[ iv. contagion ]

june 20th, 2012

➸➸➸

ASTRID LANCASTER STOOD OUTSIDE the imposing entrance to A Block—a now literal Death Row—while her lithe frame shivered, her once robust lungs now wracked with violent coughs. It was a cruel reckoning of her immune system that had seemingly corrupted in the blink of an eye. One moment, she had been sharing laughter with Daryl, and the next, she found herself sprawled on the cold ground, expelling blood from her body. The merciless truth had manifested itself.

She was sick.

Beside her stood her hunter, his outstretched hand inching nearer, as if to bridge the gap between them, but Astrid, weakened and desperate, recoiled, retreating several steps. Daryl should not have even followed her down this far into the tombs and was risking his own well-being for the assurance of her safety. Her gaze, once fixated on the steel, heavy door in front of her, shifted reluctantly toward him.

"You should go," She whispered.

"I'm not leavin' you," Daryl protested sternly.

"You can't follow me in there," Astrid reasoned. "You can't get sick. You have a job to do. You have to go get that medicine for everyone, for me," She added in a soft plea. "It's going to be all right."

Daryl's brows furrowed. "Then why does it sound like you're sayin' goodbye?" He demanded. Astrid's silence hung in the air, a deafening void. Her hunter's piercing stare seemed to sear through her, and his cold assertion cut to her core. "You're not goin' to die."

"You don't know that," Astrid countered.

"You don't get to die," Daryl reiterated. "Not after everythin' we've been through. You're goin'—"

"You saw how quick it was with Patrick," She interrupted. "That's how quick it could be with me. I know that this sickness doesn't have a predictable timeline, but I do know that I'm not going to last more than a couple of days. A week at best. You can't waste your time here. You need to go find the medicine."

"I will find it," Daryl vowed through gritted teeth. "But I can't jus' . . . I can't jus' leave you."

"It'll be okay, Daryl," Astrid reassured. "Whatever happens, it's going to be okay."

He sighed, his fingers running through his disheveled hair. It seemed he had so much more to say. But there was no time left. "I love you," He finally murmured, his icy eyes seeking hers.

Astrid's quivering lip formed a hesitant smile that flickered, then faded. "I love you, too," She said, strained. "Please take care of yourself out there."

"Always do," He assured. "You take care of yourself in there."

"Always do," Astrid repeated, barely above a whisper. Daryl reached out to her, but she backed away once more, shaking her head. "We shouldn't touch each other, not until I'm better." Taking a deep breath, she added, "You should go."

Daryl bit his lip, nodded, and began to walk away, but he did not get far before he stopped again. They stood there, two souls locked in a silent farewell. Then her hunter spun on his heel, and disappeared around a corner, leaving Astrid to lean against the wall, alone, where her tears finally flowed freely.

Fear and heartache converged into a feeling almost unbearable. Astrid knew that she might never see Daryl again. She knew she might die in these tombs. She bit her lip until it bled and finally turned toward the daunting entrance to A Block. With a trembling hand, she gripped the doorknob, her knuckles turning as white as death itself.

Pausing for a moment to gather her courage, Astrid pushed open the door, and the sound of suffering immediately enveloped her senses—agonized coughs, mournful moans, and distressed cries. She swallowed hard, knowing that her own would soon join the haunting chorus. This was it. With a hesitant step, she crossed the threshold, and the heavy door closed behind her with a dull, inexorable thud.

There was no turning back now.

The cell block was dark, with only faint slivers of light filtering in through high, narrow windows. The air was humid and thick with the coughs of the afflicted, and the floor was covered in blood from those who could no longer contain their stomachs. Astrid's hand clung tightly to her knife as she moved carefully through the dismal chamber, searching for a cell to call her own.

Then, a flash of white hair caught the Lancaster woman's eye, and her heart skipped a beat. "Hershel?" She gasped.

Hershel Greene, of all people, emerged from a dark cell, a tray of meager supplies in his hands. His expression fell as he looked upon Astrid. "You're sick," He stated. It was not a question.

Astrid's anger flared. "What the hell are you doing here?" She demanded.

"Doctor S has come down sick, too, and now can barely move, so I've come to help," Hershel explained. Astrid's protests were ready to spill forth, but he raised a wrinkled hand, silencing her objections. "I understand the risks, Astrid. I can't stand by and do nothing. I'm not afraid."

"You should be," Astrid gritted. "You're not even wearing a bandanna. It's like you're asking to get sick. Do you want to die?"

