[ li. i'll meet you in the next one ]

august 14th, 2012

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"HOW LONG HAVE YOU known?"

Astrid Dixon sat ensconced in a bedside chair, her gaze piercing through Deanna's, a silent storm brewing within her forest-green eyes. The woman lying on the brink of life before her was drenched in perspiration, her labored breaths cutting through the heavy silence. Yet, Deanna seemed determined to somehow see the end of the day through.

In the near-suffocating stares that had followed her announcement, Astrid had run. Run—to the only space she could when trapped on a lone, crowded floor in a walker-filled home. And that was into Deanna's resting space; she was the only woman that Astrid found she could still converse with.

The others had brought only worry to the Dixon woman, their furtive glances consistently going to Astrid's gravid abdomen. In their horrified eyes, she could read their thoughts so blatantly, as if they even dared to say them aloud to her. Many seemed torn between deeming her a harbinger of hope, of new life—or an omen of doom, of sure death.

And though she would not say it aloud just yet, Astrid did not blame them. She could not when her own stance on the matter of her pregnancy hovered just beyond her grasp, too.

"I found out this morning," Astrid finally spoke, tears still clinging to her lashes.

Deanna swallowed tightly, seemingly absorbing this revelation before exhaling a heavy sigh. "What a shitty day," She muttered.

Astrid nodded in accord. "Can it get any worse?" She wondered aloud. "We're trapped in this overrun house, you're bitten, I'm walking for two . . . and the father doesn't even know."

"And if you stay here, he will never will," Deanna reminded her. "You need to leave with the others."

A shake of Astrid's head followed. "I'm staying by your side," She insisted. "You can't be in this house alone when it falls."

"I am already condemned, Astrid. You are not. None in this house are, except for me," Deanna murmured. "Now, will you let Bailey go on her own, or force her to stay with you?" Her voice softened. "I've witnessed your bond with that child. She's yours now, just as the life growing within you is yours. Your choices are no longer solely yours to make. Every decision should be for your child's well-being. I speak from experience—I am a mother."

"I'll die out there," Astrid protested. "I'm trying to stay alive for this baby."

"If you stay here, you will die," Deanna reasoned. "Outside, there's still a chance. Outside, you won't be alone. But within these walls, you will be. I will not be responsible for your death."

"And I won't be responsible for yours," Astrid retorted.

Deanna reached for Astrid's hand and squeezed it as tightly as she could. The feeble pressure spoke of Deanna's deteriorating strength. Another droplet of sweat disappeared beneath her stained blouse. "Do you believe in an afterlife?" She ventured.

Astrid hesitated. Her thoughts suddenly tangled. "No, I don't think so," She confessed softly.

Slowly, Deanna withdrew her hand from Astrid's grip. "Me neither," She replied. "But I do believe in other worlds. In other endings. In other lifetimes." Her smile, fragile but serene, graced Astrid. "I'll meet you in the next one, Astrid. Now, go. Protect the others. Especially Spencer—he has no one else."

Astrid still felt so entirely sick at leaving this woman behind to death. This woman—who would not even be dying if not for her. This woman—who did not even truly know her. Not really. The least she could do was this. "I will," Astrid promised.

"This storm will pass, and Alexandria will endure," Deanna assured, her smile now beginning to wane with each passing second. "I only wish I could witness it. You, Rick, and the others must guide our people. Make them stronger. I have faith in you." She drew a deep breath and then began to reach for a revolver left on the bedside table. "Take care of yourself, Astrid . . . Now, go out there and give 'em hell."

Astrid offered a final, delicate smile. She cast a silent glance toward the lone window in the bedroom, toward the boundless sky, hoping for a peaceful passing for the leader that was Deanna Monroe. Then, rising to her feet, she cast one last flickering around the room before slipping into the hallway, and closing the door behind her. There, she found Jessie, consoling her youngest son, Sam.

"You have to listen to me, alright?" Jessie instructed. "We're not safe here anymore. We need to do this so we can be safe outside. We need to look like the monsters."

Sam shook his head in protest. "No," He whimpered. "Please, no."

"Yes, honey," Jessie affirmed, her voice laced with both firmness and tenderness. "We have to leave, okay? We have to, Sam." She took a steadying breath. "Pretend that you're brave. Make it all pretend. None of this is real and you're somebody who isn't afraid . . . Okay?"

Despite tears cascading down his cheeks, Sam summoned the strength to nod and took his mother's hand, whispering, "Okay."

