[ vii. i tried ]

june 22nd, 2012

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HERSHEL GREENE WAS DEAD.

The man of hope, faith, and life was gone. The good man who had bestowed upon Astrid and the others of her group a sanctuary—a home—in those early days, sparing them from the road, was gone. The man who was a father, a husband, a son, and so much more . . . and now, he too had been claimed by the unforgiving hand of the living.

In the agonizing moments that followed his execution, chaos erupted like a malevolent storm. The sky was filled with horrified cries, and tears flowed as though an unquenchable river. In that groundbreaking moment, where every conceivable misfortune seemed to converge as one, a mere ten seconds proved enough to shatter the world all over again.

With a haunting bellowing, Rick Grimes was the first to fire into the ranks of the Governor's forces. Their foes wasted no time retaliating back, attacking with a hail of bullets that whizzed perilously close to their targets. Carl, undaunted, followed suit, leading the charge, and Astrid and Daryl joined the fray without hesitation.

"No!" The Lancaster woman wailed. "Hershel!"

Maggie and Beth's heartrending screams reverberated through the courtyard. Yet even their devastation was soon eclipsed by gunfire. Astrid scanned the outskirts of the prison's perimeter, where she discerned the Governor's disappearance. However, her wonderings were replaced by a horrifying sight—the advance of the colossal green tank that had easily obliterated the once-protective fences. The convoy of military vehicles, teeming with dozens of soldiers, trailed behind, ravaging the yard as they went.

Astrid clung resolutely to her trigger as their enemies dared breach their home, her weapon's fiery recoil sending tremors coursing through her arms—a sensation trivial in comparison to the surging adrenaline coursing through her veins. Tears still streamed down her cheeks as Hershel's cold-blooded murder set in. He had been a good man, undeserving of such a malicious fate. Mere hours ago, he had selflessly tended to those who had been sick, and now, he was gone. How could such a tragedy unfold for him?

"Hey!" Carl yelled from over the gunfire. "Where did my dad go?"

In the mayhem of it all, Astrid had momentarily forgotten about her group members who still remained below in the yard. Her frantic gaze swept the grassy area, searching desperately for any sign of Rick or Michonne. They could not both be dead—not if she had any say in the matter.

Nevertheless, her search yielded no trace of their survival. "I don't know," She finally replied.

The boy cursed under his breath, and before Astrid could protest, he was already on his feet and making his escape toward the gate that would lead down to the yard. Astrid attempted to follow suit, but before she could take a single step after him, another commanding grip yanked her back down to the ground.

It was Daryl, his piercing blue eyes aflame with terror and anger. "What the hell are you doin'?" He demanded.

"Carl ran off!" Astrid explained. "I have to go get him!" Her words were rooted in her everlasting promise to Rick—and to Lori. She could not let harm befall their son. Daryl fumbled to stop her, but Astrid cupped his face in her hands, her lips sealing his in a desperate, fleeting kiss. "I'll be right back," She promised.

Astrid then began to make her way across the battleground of a courtyard, heedless of her hunter's harsh shouts for her return. Soon, they were all but lost beneath a deafening explosion. Astrid stumbled as a massive section of the prison's exterior crumbled into the courtyard less than twenty feet away from her, transforming into a monument of ruin. Shaking, her feet carried her forward, nonetheless, driven by a singular purpose to find Carl—until another face suddenly flickered into her thoughts.

Bailey.

Astrid came to a sharp stop, and looked around, seeking any sign of the young girl. Her eyes settled on several survivors making a dash toward the rusty blue prison bus, and she swiftly followed suit in hopes of finding Bailey. The Lancaster woman halted abruptly at the top of the bus's steps, where she found Glenn sprawled in the aisle, breathing hard. She seized his shoulders. "Glenn!" She called. "Have you seen Bailey?"

"Who?" Glenn mumbled groggily.

"Bailey!" Astrid repeated sharply, her gaze darting over Glenn's shoulder to scan the bus's seats. Yet, the child's familiar face remained conspicuously absent. Frustration welled within her, and when Glenn offered no response, now teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, she shook him awake. "Where's Maggie?" She pressed.

Finally, Glenn mustered a feeble reply. "Went . . . Went after . . . Beth."

Astrid's exasperation mounted, and she finally relinquished her grip. "Stay on the bus!" She commanded of her sick friend before disappearing once more, plunging back into the courtyard. Her head swiveled, a myriad of faces now vying for her attention all at once. The thought of Daryl stood out most prominently, and she pivoted toward the guard tower that they had recently occupied, only to discover it was now vacant. "Shit!" Astrid exclaimed, veering away from the tower. Suddenly, her focus landed on someone crouched behind a nearby vehicle, a mere few feet away. "Maggie!"

Further up the crumbling courtyard, Maggie, Sasha, and Bob hunkered down, their voices nearly lost in the gunfire as they struggled to hold their ground. Maggie's eyes widened as the Lancaster woman approached. "Astrid?" She called. "What are you doing?"

"Have you seen Carl?" Astrid questioned, ducking low to avoid the ricochet of bullets. "Or Daryl?"