"No," Hershel answered. "No one does. I know you don't. That's why you've got to be strong for me. Many here have begun to lose hope, and I can't have you going down with them. You have to be their strength. Glenn needs—"

Astrid's eyes widened abruptly. "Glenn is here?" She questioned. Shock coursed coldly through her. The prison's stability had fallen so quickly. Only that afternoon, she, Glenn, and Hershel had stood together outside of that very cell block, and now they were ensnared within its deadly grip.

Hershel nodded gravely. "Yes, Glenn is here. He's not doing well," He disclosed softly. "I still need to see a few others. I'll come back to do a check-up on you in a little while."

"Please be careful," Astrid bid. She watched wearily as he moved toward other cells, his form disappearing into the shadows.

Astrid scanned the rest of the cell block, seeking refuge. Just as she found a suitable option, a cry for help pierced the air. She spun around to see a little girl with straight, dark brown hair racing toward her, desperation etched across her reddened cheeks.

"Help!" The girl pleaded. "Please, help me!"

Astrid instinctively searched the area for Hershel first, but the doctor was nowhere to be found. The urgency in the child's plea tugged at her heartstrings, and without hesitation, she abandoned her own search for shelter and rushed to the girl's side. "What's wrong?" Astrid asked.

"It's my brother," She gasped, her breath ragged. "Hurry, please!"

The girl's small hand found Astrid's, and she pulled her down the row of cells until they reached the end. Inside, a little boy lay curled in pain on a bottom bunk bed, his body racked by coughs that would not break. Astrid was drawn to the telltale droplets of blood staining the mattress beneath him. He was choking.

She wasted no time. The Lancaster woman scooped up the young boy into her arms, and patted his back firmly, seeking to ease his labored breathing and alleviate his suffering. In the doorway, the girl stood, tears glistening in her eyes, as her younger brother finally ceased his coughing, and began to draw in precious, deep breaths.

The boy whimpered softly, and Astrid cradled him to her chest. "It's all right," She soothed. "You're safe now." She gingerly set him back on the narrow bed. In the dim light, she suddenly recognized him as the same child she had rescued from Cell Block D mere days ago. Astrid turned to the slightly older child, who had remained in the doorway. "Where are your parents?" She asked gently.

The girl's shoulders slumped, her fingers fumbling with anxious anticipation. "Hershel told me that my mom passed away," She explained softly. "And my dad died when I was only six."

Astrid's heart splintered. These children were orphans. How long had they endured this loneliness? "Do you have any other relatives here? Aunts, uncles, or siblings?"

The girl shook her head. "No, it's just me and Finn," She replied, indicating her younger brother.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Bailey. Bailey Stratton."

"How old are you both?"

"I'm eleven," Bailey informed. "Finn's seven. How old are you?"

Astrid hesitated momentarily, her gaze lingering on the children, who displayed an extraordinary resilience beyond their years. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm thirty, I think. Give or take a year," She answered, before finally offering her name. "I'm Astrid Lancaster."

"It's nice to meet you."

Astrid managed a small, bittersweet smile in response. "Likewise," She replied. "Though I wish our meeting had been under happier circumstances."

"Will you help my brother get better?" Bailey asked after a moment's pause. "He's been feeling really sick. His stomach hurts. People told him to come here, but I couldn't let him go in alone. Our mom always said we should never be apart."

Bailey's courage and wisdom far surpassed those of her years. Astrid could not help but admire her strength. She nodded. "Your mother was smart," She complimented. "I promise I'll do everything I can to help your brother."

"Thank you," Bailey whispered. She moved to sit on the floor across from them, her gaze never straying from her brother.

Astrid's attention returned to little Finn, who lay curled in the bunk, his chubby face etched with pain even in his fitful sleep. She reached out to touch his forehead and heat met her fingertips. Her concern deepened, and as she glanced back at Bailey, she noticed a faint sheen of sweat on the young girl's temples. It was clear that the illness was advancing swiftly, sparing no one, not even innocent children.

Daryl had to hurry. Their lives depended on it.

➸➸➸

THE ATMOSPHERE IN A Block was thick with hacking, the nasty sound assaulting Astrid's ears as she fought desperately to keep Henry, a fellow sick survivor, from slipping away. Glenn and Hershel were at her sides; the former's role was to keep Henry subdued, while the latter assembled a makeshift breathing pump. Beads of sweat formed on Astrid's brow; her own deteriorating condition bore down upon her like a vise, threatening to shatter her composure. Her eyes drooped with fatigue, but she willed them open, all the while suppressing the coughs welling up within her own chest.

