Shane rested an arm on the mantle. "We could hang him, right? Just snap his neck."

"I thought about that," said Rick. "Shooting may be more humane."

"And what about the body?" asked T-Dog.

"We'd bury or burn him," I added in with a scoff.

"Ho–hold on!" cried Dale, throwing his hands out to usher us into silence. "You're talking about this like it's already decided!"

"You've been talkin' all day," said Daryl. "You just wanna go around in circles again?"

"This is a young man's life and it's worth more than a five minute conversation!" Dale was looking panicked, like the reality of what we were doing was going to happen more so than ever. I couldn't even argue, I'd known from the start we were going to kill him. It was just up to discussion on who would do it first. "Is this what it's come to? We kill someone because we can't decide what else to do with him? You saved him," he was looking at Rick, "and now look at us. He's been tortured. He's gonna be executed."

There was only a beat of silence before he started up again.

"How are we any better than those people that we're so afraid of?"

Eyes were glancing up, looking around amongst each other and I rubbed my side where a phantom ache began to spread.

"What we're not askin' here is why is it we want him dead?" I asked, bringing Dale's eyes back on me. "Why did we have to torture him and why do we feel like killin' him is the best option?"

There was a strange silence that followed.

I crossed my arms. "I know my reasons."

"Because he's dangerous," said Lori and I nodded.

"But why do we think that?" How do we make Dale see this isn't coming from nowhere like he thinks? That yes, Rick saved him, but that wasn't all.

"He got you shot," muttered Daryl.

"He lied about his people," added Nancy and her voice surprised me but was welcomed.

"He got a member of our group nearly killed," I said. "He attacked us with his people, wouldn't tell us about his group, and when he did, he told us disgusting and vile things they would do. I understand bein' a part of somethin' because you're scared of what else is out there," my eyes found Nancy's and kinship fluttered between us, "but the implications he was tryna put on me and Daryl, they weren't good."

"He's only known bad!" said Dale. "If we give him the opportunity to be amongst good people, our people–"

"He could've stepped up, no matter the consequences, and stopped his men from doin' what they did to those–" I shook my head, stopping myself. I was putting myself in their shoes again, I was planting myself in the middle. "Doesn't matter if you're good or bad, there are just some things you need to stop and he didn't. He didn't stop them."

Shan nodded. "We all know what needs to be done."

"We can't leave any stone unturned here, though," said Rick, shaking his head. "We have a responsibility–"

"So what's the other solution?" asked Andrea.

"We've turned down all other options," I muttered.

"Sam's right," said Andrea. "We haven't come up with a single viable option yet. I wish we could–"

Dale threw his hands up in the air. "So let's work on it!"

Rick was glaring. "We are–"

"Stop it," whimpered Carol. "Just stop it. I'm sick of everybody arguing and fighting." Her voice felt like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. "I didn't ask for this. You can't ask us to decide something like that." Okay, so maybe she had a point. "Please, decide. Either of you, both of you––but leave me out."

"Not speaking out," said Dale, pointing a finger, "or killing him yourself––there's no difference."

"Alright, that's enough," snapped Rick. He took a step back. "Anybody that wants the floor before we make a final decision has the chance."

Maggie sat down, as did Patricia, all folding back into their seats with their moves shut. The stillness entering the room was one you'd only find in a cemetery.

Dale took it upon himself to fill the silence. "You once said that we don't kill the living."

"Well, that was before the living tried to kill us," said Rick. There was something predatory about the way he was speaking, like he knew there was only one way to go from here but he was afraid to say it himself.

"But don't you see?" whispered Dale. "If we do this, the people that we were––the world that we knew is dead. And this new world is ugly. It's harsh. It's–it's survival of the fittest. And that's a world I don't wanna live in and I don't believe that any of you do. I can't! Please. Let's just do what's right." He looked around, begging and pleading with his watering eyes. "Isn't there anybody else who's gonna stand with me??"

Andrea pressed her lips together and began to nod, slowly. "He's right. We should try to find another way."

"Anybody else?" asked Rick.

Dale looked across the room. "Nance?"

She wasted no time. "He got my daughter shot," whispered Nancy. "I can't...I can't, I'm sorry, Dale."

Rick looked around, waiting for anyone else to speak and when they didn't, he turned to face Dale. There was a growing tension as Dale's face scrunched up and he said, sourly, "Are y'all gonna watch too?" He shook his head slowly. "No, you'll go hide your head in your tents and try to forget that we're slaughtering a human being."

But when does being a human stop? How far must you go to be seen as just another animal to slaughter?

Dale shook his head quickly, like trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth. "I won't be a party to it." He began to leave, heading through the house and only stopping at Daryl with a whisper, "This group is broken."