Maggie shook her head. "Have you seen Beth?" She countered.

This time, it was Astrid's turn to shake her head. Before she could utter another word, a lone figure rose from behind a metal cabinet across the courtyard. They were firing round after round at the Governor's surrounding men. "Daryl!" Astrid gasped. She propelled herself into motion, but Maggie's firm grasp abruptly pulled her back down.

"Stop! We have to stay together!"

Astrid wrestled herself free and rose to her feet once more. "Can't do that! I'm sorry, Maggie!" She yelled back as she left the shelter of the car and began to advance toward her hunter.

As Astrid darted fully from Maggie's side, a screeching sound pierced her ears, forcing her to cast her gaze to the right. The massive tank had finally ascended the gravel path, toppling the courtyard's last secure gates and forcing its way inside. Several men flooded in behind the tank, wielding military-grade firearms. Despite the perilous odds, Astrid opened fire upon them without hesitation. Her gun's barrel remained steady as she took aim and callously sent a bullet into the head of an unsuspecting man. The unexpected death of the stranger caused him to tumble backward, his weapon discharging inadvertently and fatally striking one of his own comrades. A cold, triumphant smile curled on Astrid's lips. She had managed to kill two birds with a single stone.

Astrid continued onward again, weaving through the hail of bullets. Her heart pounded in her chest as she noticed several walkers creeping up behind Daryl, his focus on the enemy militia blinding him to the looming undead threat. She gasped in alarm, her finger poised on the trigger of her gun, ready to take the shot, but agony suddenly erupted in her leg.

Astrid unleashed a blood-curdling scream. Her body collapsed unwillingly to its knees, and her hands grabbed wildly at her wounded calf where warm, sticky blood had begun to soak her pant leg and flow into her shoe. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared first at the gruesome bullet wound. Then, barely wasting any time, she directed her glare toward the man who had shot her and retaliated with a precise shot that instantly killed him.

A single thought pulsed through the Lancaster woman: keep going.

Returning her attention to her hunter, a fresh wave of tears blurred her vision. He had vanished from sight, as had the approaching walkers. Had they managed to overwhelm him? Panic gripped Astrid as she emitted a choked sob, all the while still struggling to rise to her feet. "Daryl!" She cried out.

There was no answer. One by one, she considered the others. Bailey remained unaccounted for. Daryl had disappeared. Rick, Michonne, and Beth were seemingly lost as well. Astrid glanced over her shoulder at the empty space where the prison bus had been, undoubtedly fleeing when waiting was no longer an option. Glenn had gone with it. Astrid's eyes then shifted toward the bullet-riddled car that Maggie, Sasha, and Bob had sheltered behind, but their trio, too, had fled. She was left utterly alone.

"Daryl! Bailey!"

Astrid lifted her trembling hand to wipe away at her cheeks, but an agonizing, searing pain suddenly surged through her abdomen. She fell to her knees once more, gasping. Another bullet had found its mark, lodging itself in her side. Astrid's vision blurred as the front of her shirt grew wet, and she now struggled to maintain her shallow breaths. Collapsing sideways, she curled into herself.

With great effort, Astrid feebly lifted her head off the hot asphalt, squinting to discern the identity of her assailant.

And there he stood, an ominous middle-aged figure, a nasty smirk etched upon his face. His cold eyes bore into her as he methodically cocked his gun and closed the gap between them. Swallowing weakly, Astrid raised her handgun, the weight of it nearly unbearable, and attempted to pull the trigger, only to discover it was empty. She let out a defeated sigh, relinquishing her weapon, and braced for the impending end. Her head dropped back to the cement beneath her, and her vision tilted. She found an eerie solace in the formation of her own blood pool. Her beginning and her end. Her fingers brushed through the warm liquid.

Finally, Astrid looked away from the ground. As she gazed upwards once more, the brilliant sun momentarily disappeared, eclipsed by her imminent executioner.

In her final moments, she only thought of her hunter.

I'm sorry, Daryl. I tried. I love you.

The man prepared to deliver the fatal shot—when a sudden burst of blood splattered down onto Astrid, the warm, crimson shower not her own. Her wide eyes watched as the man dropped to his knees, a single bullet lodged squarely between his brows, sending him sprawling lifeless beside her. His unblinking gaze stared into the void of death.

Astrid did not look at his dead body long. Someone else had begun to shake her upper body with desperate urgency, their voice pleading, "Astrid! Astrid! Stay with me!" Her head turned groggily, releasing a sound that was part groan, part sigh of relief, as she finally found the one responsible for her entire rampage through the courtyard in the first place.

It was Carl Grimes.

The boy swiftly discarded his shotgun and descended to his knees beside her. He tore off his flannel overshirt and hastily fashioned it into a makeshift tourniquet to staunch the bleeding from her waist. Then he maneuvered her limp arm around his neck and wrapped his other arm securely around her torso, avoiding her injuries. To her astonishment, he hoisted her easily to her feet, seemingly unhindered by the burden of her weight.