Jessie then guided Sam into an adjacent bedroom where the rest of the group had gathered. At the doorway, Astrid halted, startled by the scene before her. Rick, Michonne, Gabriel, Bailey, Carl, and Ron were all draped in bedsheet ponchos, every stitch of fabric drenched in putrid walker blood and intestines. The noxious stench assailed Astrid's nostrils and her stomach nearly flipped, earning a recoiling shudder and a stifled cough. She watched, repulsed, as Jessie began applying the nasty concoction to Sam's front.

From behind the mother and son, Bailey's eyes widened at the newfound presence that had joined them, and she rushed toward Astrid, stopping just before touching her. "Astrid, we need to stay together. Please don't stay here," She pleaded. "I'll protect you and the baby."

Astrid knelt, cradling Bailey's tear-streaked face in her hands. She had already remade her mind. "Well, I certainly can't let you go alone, can I?" She reassured. "I'll be right by your side the entire way. We're leaving this place together."

"Promise?" Bailey's voice trembled.

Astrid planted a kiss on the young girl's forehead. "I promise," She vowed.

A moment later, Astrid turned to find Rick staring at her, clutching the lone remaining poncho. She accepted it slowly, pulling it over her head and draping herself as best she could so that only her calf-high boots remained uncovered. Rick, kneeling beside one of the deceased walkers, scooped up two sizable chunks of intestines, and then returned to Astrid. "You ready?" He asked.

With no other answer to give, Astrid simply nodded, extending her arms as Rick began to apply the rotten guts to every inch of fabric. His proximity was almost unsettling, his breath grazing her face, the sheen of sweat on his skin visible. She swallowed hard, lowering her voice to a hushed murmur. "I'm sorry," She whispered.

Both understood the weight of her words. Ten minutes ago, the shock on Rick's face at her revelation echoed the moment when her confession shackled him to relive Lori's life once more. Her pregnancy announcement had clearly shaken him, leaving him struggling for words. After, Astrid had excused herself to check on Deanna, but now, there was no evading the conversation. They were entrenched in it.

"I'll keep you safe," was all that Rick said. "You and Bailey. Nothing will touch you." He started to apply more blackened blood to her front, his hand unintentionally brushing over her stomach. "Does . . . Does Daryl—"

"No," She cut him off. "He doesn't know."

"Will you tell him?"

Astrid shot him a glance. "I don't know if I'll ever see Daryl again," She admitted. "Either there won't be anyone left to tell, or I'll already be gone, so it won't matter."

Rick swallowed. "Was that what you were going to tell me last night? In the kitchen?"

"Yes." Astrid nodded. "But I wasn't certain until this morning. I thought we had enough on our plates, so I kept quiet. And I'd prefer it stayed that way. Let's just focus on getting through this before jumping into anything else."

With several more layers of gore, Astrid was soon transformed. A glimpse in the bedroom mirror shocked her—her body concealed beneath a blood-drenched poncho, chestnut hair piled atop her paling head to avoid the thick of the carnage. As she turned further, she caught Michonne's gaze as it, too, fixed on her abdomen, prompting Astrid to whirl around to face her.

She shook her head dismissively. "I don't want to talk about it," She deflected.

Michonne stubbornly parted her lips but was abruptly interrupted by approaching footsteps echoing down the hall. All eyes turned to Rick, who carried little Judith in his arms as he moved towards Carl. Carefully, Carl lifted his own poncho, allowing Rick to slide Judith into the snug shelter of his button-up shirt. After ensuring his baby sister's comfort and ability to breathe, Carl carefully concealed her under the poncho, masking Judith entirely from view. Now, all they could do was hope that she would not make a sound.

Rick reached for the ax Astrid had found earlier in the kitchen, prompting a cascade of anxiety to twist and coil in Astrid's stomach. The moment had arrived. Together, they were departing the house, for good. With a final, lingering glance at the closed door where Deanna still lay, Astrid drew a shallow breath before a hand settled upon her shoulder.

It was Michonne. "We do this together," She whispered.

Astrid nodded, out of words, and in a rush, they hastened to catch up with the others.

Descending the staircase cautiously, so very slowly, Astrid observed Rick moving the couch barricade aside, before finally beginning to forge a true path through the horde of walkers. With Bailey clinging to her side, their hands entwined, they merged into the throng. Tense, Astrid halted momentarily, waiting to see if their ruse was uncovered. As the first walker approached, it merely sniffed and continued, registering the Dixon woman as one of its own.

Forcing her way through the living room, Astrid avoided eye contact with the mass of undead around her. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her body flinching with each collision, yet with every step, a surge of vitality coursed through her. She could do this. They were within breathing distance of the walkers, but fear could no longer hold sway. She could not be afraid.

