[ l. the illusion of peace ]

july 3rd, 2011

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DESPITE ALL THAT HAD happened in the past seventy-two hours, Astrid Lancaster dared to say that the new day was peaceful.

The air, warm and inviting, cradled her, while the cerulean sky stretched overhead, and the birds serenaded high in the treetops. In the fragile lull of the afternoon, Astrid truly believed she could simply bask in the sunlight all day, without a care in the world.

Today would be easy.

Seated atop the overturned bus that lay near the edge of the prison yard, Astrid quietly observed her surroundings. Meanwhile, Inside the bus, Michonne rummaged—for what, the Lancaster woman could only guess. After a while, her eyes eventually shifted to Hershel, who was standing in a distant corner on the opposite side of the yard, calling to Rick, who stood beyond the fences. Rick's presence outside those protective barriers unsettled Astrid, for he was only chasing the ghost of his beloved wife out there. Such a choice left him entirely vulnerable amidst the unknown threats that lurked beyond their sight.

Suddenly, a thud echoed from within the bus, startling Astrid. "What're you doing in there?" She called out.

Michonne's faint reply reached her ears. "Just looking stuff over," She answered. "Have any of you bothered to check this out? You should know—there's nothing left in this world that isn't hidden anymore."

Astrid's lips pursed in anticipation, curiosity coloring her tone. "Well, have you found anything?" She asked.

There was a brief pause.

"No," Michonne responded.

A playful smile touched Astrid's lips. She liked Michonne. Even when no one else did. She liked her humor and her spirit. She also seemed like someone who still had her head screwed on right. Meanwhile, Astrid acknowledged the disarray of her own thoughts. Her mind was its own dangerous labyrinth, its corridors winding unpredictably and endlessly. After her brother's death, the world had ceased making sense, and her hunter's recent departure had been a bitter twist, only making her matters that much worse.

Astrid had intentionally pushed Daryl Dixon to the periphery of her thoughts now. Evidently, her significance to him had fallen short of her expectations. Yet, she held onto the belief that his own survival was paramount. A man like him deserved to breathe, to live. She could not allow her resentments to fester to the point where she might consider his demise. That line she would never cross, even in the bleakest of times.

Besides—who knew? Perhaps in some yet uncharted universe, their paths would converge again. But for now, to survive remained Astrid Lancaster's sole mantra. As it always had.

Reality soon snapped back as the Lancaster woman brushed her hands on her pants and gingerly moved to the bus's edge. "Well, I'm going to head back inside," She announced. "Judith needs to be fed."

Michonne reemerged from the depths of the bus below her. "I'll go with you," She said. "I couldn't find anything in there anyway. Just a piece of junk bus that's taking up space."

Astrid smirked at Michonne's bluntness as she propelled herself off the bus, landing with a practiced grace. Michonne sheathed her katana, and they proceeded towards the courtyard when an abrupt gunshot tore through the stillness, shattering the illusion of peace. Instinctively, Astrid halted, her eyes darting about, seeking the source of the ominous sound.

Then, her body clenched in terror as her gaze settled on a black pickup truck parked just outside the protective fences. Three armed men looked upon their camp. A cold chill ran down Astrid's spine, and her breath hitched in her throat. Though she had never met him before, she knew in her bones that one of those men was the Governor.

"Get back!" Michonne cried as she grabbed Astrid's arm and dragged her behind the bus. Bullets whizzed through the air, striking where she had stood mere moments ago.

Astrid's ears soon rang with horrified screams that sounded from the courtyard behind them. Her eyes widened as she comprehended the deadly predicament unfolding: an assailant perched high in a guard tower, raining deadly fire upon her people. Astrid gasped, and she struggled to make herself heard amidst the gunfire. "We have to get up there!" She yelled. "They're trapped!"

She took a step towards the gravel drive, only to have Michonne's iron grip wrench her back. "We can't!" The latter woman protested vehemently. "You'll get killed before you can take a step!"

Tears welled in Astrid's eyes, a turbulent mixture of anger and helplessness. Her voice quivered as she countered, "We can't just abandon them! We have to do something!"

"I am doing something!" Michonne snapped. She spun around the side of the bus, her own rifle she had carried into the yard earlier now barking defiantly as she sent a volley of shots toward the Governor and his malevolent men. Astrid rapidly mirrored her actions, rushing to the opposite end of the bus, unleashing her own storm of gunfire, all the while tormented by the gnawing uncertainty surrounding Rick and Hershel. She could no longer see them by the fence.

Where could they possibly be? It was not like either man to abandon the other. And there was no way that they could be dead. Astrid refused to accept that. They had been too far away to be targeted. They surely had to have been hiding in the tall grass, biding their time, waiting to seize the moment to fight back.

Realizing her futile efforts against the Governor, who stood too far away, Astrid swiveled, targeting the assailant in the guard tower above the courtyard. He was closer, and her chances of hitting him were higher, though her meager pistol offered little comfort. She could have taken Michonne's rifle, but her restraint prevailed. Michonne, after all, had precious few means of defense apart from her sword.

Suddenly, the gunfire from their attackers ceased, plunging the world into an eerie silence. Astrid exchanged an anxious glance with Michonne, their hearts echoing the same apprehension. A perplexing quiet enveloped the scene, punctuated only by the Governor's looming presence, his weapon strangely dormant by his side.