Though her steps were unsteady, Astrid tried to speak through the pain, "We . . . We need—"

Carl silenced her with a gentle shush, his hand firmly pressing the cloth over her wound to hold a steady pressure. "You're okay. We're going to get out of here. We just—"

"Carl!" A distant voice cried, making both the boy and woman freeze in their bloody tracks. A quick exchange of apprehensive glances passed between Carl and Astrid before he resumed his task of guiding—practically dragging—her forward.

As they rounded the green tank, now an abandoned, raging inferno, Astrid looked to a figure emerging from the smoke—a sight that defied her expectations. Rick Grimes, her leader, appeared before them in a shocking state of disarray. His sweat-soaked hair clung to his bruised forehead, where it mingled with streaks of blood. Her eyes shifted to his right leg, discovering yet another gunshot wound, this one in his own thigh. His face also bore the signs of a brutal struggle, one eye an ugly red—a canvas of ruptured blood vessels. His once-intact shirt now hung in tatters.

Rick rushed towards Carl and Astrid, enfolding them both in a fierce embrace that elicited a pained yelp from the latter due to her injuries. He clung desperately, bloody saliva dribbling from his split, blubbering lip, and in a hushed whisper, he said, "Where's Judith?"

The question was a dagger to the Lancaster woman's heart. Astrid had been so preoccupied with attempting to safeguard her immediate family in the courtyard that she had overlooked the youngest member of their group. Her thoughts raced, grappling with the horrifying notion that she might have failed to protect Judith.

Carl's response broke her away from her spiraling. "I don't know," He admitted heavily. "Come on."

The boy promptly wrapped his other arm around his father's waist, and together, the limping trio forged a path deeper into the smoky ruins, where the burning prison cast shadows overhead. Astrid's weakened sight fell upon walkers preoccupied with their feasts on the dead, oblivious to their presence. Her eyes drooped further with every step taken, her energy waning fast, until the sharp gasps of Rick and Carl jolted her from her daze. She turned to see what had caught their attention, and her own startled cry suddenly escaped her lips.

Ahead, lay an abandoned, small, pink baby car seat. Dread crept over Astrid as she recognized it—the unmistakable carrier that had often cradled baby Judith. It sat alone, encompassed in the gore surrounding it. With breaths held, Rick and Carl moved toward it, leaving Astrid with no choice but to follow. Her hand clenched into a fist, pressing against her bleeding side, desperate to staunch the flow, but as they reached the baby carrier, her bloody hands flew from her side to her mouth. Astrid's heart plummeted.

Baby Judith was gone, her little carrier filled with blood beyond description. The gruesome sight was enough to turn the Lancaster woman's stomach, though there was little left in it, given her days of meager sustenance, relying mainly on Hershel's elderberry tea in A Block.

Rick's heart-wrenching sobs tore open, and Astrid watched as he hunched over, tears streaming from his one eye not swollen shut. Carl harshly pulled himself free from beneath the two wounded adults, and Astrid, without intention, collapsed back to the ground. The fourteen-year-old boy, in the grip of grief and anger, raised his shotgun and brutally, painfully, dispatched a nearby walker. Bullet after bullet, Carl sent into its head, its body, even long after the undead creature was already killed. Astrid watched the father and son break until she could bear the anguish any longer. She buried her face in her hands, all the while struggling to release her own sobs, as each breath brought searing pain.

Nearly everyone she had ever cared for was now gone. Dead.

Moments later, hands slipped back beneath Astrid's arms, hauling her limply to her feet once more. This time, she stood sandwiched between Rick and Carl, each of her arms slung around their necks. Rick's voice emerged ragged and strained, barely audible as he cleared his throat. "We need to go."

With no other choice, they began moving forward with heads bowed in mourning. They descended into the overgrown yard, where oblivious walkers still lurked. Astrid fought to maintain pressure on her side while balancing on one leg, her other limb too injured to bear weight. Their journey beyond the fallen perimeter took them up a steep hill, every step a cruel reminder of the loved ones they had left behind.

As they pressed on, Astrid could not bear the thought of truly leaving without Daryl, the love of her life. Her heart ached—a void left by his absence already threatening to consume her.

Unable to suppress her mounting despair, Astrid began to turn her head back toward the prison. She yearned to see even a glimpse of her hunter, a spark of hope in the wreckage, but her movement was abruptly halted by Rick, who gave her a gentle shake. "Don't look back," He hoarsely ordered. "Just keep walking."

The Lancaster woman nodded weakly, though adherence to commands had never been her forte. She cleared her throat as she summoned the strength to fully turn around. There, the reality of their losses loomed before her. Fire and blood. She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to contain what might have been left of her tears, but the floodgate remained open, unyielding. Another loud, painful sob broke free from her lips.

Regret washed over Astrid as she finally turned her back on the ravaged prison once more, now a graveyard of memories and dreams reduced to rubble. She wished, in that desperate moment, that she had followed Rick's single order expected of her. His words now echoed relentlessly in her head as they ventured deeper into the forest, leaving their former home behind forever.

Don't look back.

~~~~~~~~~~