CHAPTER NINE humanity

"And you know how this story ends."

WE ALL SAID goodbye to Bob, and then to the group heading for D.C. I didn't say much. Not sure what comfort I could give a man- who I hardly knew- who was dying. It felt wrong to say nothing.

When it came to the D.C. group, I wished them all a safe trip. I gave Tara a meek, awkward hug. "Thanks," I mumbled. She pulls back, brows furrowed. "For what?"

I shrug, pulling a tight smile. "For being... nice?"

She lets out a small bag and gives my shoulder a light squeeze. "I"ll see you in D.C., alright?"

I nod and watch them board the bus,  and then watch it all away.

---

Daryl came back. With someone new this time- a kid named Noah, a few years older than Carl and me. He said he knew where Beth- Maggie's little sister- and Carol were.

Before the group headed for Atlanta left, I helped Daryl, Tyreese and Sasha fortify the church. Gabriel stood off to the side, watching us tear apart his sacred church accessories. I know he wanted to stop us, but he never did. He only stood there, watching everyone he knew come down around him.

I used to believe churches were untouchable. That stained glass would still glow and crosses would still mean something. But watching the organ split open made me wonder if anything holy could survive this.

Sasha and I worked on the pews while the men took apart the organ. Daryl offered to take the axe from me- told me I should rest. I ignored him. It felt good. The sharp crack of wood splitting under each swing, even if the action sent a wave of pain through me each time. I just kept going.

The pain reminded me that I'm still here.

Sasha didn't say much either. I think we both needed the silence more than words. She slammed into each piece like it could drain the pain from her body if she tried hard enough. I understood- you just reach a certain level of grief and anger where the only language you speak is destruction. I wanted to say something, to tell her she wasn't alone- but I know how useless the words are when your entire world was in shambles.

Daryl glances up at me, raising his brows. "You okay?"

I nod before I can think abut it. What else could I say? No. I'm scared all the time. I can't stop thinking about the way the people from Terminus' dead bodies looked on the wooden floor, or the way the smell of their blood was pungent and made me nauseated.

There was something heavy in his expression. Hair stuck to his forehead, sweat trailing down his temple- he knew exactly why I wasn't resting. Like he was doing the same thing in his own way.

Tyreese cuts through the tension, wiping sweat from his brow. "Damn, little lady."

I flick my hair back, breathing heavy. I was sore- but I can rest later. "You're goin' at that wood like it did you wrong."

"Feels good," I say breathlessly. "I don't like being locked up." It did. Like I could chop away all the stuff I didn't want to think about.

Rick approaches us with an armful of boards. "Shouldn't you be takin' it easy?" he asks, raising his brows. I lift the hem of my flannel, just enough to show the green-and-yellow smear still bruising my side. They cringe. I left the shirt fall back down, "It only hurts at night now."

"How'd you get that?" Tyreese asks. I grunt as ai split the last pew board with one clean swing. "Drove for the first time. Turns out I'm not very good at it."

Daryl scoffs from his spot near the organ. "'ll say. Came across 'er passed out cold and the truck was wrapped around a tree." Tyreese gave me along, impressed look. I just shrug, leaning the against the axe handle. "What can I say? I have a nack for ruining things."

"This oughta be enough," Daryl says, breaking our attention. We carry the scraps outside t start reinforcing the church's entrance. I wait until Daryl and I are alone and finally glance over.

"I never thanked you," I mention quietly as I jam my first jagged plank into the hard earth. The man doesn't look up. "F' what?"

The words taste weak. Stupid. "For claiming me." I hate the way they came out. "Back at the tracks... before anyone else could."

He stills just for a second- it's not much, but enough for me to notice. "I wouldn't've let that happen."

"I know," I swallow. "Still. Thanks."

He nods, focusing on the barricade like it was the most interesting thing ever. Maybe it was, for him, in this awkward situation. "Guess I oughta thank you too," he gruff. "For helping us out back there with Joe and 'em."

I shrug, plucking a pipe from the pile. "Guess we're even now."

---

Later, after everyone's gone, I sit with Judith in a pew, tucked away from those who're still here. Ever since Rick left, she's made it clear that she's unhappy with the arrangement- her unhappy cries lifting and carrying through the rafters, louder than any sermon ever had. I bounced her. Walked in circles. Hummed the lullaby my mom used to sing. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...

Eventually, her crying dulls into soft gurgles. She sits in may lap, chubby fingers on my cheeks like she's trying to memorize my features. "Hi, Judith," I whisper, ticking her sides. Her laugh was like a balm I didn't deserve. She turns her head, eyes locking Carl and Michonne- who were boarding up the windows- across the room. She lifts her hand toward them. "Is that your bubba?" I coo. "Is that Carl?"

I hold her snug against me, "Let's go see your bubba."

