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july 2nd, 2012

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BETH GREENE WAS ALIVE.

Maggie Rhee sat in eager silence in the back of a repurposed firetruck as Abraham Ford sped down the Atlantan city street. Out the tinted window, the rooftop of Grady Memorial Hospital grew taller in the closing distance, and she subconsciously clung tighter to her husband's hand.

In the front cabin of the bright red engine, beside Abraham and Eugene, Rosita maintained a tense watch, searching the skies for threats, while the rest of Maggie's own group huddled in the rear with her. Glenn, Michonne, Tara, Carl, Bailey, little Judith, and Gabriel.  They had all abandoned Saint Sarah's Church.

Suddenly, the firetruck screeched to a halt.  They had reached their destination.  Abraham turned in his seat and grabbed his firearm. "We move quick," He relayed. "Your friends may be in there, but we can't know if they're in trouble until we're on top of them. Let's go."

With those words, all ten survivors descended from the vehicle, the children strategically held back under Tara's care. Maggie, her own rifle poised and steady, walked alongside Glenn as they approached the hospital's main entrance. The exterior was strewn with discarded supplies and the bodies of decomposed walkers.  Only two straggling walkers remained upright, one handled easily by Glenn, the other by Michonne.

Maggie pressed onward. The memory of Beth fueled her steps. As they neared ever closer, the elder sister's heart leaped with joy. The front doors of the hospital had swung open, revealing a sight that set her soul alight with anticipation.

The first to emerge from the hospital's dark depths was none other than Rick Grimes himself. Little droplets of blood stained his shirt, revealing signs of a past conflict, but the battle-hardened leader seemed to keep his composure, looking otherwise unharmed. He stood there, just beyond the entrance now, his hands resting at his waist, his head bowed. His lips appeared to be moving, but Maggie could not hear him from this distance.

Later, she would realize it was better that she had not.

Sasha Williams followed Rick out into the light of day.  Her head was held high, though her eyes betrayed a profound sadness. Her grip on her weapon was white-knuckled, and as her gaze briefly met Maggie's, she quickly looked away. A cloud of confusion shrouded her as she watched Sasha's odd behavior. Something was wrong.

But then, a ray of light broke through the darkness. Beth stepped from the hospital next.

She was sobbing.

The ear-piercing shrieks ripped coldly through the air.  Maggie's initial delight gave way to a cold dread as she watched Beth clamp her trembling hands over her mouth, her very movements a struggle. Then, the young girl's bruised arms dropped entirely, and she let out a full-blown wail.

Maggie's heart plummeted.

Yes, something was very wrong.

Approaching her sister, Maggie reached out, and Beth collapsed into her chest, releasing a tempest of tears that threatened to consume them both now.  After a torturous moment, Maggie gently pushed Beth away again, and her hands cupped her sister's tear-stained face. "What's wrong?" Maggie demanded. "Are you hurt?"

Beth, her eyes clenched shut, let out another heart-wrenching sob. "She's dead!" She screamed. "They shot her! She's dead!"

Maggie's heart began to pound wildly in her chest. "Who?" She questioned sharply.  Fearfully, now.  When there was no immediate answer, she softly shook the teenager in search of one. "Beth, who?"

"Oh, God," Maggie's husband suddenly murmured from somewhere to her right.  She startled.  She had never heard Glenn's voice like that before.  His throat sounded choked with torment. "No . . . No . . . No! Astrid!"

And that was all it took.

Beth took a shaky step back, finally granting her older sister an unobstructed view of the hospital entrance again. What she witnessed there shattered her very soul. Tyreese and Carol, hands entwined, walked out of the hospital together.  The Peletier woman's face was tear-streaked, while the Williams man's complexion had turned an ashen shade. As they cleared the doorway, Maggie's blood ran cold, and her very heart felt as though it had shriveled in her chest. The tears of joy that had only filled her eyes mere moments ago were replaced by tears of unadulterated horror. Her rifle, once so firmly and closely held, clattered to the ground at her feet.