After several minutes, after several calculated steps, Astrid finally stepped through the smashed-in front door, successfully following the others onto the overrun porch. She was stunned by the sight that greeted her.

Alexandria lay in ruin, overrun beyond salvation. There was no hope left, so akin to their first attempt to resurrect life back at the prison. Their efforts had not mattered in the end. The dead always won. Humans would have to flee their homes, their lives, once more. It was over.

Out of nowhere, a volley of gunshots rent the air, causing Astrid to startle at each report. The shots echoed from deep within the house behind her, and her expression fell as the realization dawned that Deanna had chosen defiance over surrender. She would battle until the very end. Gradually, though, the gunfire ceased, until it was certain that Deanna had concluded her fight—a life that was wholly hers, from start to finish.

Astrid neared the porch's edge. Her gaze locked with Rick's, where she received a subtle nod from him. He then turned toward his son, slipping his hand into Carl's, who, in turn, reached for Jessie's hand. A chain of hands formed, linking them together—Rick to Carl, to Jessie, to Sam, to Ron, to Gabriel, to Bailey, to Astrid, and finally to Michonne. A united front.

Rick initiated the movement again, now descending from the porch, and pulling them along into the sea of walkers. Each step tightened the chain of hands. Astrid sensed Bailey's trembling within her own, before stealing a glance over her shoulder to meet Michonne's guarded stare, the woman already prepared to draw her katana at a moment's notice.

They could make it, Astrid knew they could. They would escape this ruin of rot and reach the armory. Outside those walls, she and Bailey would find Daryl. They would restart their lives once more. Their sole imperative to surviving now was in maintaining their silence. Stay quiet, stay alive.

And then, just when that belief began to settle, a faint clearing of Sam Anderson's little throat sliced through the sea of undead around them, seemingly rupturing the world.

"Mom?"

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SAM'S ATTEMPT AT SPEECH was swiftly silenced by his mother in the next instant, who coerced him back into fearful silence amid such danger. Meanwhile, Astrid, her pulse racing like a wild stallion, clutched Bailey's hand tighter in a vice-like grip. The world around them felt like a nightmarish maze, as they were swallowed deeper into the labyrinth of walkers.

Beneath the sinking sun, Astrid's back was drenched in sweat, the chill of impending dusk failing to conquer the heat of unending adrenaline. Her heartbeat was an unsteady drum, the rhythm of survival pounding in her chest with each strained breath.

Surveying the throng of walkers, Astrid marveled at their obliviousness to the humans, the fresh meals, within their midst. The blood-soaked disguises were truly their only armor, shielding them for now, but how long before the facade crumbled? In this world, nothing favored them. Rick and she both knew this too well.

Before Astrid could dare begin to contemplate it, a distraction came in the form of Carl's sheriff hat—a familiar sight momentarily easing Astrid's troubled mind. Forcing her feet forward, Astrid stole a glance at Bailey next, only to see her tiny face contorted with fear, shuddering with trepidation. Her gaze then finally shifted to Michonne, whose focus had locked onto a nearby walker whose stomach entrails hung by threads. Averting her own eyes in disgust, Astrid refocused on the walk ahead.

Abruptly, Astrid's hand was tugged, and she lifted her head to eye Rick veering them away from the street and towards the edge of a serene pond within Alexandria's heart. There were fewer walkers gathered this close to the water.

"New plan," Rick addressed, speaking barely higher than a whisper to evade attention. "Flares from a few guns aren't going to be enough to distract the herd. There are too many walkers and they're too spread out. We're not going to the armory. We need our vehicles back at the quarry. All of us will drive back and round them up ourselves."

Astrid's eyes widened incredulously. "Are you out of your mind?" She exclaimed in a hushed tone. "Making it to the quarry in one piece—like this?"

"Astrid's right," Jessie agreed. "Taking Judith there and back . . . It's dangerous."

All eyes went to Carl, still cradling his baby sister beneath a blood-stained poncho. Judith's silence was a gift, a grace that might very soon evaporate. The dilemma grew—they could not just abandon the infant. They could not just send the children back. Safeguarding them, their futures with feet and heartbeats, was the adults' most paramount concern.

Gabriel stepped forward, moisture from the muggy, summer night glistening on his upper lip. "I'll take her," He offered. "I'll keep her safe in my church until you lead the walkers away."

Michonne's narrowed stare bore into him. "Can you handle this?" She challenged, seeking any sign of cowardice.

"I'm supposed to. I have to. I will," Gabriel affirmed, a steadfast nod accompanying his words. Eyes again followed as Carl cautiously transferred his sister to Gabriel. Judith remained entirely still through the exchange, prompting a sigh of relief from Astrid.