There was nothing to be said after that.

I walked with Shane, Rick, and Daryl, dragging Randall between us like we were a structure of bodyguards around him. We were leading him down the path from the shed to the barn, walking him through his last legs of life.

The crickets were alive tonight, even the wind was rustling and moving like a life-form itself. So much was stirring when nothing would be moving once the gun fired. Once the body fell and it was over, the world would hopefully, just for a moment, stop. I would no longer feel the weight of uncertainty on my shoulders and things would finally be quiet. The echo would be silent.

Rick opened the barn door and led the way with his lantern, Daryl pushing Randall through behind us. The cowboy raised his arm, pointing to a spot in the middle of the space and said, "Put him there."

The barn felt different without its previous occupants. It wasn't long ago that we watched Sophia come stumbling out. It wasn't long since I'd put her down. I hadn't processed that, I don't think anyone did. How we lost the little girl. How, one day, we'd lose everyone, too.

Randall stumbled and Shane wrapped his arms around the boy, starting with a blindfold over his eyes and murmuring, "It's all gonna be over soon."

The kid was beginning to panic. "What? What's gonna be over soon?"

Shane grunted, "Relax."

"What? No, no, no–" Randall was trying to thrash, to pull away but Shane had a good grip, trying to shush him as he tried to back away.

When Shane let go, he stepped to the side. The three men standing in a triangle formation with Randall in the middle, stumbling and restrained. I kept myself by Rick, leaning back against one of the beams. The kid's chest was rising and falling fast, his shoulders hunched. I'd be scared too, but he had it coming. Didn't he?

"Would you like to stand or kneel?" asked Rick, holding his gun by his side.

Randall was hopping on his good leg, shaking his head. "Oh, no, please–" Daryl grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to his knees before pulling his head back by his hair. "Ah, ah, no."

Rick and Shane shared a long look before Rick asked, "Do you have any final words?"

Sobs erupted from the broken man. He wasn't a kid anymore. He was a man. He'd always been a man. "Please," he whimpered, "please, don't. Don't."

Rick raised the gun at Randall's face and pulled the Colt Python's safety and a bullet moved into the chamber with a click. I could see his waver, the slight hesitation as Randall shook and sniffled. Rick would never be able to kill Randall and we all knew this, long before he'd raised his gun and stared down the barrel at the prisoner.

"Do it, dad," came Carl's small voice from the door and our heads turned sharply. "Do it."

"Shane," I murmured as Rick's eyes widened. There was no way he'd do it now. "Get him out of here. Now."

Shane nodded as Rick did the same, stalking past us to try and usher Carl out as I stepped towards Rick. I put my hand over his and found him shaking. I lowered his arm and wrapped my fingers around his gun, pulling it from his hands.

"I'll do it," I whispered, taking it fully into my hand. "I can shoulder this for you."

"No," he groaned out, shaking his head. "No, take him away."

"Carl?"

He shook his head again. "Take him away. Randall. Take him."

"No," I hissed out. Why was I so angry here? Why did I want to see him dead? What was driving me? "Rick, Rick–" He was stepping back, trying to get his gun back into his hands as I held it away and towards the ground. "He dies. We agreed. Rick–"

Behind us, Daryl was unsure of whether to take Randall away as I stared at Rick. I could feel some wide eyed crazed look on my face and I hoped no one could see it the way I felt.

"Rick," I hissed again. "If we let him go, he will come back and kill us. He will bring his men and they will–" They will, they will, they will.

"No," snarled Rick. "Take him back, now."

Daryl finally took hold of Randall, walking him towards the barn doors as Shane angrily threw the door open, leading the two men out with heavy feet. Carl stared at me and Rick as I was forced to hand over the gun. There was this great stone in my stomach, heavy and weighing down like the impending doom that would surely be karmic. A life would be taken tonight, I could sense it like dread.

"We need to talk about this," whispered Rick, glancing at Carl like he was fighting himself, "but I need to deal with him, with this first." He didn't sound angry, just concerned.

I wasn't used to people worrying about me. Not unless they were Conner.

He moved a hand out to touch my arm and I backed away, instinctually, and hated a piece of myself for doing it. I was retreating back into myself. Old habits. Old concepts. I wasn't scared of him, I wasn't scared of any of our people, but there was something riled up inside of me. An old monster trying to break out against my ribcage.

It was almost like Rick wanted to step towards me, cage me in, but he stepped back instead and towards his son. He left with his son. He walked away with his son.

When they were far enough away, I pulled the end of my shirt to my mouth and let out a muffled scream against the fabric and my hands.

Do not let him win. Do not let yourself fall back into old fears because of a man who knew only hurt and abuse.

