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After a close call involving Hershel’s leg and a hungry walker, Maggie insisted on returning to the cell block and staying behind for the rest of the sweep; and she persuaded Glenn to do the same. As the rest of their group cleaned out and settled into cell block C; Daryl, Rick, and T-Dog took the time to search the rest of the prison for supplies. They had two main goals now: food and medical equipment. With Lori’s baby on the way, they needed a good stash of pain relievers, antibiotics, and anything else that might aid in the delivery, not to mention blankets for the infant itself—if either of them survived. The entire group understood the risks of the unsanitary delivery. No matter what would happen during it, Hershel wanted Lori and the baby to be safe, so he wrote up a list for Rick for when they found the infirmary.
The prison seemed abandoned, but Daryl had a peculiar feeling in his gut that told him not to be so sure of it. There were some walkers roaming the buildings, but if their group could survive out there, maybe another group was surviving in here, hidden away in a different cell block. He led Rick and T-Dog through the winding hallways expertly; like he already knew the layout of the prison as if it were tattooed on the back of his hand. It was all too familiar for him, though. He felt like he had already navigated those same corridors that swallowed up the entire glow from their flashlights and the gurgling sounds from nearby walkers.
“Cafeteria’s this way,” Daryl whispered, pointing down a hall that ended in a pair of doors. He turned away from it and shined his light down the opposite way, which was clear of walkers.
T-Dog scoffed, a smirk appearing on his lips as a joke came to him. “Been here before, Dixon?”
“No, but I ain’t illiterate,” he defended himself, lifting his flashlight toward the sign above the double doors into the CAFETERIA.
The trio moved forward with Daryl at the lead, their weapons raised as Rick peered into the cafeteria through a dusty, safety-glass window. “No walkers,” he observed before banging on the door three times to draw any hidden geeks forward. When nothing stirred from within, Rick nodded at Daryl, who pulled open the door and slipped inside.
Beyond the entrance and around the corner stood a group of five men dressed in prison garb. In their hands, they held weapons, ready to fight their intruders. Instinctively, Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog drew theirs as well; a standoff until Rick and the man with the long, greasy hair stepped forward as the leaders of their groups. Rick slipped his gun into his holster and waited for the other men to do the same. Before he could start an explanation for their presence, though, Tomas took another defensive step forward.
“You don’t look like a rescue team,” the man said as he scrutinized Rick, and then Daryl and T-Dog; who in turn, looked at one another questionably.
Were they seriously waiting for a rescue team? Daryl thought, impatiently weaving himself in front of Rick and lifting his crossbow. “Today’s your lucky day, fellas,” the redneck stated enthusiastically, his bow still at eye level. “You’ve been pardoned by the state of Georgia. You’re free to go.”
The prisoners reacted by shuffling back, loudly protesting, and raising their hands in surrender, and Rick grasped Daryl’s shoulder, roughly yanking him backward. “This is our prison!” Tomas argued while the others in his group agreed, their voices echoing in the empty cafeteria.
Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog took an innate step backward. At the other end of the cafeteria, another pair of double doors shook violently as walkers piled against it, their mindless babbles carrying into the dining hall and quieting the prisoners’ words.
“We cleared out C Block,” Rick began explaining as he turned toward the door they’d come through, checking to see if the chaos had brought walkers that way, too. “Walkers, the dead. It’s ours now.”
Tomas moved forward, holding a pointed finger out at Rick, aggression obvious on his face and in his voice. “Cell four, that’s mine,” he shouted, stopping right in front of the former cop. “In C Block.”
Daryl didn’t trust these guys. His stomach squeezed and twisted tightly, warning him against the leader of the opposing group. Something told him the prisoners weren’t up to anything good. They lived a life of trade, and betrayal. At least those were the only stories Merle had told him. Life as a prisoner was about one thing only: oneself. And when it came down to two groups pinned against one another, oneself became ourselves. He kept his crossbow at the ready while Rick decided to reason with them. “There’s plenty of space. We can--”
“No, Rick,” Daryl started, cutting his friend off sharply, “we survived months out there. The prison’s ours now. Send them packin’. Just five more mouths to feed at the end of the day.”
Now Tomas looked to Daryl and thrust his chin up, “Yeah? And where do you expect us to go?”
The archer shrugged his shoulders and opened his mouth to give the prisoners another sarcastic comment, but Rick quickly intercepted him. “How long have you guys been here?” he asked, his hand raised toward Daryl to keep his mouth shut. “Here in this cafeteria?”
“Ten months,” Tomas answered, turning his attention to Rick. “There were others—they kept dying, and coming back to life…cannibals. A guard locked us in here two hundred and ninety-two days ago, said he’d be right back.”
The blond prisoner spoke up quickly to correct Tomas, “Two hundred, ninety-four according to my--”
“Don’t matter, Axel.”
Daryl was catching on now. This group of prisoners hadn’t ever left the cafeteria. That explained the lack of fallen walkers throughout the halls, and why they were almost afraid to go beyond its doors. And why they expected a rescue team to show up. These men had no clue what was going on outside of the prison yard—hell, outside of the cafeteria. He wondered if ignorance was truly bliss in this situation, so long as they had food and entertainment.