As Gabriel prepared to depart, Jessie suddenly gasped and clutched at her youngest son's shoulder. "Take Sam, too," She urged.

"No," Sam objected instantly.

"Yes, Sam," Jessie insisted. "It's safer."

"I'm not leaving you," Sam defiantly said, refusing to break eye contact with his mother. "I can keep going. Please."

Jessie hesitated, and within it, she wrestled with a torrent of conflicting choices, her eyes darting between her sons, torn between the safety of unity or the gamble of separation. Astrid shifted her own focus to Bailey then, swallowing hard as thoughts of the little girl's safety vied for attention, too. As much as she believed in Bailey's capability, the idea of subjecting her to another parade through the walkers prickled at the new mother's instincts.

But before Astrid could vocalize her concerns, Bailey took charge, likely reading the Dixon woman's thoughts. "Don't even think about it, Astrid," She bristled. "You said we stick together. I'm sticking with you."

Exhaling a resigned sigh, Astrid gently ran her hand through Bailey's soft brown hair, a silent reassurance passing between them. "I know, I know," She murmured, before intertwining her fingers with Bailey's once more. "We stick together."

Returning her attention to the bigger group, Astrid was not surprised to find Sam's decision to stay with the adults. Her gaze followed Gabriel already beginning to navigate through the horde, holding Judith tightly against his chest. They all stood in tense silence, their breaths held until Gabriel finally vanished around a corner, out of sight.

Drawing closer to Rick, Astrid slipped her free hand into his as she noticed tears welling in his eyes. "Hey," She whispered softly, understanding the pain of uncertainty about a child's fate. "She'll be okay. He'll keep her safe. They'll make it."

Rick swallowed thickly again, his inner doubts likely battling against Astrid's insistence. Still, he squeezed her hand tighter, and they resumed their formation, albeit slightly altered. Rick still led the way but was now followed directly by Astrid. Bailey, Sam, Jessie, Carl, and Ron made up the middle while Michonne remained at the rear.

They trudged on, the darkness closing in around them, making it increasingly challenging to discern approaching walkers. Astrid had to relinquish entire control to Rick, trusting him to guide them to safety. Still, other worries began to fester—how could they possibly navigate to the quarry in the dark? One misstep could spell disaster and a broken ankle—and an injury was an unacceptable risk right now.

Astrid's hand had begun to throb, her fingertips numbed by the intensity of Rick's grip, yet she withheld the discomfort, pondering if his hand felt as strained. She would not let go of his hand now unless it were severed from her very body. Her hair, now a tangled mess escaping its bun, clung to the sides of her perspiring face in unruly curls, a makeshift shield from the surrounding world.

Somehow, the growls of the undead seemed to grow louder as the shadows of the night enveloped them. Astrid's wary stare darted between the walkers, their hollow eyes meeting hers. Instead of lunging for her, they continued their own march, brushing past her like spectral echoes.

"Ow!"

A sharp cry tore from Bailey, and Astrid felt a harsh tug as the child's hand was pulled from hers. She immediately turned to see Bailey now lying on the cement ground, clutching her wrist in pain. Astrid braced herself, expecting the worst of a bite, but found no blood, only Bailey staring up at Sam, the latter who seemed frozen in place. Rushing to Bailey's side, Astrid lifted her back to her feet and held her close against her hip. Almost instantly, her attention went from comforting Bailey to Sam's still-petrified stance as he looked at something across the street.

Sam's little eyes welled with fat tears, refusing to budge. Rick, sensing the delay, released Astrid's hand, and pivoted to assess the young boy's distress directly. Jessie, too, positioned herself in front of her son, coaxing gently, "Sam? Come on, honey."

"You can do it," Rick encouraged softly, extending his hand. "Take my hand, Sam."

Sam shook his head brashly, tears streaming faster now. Around them, Astrid noticed that walkers seemed to be slowing, closing in, drawn to the sudden siren sound of childlike whimpers.

Astrid beckoned a hand. "It's alright, Sam. We're safe," She attempted to soothe. "Take Bailey's hand. You can do it."

Ron stepped forward, transforming into the protective older brother. "Hey, just look at mom, Sam. You can do this."

"Sam, come on," Jessie implored, her voice rising slightly as desperation began to take control. "I need you to come with me, honey. Please, take my hand. Just look at me. We're going to be okay. Please, Sam. I need you to be strong."

"I want to!" Sam cried. It was almost a plea. For protection. For help. For—

Then, abruptly, the walkers struck, launching a savage attack on the child.

Astrid's heart seized in her chest as one of the walkers sunk its jagged teeth into Sam's shoulder, while another clawed its way into his little skull. Sam's bloodcurdling screams ruptured the night.