In the span of a few short hours, Astrid's health had plummeted from bad to catastrophic. Her body fought an internal war, battling fever-induced sweats and bone-chilling shivers. A ceaseless headache throbbed in her temples, and her once-strong muscles now felt as substantial as tissue paper.

Hershel's firm hand descended on Henry's chest. "Henry, I need you to calm down. We're trying to help," He ordered. Astrid watched with dread as Hershel forced a breathing tube into Henry's constricted airway. The dying man's body jerked in response, prompting Astrid to wrestle his flailing arms back into submission. Then, in a miraculous moment, Henry drew in a life-giving breath, and Astrid exhaled a quivering sigh of relief at the salvation of a single life.

However, the feeling of winning did not last long. Glenn's sudden sharp coughs prompted Astrid's own reflexive hacking. She turned away, where her shoulder served as a feeble, red-soaked barrier against the spread of her sickness. Hershel, ever watchful, pivoted toward them and offered a canteen brimming with his infamous elderberry tea. "Drink some of that," He commanded. "Both of you."

Astrid, her teeth clenched, initially declined. "Save it," She rasped. "People like Henry are going to need it more."

"Astrid, take some," Glenn insisted sternly.

Eventually, her seemingly endless coughing became her reluctant submission. She yielded and tipped the cup back, allowing the soothing elixir to course down her parched, burning throat. The cup emptied all too quickly, leaving the Lancaster woman to sigh and lean back, drained in more ways than one.

Hershel's tired chuckle cut through her daze. "Some council meeting, huh?"

"I'm not even part of the council," Astrid muttered under her breath.

"You are now," The elder man announced. "Now, I think we should make some new rules before the others get back from the run. I hereby declare we have Spaghetti Tuesdays . . . every Wednesday." Astrid's response was a roll of her eyes, clearly not amused, and Glenn mirrored her actions. Hershel sighed in response to their lackluster reception. "First, we have to find some spaghetti," He added. He turned his attention to Glenn. "You okay to take over for me?" He asked, extending the air pump toward him. "I want to check on Sasha and a couple of others."

Glenn, his energy waning, managed a weak nod, his eyes squeezed shut. "Got it."

Hershel glanced in Astrid's direction next. "You want to help me with my rounds?" He asked.

Astrid shook her head, her movements unsteady as she rose to her feet. "I've got to check on my kids," She replied, her voice laden with the fog of exhaustion.

"Kids?" Glenn interjected.

"Bailey and Finn Stratton," Astrid explained. "They're in here. They don't have any family, so someone's got to look after them."

Hershel nodded in understanding. "How do they look?" He wondered. "Do you want me to go check on them?"

"Bailey's okay. But Finn—I'm not so sure. He mostly sleeps, and whenever he wakes up, it's only to cough out more blood. I think you should go see him."

"Lead the way," He instructed.

Astrid slipped downstairs and navigated the shadowy cell block until they reached the cell at the end of the corridor. She peered inside to find Bailey perched on the top bunk, her fingers idly tracing the frayed edges of her shirt, while Finn lay below, his breathing ragged and eyes sealed shut in a troubled slumber.

Taking a cautious step inside, Astrid managed a gentle smile as she addressed Bailey. "Hey," She whispered softly. "Hershel wanted to check on you and your brother."

Bailey greeted her with a relieved nod before returning to her solitary entertainment. Astrid and Hershel settled on the bottom bunk, and the Lancaster woman carefully lifted Finn back in her arms. Hershel laid his palm on the young boy's fevered forehead. "He's burning up," He murmured.

"I know," Astrid admitted. "How can we help him?"

"We can't do much until we get the medicine. You can try giving him some tea."

"I don't want to wake him. That could make things worse."

"When he wakes again," Hershel addressed, "give him only a small sip." He poured two cups of tea, the fragrant steam curling upward. He placed one cup on the ground near Finn's bedside and then, with the tenderness of a healer's touch, turned his attention to Bailey. "Here you go, honey," He added softly. "This should help your cough."

Bailey responded with a smile, her small hand accepting the cup. "Thanks."

Hershel bestowed one last reassurance on Astrid. His hand, firm and supportive, went to her shoulder. "I'll be back to check on them later," He pledged.

Astrid's gratitude welled. "Thanks, Hershel," She said, her eyes tracking his departure as he slipped beyond the cell. Turning back to Finn, Astrid's fingers, as gentle as a lullaby, wove through his unruly curls. As she carefully settled him back onto the bed, unbeknownst to even herself, her movements were imbued with a mother's love. Eventually rising to her feet again, she shifted to Bailey, a guardian in the making. "Hey," She greeted quietly.