I seethed against my palms until my eyes watered. It wasn't because I'd been shot. It wasn't because of Randall but what he could bring to us. The tight fear in my chest at the possibilities of thirty angry men coming for us.

But there would always be an angry man coming for me. He took many shapes and forms, but there would always be an angry man in this home of mine. Lodged in my chest. Lodged in my heart and mind.

I made a move to sit down when the screams outside erupted, like we always knew they would somehow tonight. They were panicked and fearful and I took off before even thinking. How I allowed these people so quickly into my heart that I'd stop at nothing for them would always surprise me.

I ran swiftly, pulling my ax from my waistband and pumping my arms. Everyone was screaming now, terror echoing through the farm. I could see where people were running towards, two wrestling figures in the field, and I picked up the pace like I always would on the last lap of a track race. Pick up the pace, pump a little faster, kick it into next gear, it'll all be over soon.

Daryl beat me there, he'd been closer, and he tackled the walker off of Dale Horvath, stabbing it in the skull and tossing it aside. It'd been skinny, ribs poking through gray skin, lips decayed and teeth rotten. But its hands were what drew me in. The bright glistening blood against its fingers, skin under its nails. It had disemboweled Dale Horvath within seconds.

Daryl stopped my running, taking me by the shoulders and pulling me against him as I let out a startled gasp. Not even a scream could work its way to my startled lips. The sounds Dale was making left goosebumps over my skin and sickly sweat building up across my neck and chest.

Rick, Shane, and Andrea reached us next. Rick dropped to his knees and took Dale by the face, forcing the older man to meet his gaze as he whispered, "Alright, just listen to my voice. Listen to me, okay? Just listen to me." He turned his head and shouted towards us, "Someone get Hershel! We–we need blood! We need to operate now!"

But we all knew there was no saving him.

Andrea took Dale's face in hers, taking up Rick's place. She touched his face softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. As Lori and Glenn raced towards us, Rick shouted, desperate, "We need Hershel! Get Hershel!"

Nancy let out a horrified wail, one I had never heard come from her before. It was agony, like she'd been punctured, and she dropped to her knees beside Andrea and sobbed openly into her hands. She knew it just like I did. We'd always know it before the others. 

"Look at me," whispered Andrea, something far away in her voice. Dale had saved her and now, she couldn't save him. There would always be something cursed about that.

"Dale, we're gonna help. We're here. Just hold on," begged Rick.

"What happened?" shouted Hershel, running towards us. I hadn't even realized Daryl was still holding me, like he knew what I was going to do before he did.

"What can we do?" cried Rick as Glenn whispered, "Dale, it's gonna be okay," as he stood by his side, looking down like he was afraid to touch him.

Hershel inspected the seeping wound, ground up like mush against Dale's stomach.

"Can we move him?" asked Rick.

"He won't make the trip," said Hershel, honestly.

"We have to do the operation here," snapped Rick. He pointed at us. "Glenn, get back to the house, now!"

Hershel held his arm out, steadying Rick. He knew what I did. He shook his head and Rick's face contorted and he turned around, screaming. The sounds echoed all around us like dying animals, like something that was always supposed to die here.

Rick bent down, his gun against his forehead. Dale writhed on the ground, his mouth open, tongue out in panting gasps and wet whimpers. He couldn't even scream or cry. His blood didn't even drip or drizzle, it was stagnant against the torn flesh and muscle and organs. It was congealed and mush, it was mush. It was just mush.

"He's suffering," sobbed Andrea. Dale looked up and past Andrea, eyes wide and pleading towards Rick, Shane, and Hershel. "Do something! Somebody!"

Rick raised his gun towards Dale's face as the blood finally began to move and shift against his white shirt. Come to life.

I tried to move past Daryl, to take Rick's gun like I'd done before but he shook his head and whispered to only me, "Let me shoulder this for you, too."

He released me and I sagged against myself. I hadn't realized how much he was helping me stand until he was gone. Daryl took Rick's gun from him silently and raised it towards Dale's head. He knelt down to one knee, the gun an inch away from the dying man.

The gun cocked and Dale raised his face to meet it, eager.

"Sorry, brother," said Daryl and pulled the trigger.

I'd been right about the world falling silent because as the gunshot echoed, there wasn't a sound. Not even a cricket or a breath. The world stilled and death claimed her next victim with an open mouth and hand. We would always be eager to feed her hungry and salivating mouth. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE━━long time no see.....hey......im back <333

PLS LMK WHAT U THOUGHT bc sam was....controversial to me in this chap idk. she really just wanted randall dead and lmk what yall thought, does he deserve to live or no? or what were some things u wished the group had thought of as solutions idk

pls vote/comment, i missed yall sm