"No!" Jessie shrieked. It was an agonized cry that tore from the depths of her very soul. She sobbed, and thrashed, but remained rooted to the ground, her eyes fixated on the mauling of her youngest son.

Covering her ears against Jessie's wails, Astrid reacted instinctively, stumbling backward with Bailey still secured in her arms. The claws of an approaching nearby walker grazed past, narrowly missing them as they shot toward an unsuspecting mother instead.

Astrid had all of one second to respond. She knew her next actions were imperative. And, perhaps, foolish, too. Still, she had to try.

"Jessie, watch out!" She blurted. "You need to move! He's gone! I'm sorry! But you need to move, for Ron!" Astrid's pleas fell on deaf ears while she attempted to pull Jessie away. The woman was already lost, consumed by grief.

In moments, the Anderson matriarch became just another victim, devoured by the ravenous undead, her blonde hair now tinged a bloody red in the moonlight. Less than five feet away, Ron stood frozen, tearful eyes transfixed, unable to intervene or save. The last remnants of his family were torn apart, devoured in front of his very eyes. He was only fifteen.

"Help me!" The cry did not come from Jessie or Sam. They were already dead.

Astrid's vision tilted, as she turned to find Carl still ensnared by Jessie's rigid grasp. Struggling against her death grip, he was drawn closer to the ravenous pack. Rick started quickly toward his son, wielding his axe. With swift, maddening strikes, Rick severed Jessie's hand clean from her wrist, effectively freeing the boy—but knocking him down in the process.

Astrid, still holding Bailey tightly with one arm, sprang into action and seized Carl's freed forearm, pulling him up and away from the grisly melee. Backing away frantically, she created more distance between their trio and the growing feeding frenzy.

"Stay back!" Astrid cried, her grip on the two children tightening protectively.

In the aftermath of the violent execution, Rick reappeared, both shock and grief splattered upon his blood-soaked face. Astrid sensed the turmoil within him, being forced to choose so quickly between his growing affection for Jessie and the undeniable instinct to protect his own son. She knew easily, in the depths of her heart, who Rick would prioritize. And there was only ever one correct choice.

Yet, before the entirety of the situation could fully settle, a sudden, ominous click shattered the night all over again. Astrid, Carl, and Bailey whipped around to confront the unexpected threat. Ron, tears cascading down his face, stood stone-cold, his once trembling hands now steady, holding a gun. The barrel was leveled not at them—but aimed at Rick, who stood only a few paces behind.

"You," Ron seethed.

His finger tightened around the trigger. Then he pulled it.

"No!" Astrid shrieked.

In a split-second decision, she shoved Bailey to the ground and pushed Carl away, hoping to shield them from the sure-flying bullet. Not her kids, not her kids, not her kids. Trembling and numb with shock, now standing alone, Astrid frantically checked herself for any wounds. She immediately found relief in the absence of pain, spared from the bullet's strike.

Only a breathless moment later, Michonne lunged forward with deadly ferocity, her katana slashing through the air until it found its mark in Ron's chest. A gasp escaped Ron's lips, a startled flicker of surprise crossing his eyes as the blade tore back out of him, leaving his body limp. The smoking gun slipped from his grasp as he collapsed, succumbing to his sudden end.

"A-Astrid," Bailey whimpered from the grass, pulling Astrid's attention to her.

Hurrying to Bailey's side, Astrid lifted her to her feet, and frantically scanned her for any wounds, heart pounding. "Are you alright?" She demanded, brushing hair from Bailey's eyes. "Did you get hit? Are you hurt?"

Bailey shook her head, prompting Astrid to look toward Rick next, who also seemed relatively unscathed. His shaky swallow and tentative step closer signified his shared relief—before his expression suddenly twisted in shock, his eyes widening at a sight located over Astrid's shoulder.

"Carl," Rick choked.

No.

Astrid instinctively spun around, her stomach churning, her gaze locking onto the spot where she had pushed Carl aside moments before. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a terrified gasp escaped her lips.

Carl Grimes stood before them. His head hung dangerously low, and his arms dangled limp at his sides. A pool of blood had begun to form at his sneakered feet. Astrid's horror only intensified as the boy dared to lift his glistening chin, where she finally beheld the carnage of Carl's bloodied, shattered face, which had been ravaged and mangled by the impact of a close-ranged bullet.

Astrid's heart constricted in sheer anguish as Carl, miraculously, parted his blood-coated lips to speak, risking a single word that broke the night like another bullet all its own.

"Dad?"

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very big chapter... i'd love to hear what you all are thinking.  comments and votes are always very appreciated :')