Then, a sinister rumble, distant yet growing in intensity, reached Astrid's ears. It soon morphed into the roar of an engine. Astrid's throat constricted with fear as she turned towards the prison's main entry gates, where a hulking bread truck hurtled down the drive towards them. In her shock, she grasped Michonne's shoulder and thrust her away with a frantic urgency. "Move!" She screamed.

Astrid dropped to her hands and knees in the withered grass, her breath escaping in ragged gasps. Her wide, terror-stricken eyes remained locked on the oncoming truck, a behemoth of impending doom. It shattered the prison's once-imposing gates, a juggernaut of destruction hurtling past her with a menacing rush of air that made her stagger back in alarm.

As the colossal truck came to a sudden halt in the center of the overgrown yard, an eerie stillness enveloped the scene. Every gaze remained transfixed upon the spectacle it had brought. Astrid's heart continued its thunderous cadence, its heavy beats echoing through her chest as the truck's engine ceased. Then, a rusted ramp descended from the truck's rear, and within moments, a ravenous tide of walkers began spilling forth from the large vehicle. Astrid could only watch in horrified fascination as the undead horde swarmed the yard.

Her attention abruptly veered to the driver of the truck, ensconced entirely in riot armor, desperate to escape the chaos he had wrought. But Astrid harbored no intentions of allowing him to live. Ignoring Michonne's cries, she sprinted towards the armored fugitive, an avenging angel in the throes of fury.

Bullets throttled past her, a last-ditch attempt to halt her charge. Once she was close enough, Astrid lifted her own weapon and sent a round hurtling into the man's padded chest. Momentarily stunned, he faltered, and she seized the opportunity, wrenching his firearm from his grasp and sending him sprawling to the earth.

Astrid's already battered body protested the exertion as she wrestled to keep him pinned down. She swiftly unsheathed her knife, poised to kill, but the man summoned a final burst of strength, shoving her aside. Astrid tumbled several feet, and before she could regain her footing, the man descended upon her, his fingers closing in on her throat.

Desperation surged through her, and Astrid's head swung wildly in a bid to evade his deadly grasp. With one hand pressing against his chest, she struggled to keep the vice-like grip from her neck. Her other hand fumbled through the grass, searching for her knife discarded during her fall, all while the whirlwind of gunshots, the agonized moans of walkers, and her own ragged breaths filled her ears.

Black spots encroached upon her vision like encircling shadows. It threatened to engulf her, leaving her at the mercy of her assailant.

But then, a triumphant discovery—the cold, unforgiving steel of her knife. Without a moment's hesitation, Astrid wrenched it free from the ground and thrust the blade upwards. Red, hot, sticky blood sprayed across the Lancaster woman's face. The man's agonized screech pierced the chaos, and he fell away from her, his hands clutching at his shredded throat, crimson rivers flowing through his fingers.

Astrid's gaze remained locked on the blood-soaked blade she held. Her hands trembled, bearing witness to the primal violence she had been forced to unleash. But she knew that there was no room for remorse anymore. She slid her bloodied weapon back into her pocket and seized her handgun, delivering a final, lethal shot to the man's head. He was dead instantly.

Astrid clambered back to her feet, and as her surroundings began to regain clarity, her eyes fell upon the fleeing pickup truck. A sigh of relief escaped her lips—but soon another truck approached, and she prayed it was not another one of the Governor's waves of attack.

To her immense relief, it was only Glenn. With deft maneuvers, he tore through the yard, rescuing Michonne and Hershel before speeding toward the courtyard. The eerie growls of approaching walkers filled Astrid's ears, and she fired another shot, watching one crumple to the ground.

Astrid sprinted into the courtyard, where the chaotic aftermath unfolded before her. The toll of the assault was evident—Axel's lifeless form lay on the ground. Carol, though battered, bore the signs of another's blood. Yet, there were glimmers of hope. It appeared their group had suffered only one casualty. Further off, Carl and Beth stood side by side, offering silent support to one another.

As Hershel, Glenn, and Michonne disembarked from the truck, Astrid's eyes locked onto Maggie. A wide, tearful smile greeted her. "Astrid!" The woman cried in relief, rushing toward her and enveloping her in a tight embrace. "Are you alright?"

Astrid nodded feebly. "I'm—" She began to respond but was swiftly interrupted by the arrival of Rick Grimes, who raced into the courtyard, his concern etched across his face.

"Astrid," Rick gasped, throwing his arms around her. He nearly knocked her off balance with his raw power. "I saw you go down. I didn't know—"

"I'm fine," Astrid reassured him, her voice regaining some of its steadiness, though she still felt breathless from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She clung to him as tightly as he clung to her. "Are you okay?"

Rick nodded, his eyes flickering wildly between hers. He started to speak, but his words were abruptly halted by another intrusion—a rough, husky drawl that sliced through the survivors with a sense of disoriented confusion. "What the hell happened 'ere?"

Astrid's expression fell sharply. Nervous tension now hung heavy amidst the gun smoke, and she watched Rick's fleeting smile and nod, his unspoken message to her clear. Her heart lurched as she turned her gaze toward the source of the familiar voice. Tears filled Astrid's green eyes, and the gun she had been holding slipped from her trembling fingers, clattering loudly to the ground at her feet.

"Daryl?"

~~~~~~~~~~