No Way Out

Rick had always laughed at movies that had portrayed people’s reality as going into some kind of artsy slow-mo whenever a crisis arose. While it made for pretty cinema it had never been reality for Rick. Especially not now.

When Sam started to panic, when the walkers began feasting on him and Jessie, acting like the walker-slimed ponchos they were covered with was sauce in a gruesome bbq, when he’d been forced to nearly sever Jessie’s hand, when Ron shot Carl, when Michonne sent Ron’s head flying and dispatching him to go be with his parents and brother in whatever came next, all of that had played out in real time and in focus that was painfully sharp for Rick. There was no time to feel, he could only act.

Carl was older than the last time he’d been shot. He was far too heavy to carry and run with. This time Judith had to be removed from the carrier and handed over to Father Gabriel to free Michonne up to fight while Rick pulled off his poncho and threw Carl over his shoulder. He felt blood, hot and fresh, run down his back. It wasn’t lost on Rick how quiet Judith remained, eerily so, as though she understood what Sam had not: you had to be quiet around the monsters.

The fight to the clinic was a hard one. Rick ran out of ammo but Michonne took point, slaughtering walkers with a weapon that didn’t require bullets, but rather strength of arm, heart, and fortitude of will.

It wasn’t until they saw that one of those freaks with the W on their foreheads had Denise hostage that Rick began to unravel. The lone wolf wasn’t aware of Rick and the others yet, nor was Denise. The man would see her dead, and die with her, simply to keep her from helping a single soul. He would kill Carl, and many others, by killing Denise, and Rick was powerless to stop it. He had no bullets left. Michonne wouldn’t be able to close the distance without drawing his attention long before he could gun her and Denise down.

So it came as a shock when Father Gabriel Stokes of all people raised the same gun that Ron had used to shoot Carl and level it at the unsuspecting wolf, who forced Denise to move in front of him. Rick was sure Gabriel would lose nerve but he didn’t. He pulled the trigger and put a bullet in the side of the wolf’s chest. The wolf looked stunned as the gun slipped from his grasp and he went to his knees. He, too, was an oddity. Judith remained quiet. The wolf laughed as walkers descended on him to feed.

They hurried forward as Denise realized she was free. They fought their way into the clinic she called home and laid Carl out on the table. Heath and Tobin were already inside. They helped get the disgusting poncho off of Carl. Rick had only four words when he stepped back and looked at Denise.

“Please…save my son.”

…

One by one their people trickled in. First was Rosita and Tara, shoving a nearly sobbing Eugene Porter ahead of him. The man was gripping a perfectly clean machete in hand, trembling, nearly having pissed his pants. Rick would’ve been disgusted by the man’s cowardice were it not for numbness over Carl. Right now he didn’t have time to care. Gabriel explained what had happened. He dealt better with his first kill that Rick would’ve ever thought to give him credit for.
“You stepped up,” Rick said, coming to stop in front of Gabriel. “My boy might live because you did the right thing. You’re one of us.”

“This place will be overrun soon,” Rosita said. “Gimme.”

She wanted Eugene’s machete but he held on to it.

“I cannot, in good faith, give you this weapon knowing you’re planning to use it in a suicide mission,” he objected.

“Give me the fucking machete or I’ll punch you and then take it.” She wrested it from his grip. “I’d use it to cut your nuts off if you had any. We need to get Carol and Morgan back here.”

“Leave Morgan,” Rick ordered.

“Why?” Tara asked.

“He kept that man alive, he could’ve gotten the doctor killed, which would’ve doomed Carl. He had no business hiding something like that from me. Morgan’s on his own and when this is over, he’s out.”

They both looked like they wanted to talk about it but realized now wasn’t the time, so they headed back out to work on thinning the herd and fighting their way to Carol. Rick and Michonne went with them, working at their backs, coming in to rest when their arms grew too weary to lift their blades. The key was quiet, not to shoot and draw more walkers their way, too take the fight to them.

The strategy worked. Daryl, Abraham, and Sasha returned, then Maggie, Glenn, and Enid. By nightfall the family was together, Carol resting in a bed. They were whole.

It was a struggle to get Rick to leave the waiting area long enough to take a shower and change into the clothes that had been washed but were forever stained. A sanitary environment for Carl was the only argument that persuaded him. He left Eric to wash and feed Judith while he had his own turn in the shower that had only lukewarm water left. It could’ve been cold as ice he wouldn’t have cared.

“Rick, something to eat.”

