[ xl. into the tombs ]

june 23rd, 2011

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"HERE, PUT THIS ON," Daryl instructed as he extended a riot guard vest toward Astrid.

A full day had elapsed since their clearing of the walkers from the cell block and its attached courtyard. Now, they had no choice but to push further into the prison—to descend into the eerie depths of its tombs. A cohort comprising Rick, Daryl, T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, and Astrid herself had volunteered to continue the task. Yet, the Lancaster woman was baffled by Hershel's decision to join the expedition, considering his typical penchant for staying away from danger. Perhaps a yearning for adventure, akin to her own, had rekindled within him over the passing weeks.

Astrid set down her gun and regarded the dusty vest in her hands. Confusion furrowed her brow as she raised the protective garment, her voice laden with a hesitant curiosity. "Why?" She asked.

"Just to be safe," He explained, short and to the point.

Exhaling a sigh that carried both resignation and understanding, Astrid acquiesced, pulling the vest over her head. Daryl's deft hands adjusted it, his fingers securing the vest to her petite frame with an attentiveness to her body that only he knew. When he stepped back, Astrid felt an odd fusion of absurdity and invincibility, the vest's stiff material chafing against her arms and chest. A simmering glare met Daryl's smirking expression before he retreated to his arsenal. Astrid felt like an idiot—but at least she was not alone. Her discomfort was shared with Maggie and T-Dog who wore similar attire.

"Alright, let's go," Rick decided. Astrid stashed her gun back in her waistband and fell into step behind the group, her gaze connecting with Beth's small and encouraging smile. Then a tender flick to Carl's hat conveyed Astrid's silent affection, an acknowledgment and an apology of his thwarted plan to join them. And thus, with a purposeful stride, they embarked from the cell block, venturing into the obsidian depths of the prison's tombs.

Footfalls reverberated against the walls as silence quickly enveloped them. The darkness pressed close, and the feeble beams of their flashlights illuminated dust motes that danced in ethereal abandon. Astrid's gaze lingered on an empty cell they passed, a faraway contemplation of the vacant lives that had once dwelled within. She then turned back to the others.

"How will we not get lost?" Astrid wondered. Her words were but a whisper that traversed the corridors, their resonance swallowed by the emptiness.

"Like this," Glenn answered. He turned to the wall behind them, procuring a spray can from his pocket. Each movement of his hand carved a white arrow into the slate-gray surface. With a decisive final stroke, he stowed the spray can again. "In case anyone gets separated by chance, just use the arrows to find your way back to the cell block."

Astrid nodded in understanding and continued walking again, her strides positioning her now between Rick and Daryl. Gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, she navigated the shadows with wary caution. The rhythmic cadence of their steps twisted with heightened heartbeats, each breath exhaled carefully in the face of impending danger. Another corridor, another turn, they waited—waited for the world to end all over again.

Their progression led them down yet another hallway, a pathway tainted by the acrid stench of death that assaulted Astrid's senses. Her gaze swept over the grisly remains of half-devoured bodies that littered the ground. Droplets of water cascaded from the ceiling, strengthening the smell of rot. A sizable puddle had formed, and Astrid sidestepped it, yet her feet faltered as she next crossed the threshold of another lifeless body. Nausea pulled at her core as she forced herself to keep moving. Somewhere behind her, Glenn returned to his task of spray painting as another arrow emerged on the wall.

Suddenly, the air shattered with a shrill yelp that clawed its way into their consciousness. Astrid's heart lurched within her chest as her body whirled in the direction of the disturbance. The rest of the group also pivoted in alarm and the source of the upheaval was revealed: a spectacle of awkward and accidental collision between Maggie and Glenn. The woman's cheeks burned a vivid shade of red, embarrassed as she stepped back.

The brief interlude of surprise ebbed away as Astrid and the others reclaimed their bearings. Without a word, they forged ahead again.

The passage of time slowly unveiled its peculiar rhythm, each step a beat in the orchestra of their progress through the prison's tombs. Yet, as the corridors stretched on, Astrid's senses tingled with an unsettling disquiet. The balance of the atmosphere seemed . . . off. Though unvoiced, Astrid was certain that the other shared her suspicions.

It was as if things were going too well.

As they approached a corner, Rick's movements became cautious. His frame melded with the wall, eyes darting around in a silent appraisal. The next hallway revealed itself with unexpected emptiness, a vista devoid of the expected threats. There were no longer even dead bodies this deep into the dark. And though it was a relief, it was also strange. Where were the walkers? They surely could not be alone down here. Astrid's arm hairs had begun to stand on end, a silent warning that prickled her skin. Her heart started to pound louder in her chest.

Daryl held his crossbow high. Astrid followed right at his back, her every exhalation a ghostly whisper against the nape of his neck. A backward glance from Daryl revealed a single bead of sweat tracing a swift path down his forehead, and he nodded reassuringly at Astrid before they continued down the hall, together.