“Well, what about the army?” the prisoner named Axel asked, snapping Daryl’s gaze toward him.
T-Dog eyed Rick and Daryl, and Rick lowered his hunched shoulders. Were they all this tensed up? “There’s no army…no government, no police,” he whispered a soft explanation to the prisoners, “No hospitals or stores.”
One of the prisoners from the back of their group spoke up now, concern laced with his words. “Do any of you got a cell phone?”
“Yeah, I gotta call my mom,” another of the quiet prisoners agreed, moving closer to their group.
“Y’all don’t get it, do ya?” Daryl asked, his eyes flitting from one prisoner to the next before settling finally on Rick.
“No cell phones, no computers or internet, no news or television…” his friend continued his explanation. “Half of the population’s wiped out. And it’s global.”
A stunned silence swept across the group of prisoners as they tried to imagine a world without the convenience of communication. Even in the isolation of the prison, Daryl was sure they had it easy when it came to talking with family members, receiving news, and medical attention. For a moment, the hard-ass redneck felt sorry for them because the world around them went on while they were shut in a cafeteria, locked up in a prison they once wanted to leave, to rejoin the family waiting beyond its gates for them. The family that wouldn’t be there now. Daryl might have hated his father, but at least he had the chance to say goodbye to him. No one seemed to have that luck anymore.
“The whole world’s like this?” Tomas asked, finally breaking up the stillness. He tossed his head toward the back entrance where the walkers were still pushing against the doors, “Like that?”
Rick replied with a simple nod, and then sucked air in sharply through his gritted teeth. “We’re all infected.”
“Like AIDS?” Axel asked, receiving the stares of the remaining seven men.
“If I kill you,” Daryl began impatiently, “shoot an arrow in your chest, you’d come back as one of these freaks.”
“No bites. No scratches,” T-Dog chimed in, getting straight to the point.
Now it was Tomas’s turn to nod as he and his group connected the dots and understood how this infection worked. They would have to play by the new group’s rules if they wanted to survive, and that realization was clear on Tomas’s face as he thought through a deal. “You guys could take the courtyard, and a different cell block. The rest is o—”
“We’re gonna use that land for crops,” Rick interrupted, his voice stern, “and we’ve already cleared out our cell block.”
As Tomas and the rest of the prisoners started arguing with Rick, Daryl knew that no matter what they agreed on, they would have issues with the other group. It wouldn’t be safe to have the prisoners near their people, whether they settled perimeters or not. At least that’s how Daryl felt. He simply didn’t want Tomas and his crew near the group of people he called his family. He just didn’t trust them, not even Axel who seemed to be the only one with his head on right as he tried to get Tomas to compromise.
It wasn’t until Tomas pulled out his gun, though, that Daryl reacted to the banter. He stepped forward, his crossbow raised and aimed at Tomas’s head. “We can take another cell block,” Axel went on, his hands fumbling with Tomas’s as he tried to lower the gun himself.
“You could leave, try your luck out on the road,” Daryl suggested and shuffled closer to the prisoners.
Another silent standstill crept into the cafeteria as both groups chewed over the viable options. Rick wasn’t going to budge about the cell blocks, and Tomas was finally realizing that. “We’ll help you clear out another cell block,” Rick offered quietly, “for half of what’s left of your food.”
“Sure don’t look like you’re starving,” Daryl quickly added before the prisoners could object.
“And directions to the infirmary,” T-Dog spoke up, receiving nods from both Rick and Daryl.
“You pay, we’ll play.”
~*~*~*~
Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog returned to their cell block with their hands full of food. Enough food that would last them until their gardens could take over, as Hershel promised. The prison was looking promising to Daryl, which reminded him to apologize to Beth about doubting her idea originally. Sure, they had some problems to figure out: weak spots in the fences, the prisoners, lasting walkers, water; but they had something secure for now, which was better than what they had at the cabin.
The infirmary turned out to be well-stocked with blankets, antiseptics, first-aid supplies, and some instruments that would aid in a Caesarean section if Lori’s labor took that road once more. The group was able to replenish their medications with ibuprofen, a few antibiotics, and painkillers; all of which were great finds. And even better than that, the prisoners didn’t really seem interested in anything but the painkillers, which Rick set them straight on immediately.
As they entered cell block C, Carol guided them toward a cell they’d set aside for storage for now, which was where the trio dropped off their half of the food and the supplies from the infirmary. Daryl glanced up at Rick and gave him a stare that told him how he truly felt about the prisoners, that he didn’t trust them, and Rick returned it with a short nod. “Lock up this cell, Carol,” he instructed as they exited it and headed down the block again.
“What’s this I hear about prisoners?” Lori’s voice echoed through the cell block as she stopped Rick by the steps leading up to the second level of cells. “Do you think they’re dangerous?”
At this, Rick lifted his shoulders in a shrug and eyed Daryl for his opinion. “They’re gonna take the cell block next to ours. No affiliation with us.”