"You guys almost done?" I ask, waving Judith's tiny hand in their direction. Michonne chuckles, setting down her makeshift hammer. "Glad to know it's not just moms it happens to."

I drop the baby's hand. "What're you talking about?"

"You're still using it," she smirks.

I blink at her as my cheeks burn in a flush. I have to clear my throat, suddenly self-conscious. Theres an awkward silence before I smile and hand Judith over. "Hi, Judy," Michonne comes, cradling the baby close.

Carl lays his hammer down, glancing back at Gabriel, who furiously scrubs at the dried blood from the Terminus massacre. He finally rises to gather some weapons near the altar. I hover nearby, watching as he lays them out before the priest. "Pick one."

"You need to learn how to defend yourself," Carl tells the man. I kneel down to place a stray pistol next to the area of melees. Yeah. We can teach you," I offer, watching his eyes widen.

"Defend myself?" he repeats incredulously. "They said they'd go."

Carl shakes his head, huffing softly. "They were liars and murderers."

Gabriel's voice is paper-thin. "Just like us."

I rise to my feet, sharply, unable to contain myself. "Are you serious?"

Carl, unlike myself, stays calm. "We protected ourselves. They wanted us dead."

"You've been hiding since the beginning," I hiss at Gabriel. His fear made something inside me red hot in anger. "You know what you did. You were too scared- and that made you selfish. You won't be able to hide forever. So grow up and pick up a damn weapon."

Carl turns to me slowly, glaring sharply. "What? You can't baby a grown man." I shoot at him. He ignores me, turning back to Gabriel. "You're lucky your church has lasted this long. You can't stay in one place anymore. Not for too long. And once you're out there, you're gonna find trouble you can't hide from. You need to know how to fight."

With a trembling hand, Gabriel reaches out to pick up a machete. He holds it far away, like it could rear back and attack him.

"Good choice," Carl encourages. "But you're not holding it right. You've got to be able to drive it down 'cause sometimes their skulls aren't as soft and you need to be able-"

"I'm sorry," Gabriel blurts, dropping the blade back onto the ground. A shudder runs through his body. Carl looks at me, swallowing hard. I raise an eyebrow, "Proved my point."

He started to respond, but Gabriel cuts him off. "No. I need to lie down."

He sulks away into his office, head hung low. Once he was gone, Carl turns to me angrily. "What is wrong with you?"

I can't stop the way my jaw drops. "Are you serious?"

"He's scared."

I lean on the table, keeping my eyes trained on the cans of food because frankly, I can't bring myself to look at him. "We can't afford scared. Fear gets people killed. Everyone has to be in. Everyone."

"He's seen things, Elody. He's trying."

"Congratulations," I snap, jerking my head up. "So have I. So have you. So have Michonne, and Rick, and Daryl and every other person who's still alive. So stop babying him, because that's only gonna get him killed."

His eyes harden- "You think I'm babying him?" He takes a step closer. "I'm trying to have some humanity here."

"I didn't realize basically survival was inhumane," I mutter. Carl sighs, "Don't, Elody."

"This isn't about humanity, Carl." I roll my eyes, leaning down on my arms. "This is about survival. Every mistake, every hesitation, every doubt. It's a risk."

"You think I don't know that?" he asks, voice rising. "You think you're the only one who's lost someone?"

I laugh to hide the sharp slice of his words, but it comes out more as a painful huff. "You wanna go there?" I step a step closer, jabbing my finger into his chest. "One second, Carl. That's all it took. For them to sink their teeth, right there." I move my finger to the muscle right above his collarbone. "And it wasn't even my mistake."

"Next thing I know, I'm dragging him through the forest blind, his blood in my eyes. And you know how this story ends. Don't say you didn't know. Because you do. You lost people. Don't pretend it's easy, or that you're better because you dealt with your grief."

He stared at me, quiet now. I could see it- he felt bad for saying it. But it was too late. The damage was done and I can feel it- the sadness, and anger- unraveling inside me. The echos of our argument have already faded into the rafters of the church. Carl stands here, his hands hanging by his sides, a look of regret etched into his boyish features.

My throat tightens as the sound of Lincoln's screams of pain bounces between my eardrums. I clamp a hand over my mouth and turn away before Carl could see my break. I leave him standing there- march straight into the west room and clam the door shut behind me.

The couch catches me as collapse into it. I have to bury my face in the scratch fabric- blind rushed through my ears as a sound tears from my throat. Something between a sob and a scream. Every time I close my eyes, Lincoln's last moments loop like a curse. Blood, screaming, and the silence.

And me. Alive.

Still here, somehow.

I bury myself so deep into the couch I'm afraid I'll rip the fabric. The cushions dull the sound of my pent-up grief until my sobs become whimpers and my voice is gone, and my eyelids are too heavy to keep open.