Abruptly, a sharp banging sound ruptured the stillness. Astrid's senses snapped to attention as she froze, and her ears strained to capture any subsequent disturbances. But she was only to be met with a sinister hush that hung in the air, suffocating and foreboding. The group moved with calculated caution toward the corridor's end, quite ready now to be rid of this place.

As they rounded another corner, however, the sudden nightmare that greeted them sent shockwaves through them all. A swarm of walkers flooded from the shadows, blocking the escape ahead.

"Go back!" Rick hissed through clenched teeth. His attempt to stay quiet was rendered futile by the piercing gleam of their flashlights, a beacon that betrayed their presence to the ravenous horde. The walkers responded with primal growls, their gnarled hands yearning for the taste of human flesh. In the midst of the chaos, Daryl's movements were swift and decisive. He wrapped his arms around Astrid's waist and tugged her back and away from the pack.

Astrid's blood boomed in her ears as they all fled down the opposite corridor, desperation lending speed to their steps. The arrows that had promised guidance in moments like this were now suddenly useless, rendered impotent by the consuming darkness, and the beam of their flashlights as they swung wildly in a panicked search.

Astrid propelled herself off a wall with frenzied movements, her focus fixed solely on staying alive. The adrenaline coursing through her veins drowned out her spiraling surroundings, a surge of primal instinct driving her onward. A jarring collision with a lifeless body on the ground nearly threw her off balance, but Daryl's presence was immediate, his arm enveloping her once again to prevent her fall.

"This way!" Daryl's voice sliced through the tense air as he called to the back of the group. Astrid trailed closely behind him. Rick's guiding hand pressed against her back, a force that urged her forward, all the while ensuring they stayed together. They sprinted down another shadowy hallway when their steps were momentarily disrupted by an ear-piercing scream that tore through their ears. The source was unmistakable—Maggie.

Astrid's body swiveled in alarm, her gaze darting to the unfolding nightmare that materialized behind her. A second swarm of walkers surged forth, a malevolent tide that severed their group in two, leaving Glenn and Maggie isolated on one side, facing a relentless horde.

Astrid's breath caught in her throat, a suffocating gasp of horror as her vocal cords betrayed her. "Maggie!" She shrieked. Her cry ricocheted off the walls. Regretful realization settled over her in a bitter wave as her exclamation unwittingly drew the walkers' attention once more, their predatory gaze converging upon the group's location.

Daryl and T-Dog reacted swiftly, their firm grasps pulling Astrid back from the threat. The urgency of their actions swung her around another corner, an abrupt thrust into the sheltering sanctuary of a narrow side room. The escape came at the cost of losing sight of Glenn and Maggie, their fate now obscured by the unforgiving labyrinth of the prison's tombs.

The confines of the small room embraced Astrid. She could barely see. Squatting beside the others, her senses strained to take in Daryl, Rick, T-Dog, and Hershel. They were all breathing. They were all alive. But could the same be said for two of their own trapped elsewhere?

Rick's troubled gaze swept the shadows. "Where's Glenn and Maggie?" He demanded.

"We got separated," Astrid managed to say, trying to catch her breath. "Some walkers split us up. We went in one direction while they went in another."

"We have to go back," Hershel declared, his body trembling beneath the cost of a father's love, an instinctual need to protect his daughter and his kin.

Rick's affirmative nod cemented their fate as they all rose back to their feet. Astrid's grip tightened around her weapon as she stepped back into the now-deserted hallway once more. She was thrust into a newfound leadership role, her memory guiding their path as she retraced the route that Glenn and Maggie had taken. Daryl remained steadfast at her side, his crossbow poised to protect her at all costs. Meanwhile, Hershel's soft calls sounded from the rear, a haunting refrain of names that echoed through the desolate corridors, seeking a response that remained elusive. No matter, Astrid knew that such silence ultimately meant nothing if there were no body to explain it. Glenn and Maggie were still alive. She knew it.

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted once more. A haunting yelp of pain turned blood-curdling ripped through the quiet. Astrid's heart lurched as her body spun, eyes widening in shock at the scene that unfolded. Hershel Greene now lay on the ground—and a walker's gnarled form had latched onto his leg, taking a deep bite out of his calf.

"No!" Astrid screamed. Swift as a striking viper, she lunged forward and drove her knife into the head of the walker. As it slumped dead at her feet, her attention snapped back to Hershel, whose pain-wracked form demanded immediate aid.

Suddenly, voices arose as Maggie and Glenn appeared, racing around a corner in response to the yelling. Tears streamed down Maggie's face as the heartrending, gut-wrenching reality of her father's bitten status hit her. He was infected.

And their situation only continued to escalate as the commotion drew a horde of walkers from further down the hallway, their grotesque forms converging with predatory intent. Rick and Glenn immediately rallied, and pulled Hershel to his feet, their combined strength supporting him as his injury rendered his leg useless. "Daryl, get us out of here!" Rick ordered.