“Do they have guns?” Lori continued hounding her husband, her concern for the safety of not only her family, but the group she’d lived and survived with for months too, evident in the crack of her voice. Rick answered with a simple nod of his head before glancing once more at Daryl, who remained quiet in this exchange. “You think this is gonna work?”
The question was directed at Rick first, but Lori turned her attention to Daryl also, who’d earned her respect the day he dropped what he was doing to go and look for Rick, Hershel, and Glenn at the bar so many months prior.
“I don’t know if it will,” Rick finally responded, taking the words right out of Daryl’s mouth. The latter shifted his gait and stared at his shoes, his hands shoved into his pockets. He felt Lori’s eyes on him for a moment before she stepped closer to Rick.
“What are your options?”
“We can kill them.”
Daryl was in favor of that idea, but he didn’t know how the others in their group would respond to it. As far as he knew, he had the support of Rick and T-Dog; but he also had a feeling not many of the others would be okay with the slaughtering of five men—no, criminals. They had no idea what sentenced them to this prison before the outbreak, and that fact alone was enough for Daryl not to trust them, not this close to his family.
“If that’s what you think is best,” Lori surrendered, bringing Daryl out of his thoughts and back into the conversation between the couple.
“That’s what I think’s best,” he interrupted and stood straight. “I wouldn’t want murderers, rapists, or whatever the hell they are near my kids, if I were you. I don’t even want them near Beth… or Carol, Maggie, you, Carl.”
Lori quickly nodded in agreement and raised her hands to Rick and Daryl, giving them the decision. Daryl looked to Rick, who lifted his shoulders in a defeated shrug. “We’ll give them a chance first.”
“And if they fuck up once, Rick, we…”
“Don’t hesitate.”
~*~*~*~
Despite not bathing for long periods of time, Daryl felt his dirtiest now as he and Rick and T-Dog returned to cell block C. He was sweaty because the prison had no ventilation for the spring heat that Georgia offered. It made him feel sticky from head to toe and the stench he gave off activated his gag reflex. Why anyone wanted to be in his company was beyond him. His clothes were suffocating and over-worn. He wanted nothing more than to pull them off and jump into a stream. His hair was past the point of greasy and feeling more and more like a matted mess that stuck to his face and neck.
But his appearance wasn’t what made Daryl feel soiled, it was the blood splattered on his face and hands, shirt and shoes. Two of his arrows had fresh brain matter on them, two lives on his conscience.
He entered their cell block in search of a towel, which he was told by Carol he’d find in their supply cell. She handed off the key and he made his way to the end of the row, observing quickly that most of the cells on the bottom level had been taken already. It didn’t matter to him, though; he didn’t plan on decorating a cell and making it his own. He didn’t need a stiff bed and privacy behind narrow bars. That sort of comfort didn’t make sense to him. After all, he lived most of his life drifting through Georgia. If anything, he was used to the floor.
After retrieving a towel, he turned to find Beth leaning against the frame of the supply cell, a smile present on her face. “That’s a good look for you,” she joked, but then offered him her canteen of water. “Saw Lori doing the same, figured you’d need it as well.”
Daryl gave the girl a nod and took the bottle from her hand, tipping it into the towel to soak it before rubbing the blood from his hands. He turned the towel over, drenched it once more, and began scrubbing his forehead. “Let me,” Beth suggested, holding her hand out for the towel, which Daryl handed over without a word. She stepped up onto a box and found herself eyelevel with him now. “What happened?” she asked quietly as she gently washed his face and neck.
“Can’t trust people,” Daryl mumbled, lifting his chin as Beth worked under his jaw and through his facial hair. “Just can’t trust them.”
“So they’re gone?” Beth concluded softly and Daryl nodded once in confirmation. “They would’ve made me nervous, I think. I mean, there’s a reason they were here, right?”
Although Daryl agreed, he didn’t reply. His brother had been in and out of jail, but that didn’t mean he deserved to die for it. He had mixed feelings over the situation, but his guilt over killing two living people was clear. It hung heavily on his heart and in his mind. And Beth seemed to sense it. She hummed quietly as she wiped the blood from below his eyes and around his ears. “You’re still a good person, Daryl,” Beth whispered and gave him a smile. “Even if you don’t think so. Daddy says we all got jobs to do, and yours is to protect us. And mine is to clean you up.” She grinned again and managed to get a small smile out of Daryl.
“I saved you a cell, by the way,” she continued, wrapping up the bloody towel. “It’s the next one down, next to mine. Thought you might want your own space since you took the living room at the cabin.”
Daryl shrugged his shoulders, but nodded slowly, his lips twitching up into another tiny smile. “Thanks, Beth.”
“No problem. Your stuff’s already in there and I cleared it myself.” Her grin broadened and she hopped down from the box. She took the keys from his hand and nudged him out of the cell, stopping only to lock it shut behind them. With the towel tucked in the crook of her arm, she led him to his own cell where his extra clothes sat neatly on a table beside the bunk bed and a sheet hung in front of the bars to close off the room. On the bottom bunk, the blankets he used at the cabin were neatly tucked under the mattress and a pillow sat at the head of the bed. The sight of it made his body weak with fatigue, and he yawned suddenly. “Sleep, I’ll get you for dinner.”