Glenn had already crumpled to the cement, his face now buried in his hands. Maggie soon followed beside him, her world shattering as the last, long-awaited figure from the hospital revealed itself. Daryl Dixon walked through the threshold, but it was not the man himself who drove Maggie to screams. Instead, it was the unmoving girl cradled in his arms.

Astrid Lancaster rested in Daryl's strong embrace, and her green eyes were closed, but Maggie knew that she was not sleeping. Her head was nestled innocently into Daryl's shoulder, and it was then that Maggie's horrified stare settled upon the rivulet of dark blood trickling down the side of Astrid's face, dripping across her neck, and seeping into her once-white shirt. In the unforgiving sun, her golden, chestnut hair swayed as Daryl walked, its beautiful strands twisted and tangled by thick streaks of crimson. Astrid's arms and legs dangled limply beneath her body as Daryl held her tightly to his chest.  She was so small in his arms.  A fragile doll cradled by a hulking man.

Maggie's palms met the ground with an agonizing thud. "No!" She shrieked.

Her cry was soon echoed by another, a small voice yelping, "Astrid! No!"

Young Bailey Stratton bolted forward, but her desperate attempt to reach the woman who had become her role model was met with resistance. Carl Grimes, tears staining his own face—a child himself—held the other back, her cries and struggles loud and bold as their shared pain unfolded.

Meanwhile, another figure descended on Maggie's other side, and she turned to see Michonne, a warrior's facade crumbling as she dropped to her knees. Her hands, the very same that had once wielded a fearsome katana, now trembled as they covered her gaping mouth.

Astrid had been Michonne's very best friend. The two women had been there for each other long before the prison's inevitable fall. They were meant to stand by each other until the end.

But the end had arrived far sooner than either could have ever anticipated.

The heart-wrenching cascade continued as Rick Grimes, once a sure pillar of strength and leadership, descended into a ball of anguish next. Maggie had not witnessed him in such torment since the loss of Lori. But she could not find herself to be surprised at this sudden display of grief from him. Maggie had observed the deep connection between Rick and Astrid, leaving no doubt about the love he held for her. Instead, Rick's profound agony only revealed a devastating truth to her—he had lost Astrid, just as he had lost Lori. It was a cycle of loss, destined to haunt him time and time again.  He could not save them.

Lastly, and most tragically, Daryl Dixon's cries finally reached Maggie's ears. As he drew nearer, it became evident that he was struggling to even stay standing. He dragged his feet, his arms straining to hold the girl securely, to prevent her from slipping away entirely. His face contorted with unspeakable pain as the crushing weight of shock bore down on him. Then, the hunter halted, his body finally surrendering. Without a word, he collapsed to the ground with Astrid still held in his arms.

Daryl hoisted the love of his life higher into his chest and buried his face in the curve of her neck. He rocked back and forth as desperate pleas tumbled from his lips. "A-Astrid," He choked out, tears marking dark trails through the dirt and blood on his cheeks. "Come back to me, babe, come on. You're okay. You said you'd hold on."

His begs continued, but there was no give.  Astrid's eyes were still closed, and her skin was still cold.  Her mouth hung slightly ajar, as though she had yearned to speak one last time, yet no longer possessed the breath to do so. Her limbs hung brokenly.  Brushing his hands over her blood-stained face, Daryl cradled Astrid more tightly, an abrupt movement causing the woman's lifeless left hand to swing back and slowly fall to the hard pavement.

Unable to watch any longer, Maggie lowered her head to the ground, the jagged rocks below digging into her skin.  A short while later, Glenn pulled her upwards, his arm encircling her waist as she buried her tear-stained face in his chest, her whimpers breaking free all over again.

Maggie could not even begin to imagine the horrors that had unfolded inside that hospital, and she had no desire to ever think about it. It was clear enough. The blood that stained them all now was not from walkers but from their friend. They all wore Astrid's blood. They wore her life on their skin. They now had to carry her smile, her laugh, and her defiant heart.

Everyone was supposed to walk out of that hospital alive. Everyone.  Another guttural sob escaped Maggie Rhee's lips. With great reluctance, her newly defined group would have to face their freshly devasting reality, no matter how much they would all long to run from it.

Astrid Lancaster was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

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