Daryl's crossbow spoke with deadly precision, downing a walker that ventured too close for comfort. In a frantic procession, her hunter then turned and took off in the other direction, leaving Astrid and the others to follow blindly in the dark. Soon, a pair of double doors loomed ahead. It was a tantalizing promise of refuge—that remained frustratingly locked.

T-Dog emerged as a savior, his brute strength shattering the barrier of the lock. He ushered them into the sanctuary beyond. The doors then slammed shut behind them, sealing them within the confines of the unrecognizable room, a temporary break from the relentless assault outside.

Daryl and T-Dog, embodiments of unwavering defense, stationed themselves at the doors, their muscular frames a bulwark against the impending horde. Meanwhile, Rick, Glenn, Maggie, and Astrid convened, their focus centered on Hershel. The fabric of his left pant leg fell away, unveiling the gruesome wound that marred Hershel's leg—a gaping bite wound that oozed blood and revealed the grisly remnants of human tissue quickly growing rotten. Astrid gagged at the sight.

Rick swiftly undid his belt, turning it into a makeshift tourniquet that cinched tightly around Hershel's upper leg. He then held his hand out to Astrid. "Give me your machete, now!" He ordered.

Astrid relinquished her machete from her hip without hesitation. At her side, Maggie's eyes widened, and her voice filled with anguish. "What are you doing?" She demanded through her tears.

"Amputating his leg," Astrid explained. The words broke up oddly in her mouth. She felt numb.

Maggie's sobs grew louder, horrified. Yet, in the crucible of their circumstances, her pain was but an afterthought against the brutal necessity that now drove them forward. Their leader's voice pierced through the turmoil. "Astrid, I need you to hold his leg down and keep it steady," Rick commanded, a directive that carried the weight of a life truly hanging in the balance. "There's only one way to keep him alive."

Astrid nodded shakily, and her fingers clenched around Hershel's leg as it writhed in involuntary response. Determination battled against the horror that clawed at her senses as she pressed down on his pale, blood-soaked limb. Rick seemed to hold his breath as he raised the machete up. Then, in a single motion, the blade was slammed back down.

Blood erupted in a gruesome spectacle, splattering both Rick and Astrid. With every impact of the blade, Hershel's leg convulsed. Each strike brought them closer to their desperate goal. The wet thud of the blade against flesh resounded, and as the machete fell again and again, a heavy silence enveloped them, punctuated only by Hershel's gasps and the relentless persistence of their actions. And then, as consciousness faded after the fifth chop, Hershel's resistance waned, a merciful release from the unbearable agony.

It took nine hits before Rick could finally withdraw from the gruesome scene—the severed limb and the chilling stillness of Hershel's unconscious form. The machete clattered to the ground. Astrid's entire frame trembled. Her breaths came out ragged.

"O-Oh my god," She gasped.

Astrid's disoriented gaze found Daryl's figure as he abruptly approached, leaving T-Dog to defend the door. The world spun around her in a haze of shock and horror. Blood-soaked, Astrid wiped a strand of hair from her eyes, only to be halted by the sight of her hands—drenched in the crimson. Even her nailbeds were red, and blood had dripped down her wrists, disappearing underneath her long-sleeved shirt.

Suddenly, from somewhere above her, Daryl growled. "Duck!" He ordered.

Astrid's head was pushed downward by her hunter's forceful hand, her confusion giving way to a rapid pulse of adrenaline as she crouched low. Daryl's movements were deliberate and calculated, his body rising cautiously to its full height, crossbow held aloft. Astrid, from her vantage point, gazed up at him in bewilderment. She grappled to comprehend his intent, her mind racing to keep pace with all that was unfolding around her.

As she wrestled with her confusion, a surge of awareness swept through her, revealing their location in stark detail. The surroundings crystallized into focus—the sprawling expanse of a cafeteria.

A flicker of movement from her left drew Astrid's attention, a phantom-like dance of shapes that stirred both curiosity and apprehension within her chest. She trained her gaze across the room, transfixed by the barred enclosure that held five indistinct forms. Human figures, etched in shadow. The realization hit like a bolt of electricity. They were not alone.

Daryl's flashlight cut through the obscurity, a beam of light that cleaved the darkness and revealed the truth of their newfound companions. The revelation struck with a jarring intensity, a collision of worlds that sent ripples of uncertainty through the room. Prison inmates materialized in the harsh light.

One of the inmates held Astrid's rattled gaze, eyes wide with disbelief as they locked onto the bloody image before him. His throat worked in slow motion, relaying an audible gulp. As his lips parted, the collective breath held in the room seemed to hinge on his next words, like a fragile thread tethering disparate fates.

"Holy shit."

~~~~~~~~~~