"Hi, Astrid," Bailey replied. Her focus momentarily flitted toward the woman before a sudden realization seemed to spark within her. "Were you bleeding?" She asked.

Astrid, momentarily caught off guard, furrowed her brow. Instinctively, her hand moved to her cheek, her fingers tracing the copper stain. She wiped it away on the mattress. "I was trying to help Henry," She explained. "He was bleeding, and I guess I got a little bit on me."

"Well, I'm glad you're okay."

Astrid smiled tiredly. "So, what have you been up to?"

Bailey shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing," She admitted. "There's nothing really to do. I talked to Lizzie for a little bit, but I didn't want to leave Finn alone for too long." Her brown eyes seemed to darken as a cloud of worry suddenly settled over her. "Is he going to die?" She asked.

Astrid immediately shook her head. "He's not going to die," She reassured.

"Do you promise?" Bailey asked. She extended her pinkie finger. "My mom and I always made pinkie promises," She confided.

Astrid, all too aware of the weight of promises in their perilous world, hesitated. Promises had a way of haunting them, their failures etched in blood and regret. Yet, she could not deny this young girl a glimmer of hope. She could not tell an eleven-year-old that her baby brother might die. That they all might die.

The Lancaster woman reached forward, and her pinkie finger intertwined with Bailey's. "I promise that your brother is going to be just fine," She whispered. "This is just a silly little cold that he is going to beat."

"Just like how you beat up walkers?"

"Just like beating up walkers."

In the next breath, Bailey spoke with a hint of pride. "I can beat up walkers."

Astrid regarded Bailey with an incredulous look, her skepticism etched across her face. "You can?" She asked, her voice tinged with astonishment. When Bailey nodded, Astrid's sudden frown deepened sternly. "How?"

"Can you keep a secret?" Bailey challenged, her eyes searching. Finding it in Astrid's own stiff nod, Bailey delved deeper into her revelation. "Carol taught me," She confessed. "We have classes on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. It's during Story-Time. She's been teaching us how to defend ourselves. A bunch of kids have been going, too. Like Lizzie, Mika, Molly, and even Finn. We all know how to use knives and guns!"

Astrid's jaw dropped—first with disbelief, and then disgust. Carol Peletier was instructing children in the art of survival and arming them with skills that defied their years. Children like Bailey and Finn were being groomed for a world no child should have to face so soon. Astrid struggled to conceal her emotions. "But you're eleven!" She exclaimed. "Your little brother is only seven years old!"

Bailey shrugged her shoulders. "Carol says age doesn't matter," She stated firmly. "She thinks everyone should be able to defend themselves. She knows how to be safe with us, Astrid. Finn doesn't get to hold guns, though. Only if someone is helping him."

Astrid ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "Carol shouldn't be doing this."

"Why not?"

"Because you're just children."

Bailey countered with a simple truth. "But we want to be grownups," She asserted. "I want to be just like you and Carol. I want to be able to take care of myself because—because I wasn't able to protect my mom."

Astrid cupped the young girl's face in her hands. "I will protect you," She insisted. "And I'll protect Finn. I know I'm not your mom, and I will never be your mom, but I will protect you from the walkers. My boyfriend will help, too."

Bailey wrinkled her nose. "You have a boyfriend? Who?"

"His name is Daryl Dixon," She revealed. "I think you and Finn would really like him."

Bailey's eyes suddenly sparkled with admiration. "Daryl? The man with the crossbow? He's so cool!"

Astrid smiled fondly. "Yeah, he is," She agreed.

As the excitement soon ebbed away again, Bailey's attention returned to their dull surroundings, her thoughts resuming their course. "So, when do you think we'll get out of here?" She asked.

Astrid replied honestly, "I don't know." She exhaled a heavy sigh before continuing, "In a couple of days, maybe. Whenever Daryl and the others get back with the medicine."

"Are you sure they'll come back?"

"Of course."

"Is anyone else going to die?" She pressed softly. "I don't want anyone else to die."

The Lancaster woman reached across the top bunk and squeezed Bailey's hand gently. "Me either," She whispered. The silence that followed held the promise of change. Yet a lingering sense of foreboding still hung in the air.

And then, as if the universe had chosen that very moment to shatter their fragile peace, a gunshot rang out.

~~~~~~~~~~