Eating. God, the thought sickened him. He silently pushed past the bowl of soup Maggie offered him and went straight to the living room that doubled as a waiting room. Denise came out, covered to her wrists in blood.

“He’s stable,” she announced, leaving Rick to almost weep with relief. “He’s in a coma, Rick. The bullet missed his brain but he’s lost his eye. I couldn’t save it.”

“How long until he wakes from the coma?”

“I can’t answer that. There’s honestly no way to know. What you all need is sleep. If you don’t rest you’ll lose focus when you go after those things tomorrow.”

“I’m not leaving my boy.”

“He’s hooked up to monitors loud enough to draw every walker here should something happen. Tobin and I are gonna take turns sitting with him until morning.”

Michonne took Rick’s hand in hers. “They’re right. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. We have to be rested. For Carl, Judith, everyone here, this place.”

She knew it was only Carl and Judith that persuaded him to agree to try to sleep. She saw him to a room the size of a closet but it was empty. She was going to return to one of the rooms with the others to sleep but two words stopped her.

“Please, stay?”

…

Michonne nodded and entered the tiny bedroom that had only a futon pad on the floor. He went to the small window and looked out. Shadowy figures moved through the streets. Less than half of what had originally invaded. Would Sam be one of them out there walking around, waiting to kill? Would Jessie? He felt a surge of hate for the whole Anderson clan, wished he’d never laid eyes on a single one of them.

“Ron…he wanted to kill Carl. I see that, now. Kill him to hurt me as revenge for killing Pete. I wish I’d let that little shit fall into the quarry that day.”

“You don’t mean that.”

When he looked her in the eye Michonne knew he did.

“You couldn’t have known what he was. None of us could.”

“I was too busy trying to fuck his mother to pay attention.”

“Rick…”

“My son is probably gonna die because I’m the worst parent who ever lived.”

“Actually, you’re not even in the running. I know what you’re feeling right now but–”

He suddenly looked disgusted, with her, with himself. “No you don’t! You don’t have any idea what I’m feeling right now.”

“I do. You don’t know every little detail of my life, Rick. You don’t know that I had a boyfriend…Mike…We had a son named Andre. Andre Anthony. He was such a beautiful boy. Three years old when this all happened.”

Rick was staring at her in shock, drinking in every word of her story, his shoulders feeling a little bit lighter knowing that Michonne really did understand the pain he suffered.

“Worst parent award goes to me. I left my son with a man who was more interested in losing himself in drugs than facing reality and protecting our son. All I had left of my child were parts. Leftovers…”

Rick just pulled Michonne to him, wrapped her tightly in his embrace. He kissed her forehead while she cried. She hadn’t let the tears flow this way in two years. Not over Andre and Mike.

“I’m sorry. God, am I sorry,” Rick said.

He wiped at her tears. Kept wiping until they were gone and he was cupping her face. Then another kiss to her forehead led to other kisses. Kisses that moved down her tear-salted skin, and finally her lips.

He thought his last kiss with Lori had held passion, and that kiss with Jessie, but they hadn’t. None of those kisses felt the way this one did. They clutched at one another and Michonne could scarcely catch a breath as Rick pinged her to the wall. She pulled away from him, leaving him confused, breathless.

“We have to stop,” she said. “This isn’t right.”

“Why? Feels right to me.”

“A lot of reasons. We’re scared, grieving, and I have no intentions of us being more than friends until you know what you want. Who was Jessie to you? Who am I?”

Rick backed away and went to the window. He stared out at the moonlit night, trying to organize his thoughts, trying to put everything in perspective. Trying to understand himself and his motivations but truth be told he could no better understand the workings of his mind than he could the Almighty.

“Jessie reminded me of Lori. She made me wonder if I was ready for a real life.”

His eyes met Michonne’s.

“I knew, even when I kissed he, that I didn’t love her. I was using her.”

Michonne’s question was fair but it hurt. “You using me, too?”

“I could never use you, Michonne. You mean too damn much to me.”

She slipped her hand in his, satisfied with that answer simply because she trusted him, and gave him a comforting squeeze. “Get some sleep.”

He wouldn’t let go of her hand, wouldn’t let her leave to sleep elsewhere, as though she was his lifeline in a sea of walkers. She didn’t fight it because truthfully, he was her lifeline as well. The anchor to their ship in the stormy seas of life.

So she laid down with him on the futon pad, curled up, feeling warm and safe in his arms. Soon sleep claimed them both, and thankfully those dreams were calm, serene, like steady beats of their young hearts.