The council meeting starts early the next morning, with Hershel, Glenn, Daryl, Carol, and I seated around the usual table in the library. Michonne lingers by the door, leaning on one leg with her arms crossed. Sasha is absent, having gone to A block after she started showing symptoms this morning.

"It's spread," Hershel says. "Everyone who survived the attack in cell block D, Sasha, Caleb, and now others."

"Jesus," Daryl mutters. He sits backwards on the chair, arms propped on its back.

"So what do we do?" Carol asks.

"First things first. Cell block A is isolation," Hershel says. "We keep the sick people there like we tried with Karen and David."

"What the hell we gonna do about that?" Daryl asks.

"Ask Rick to look into it. Try to make a timeline—who's where when," Carol says. "But what are we gonna do to stop this?"

"There is no stopping it," Hershel says. "You get it, you have to go through it."

"But it just kills you?" Michonne asks.

"The illness doesn't," Hershel says, shifting to face her. "The symptoms do. We need antibiotics."

"We've been through every pharmacy nearby," Daryl says, "and then some."

"Are there places we haven't checked? FEMA shelters?" I ask.

"There's a veterinary college at West Peachtree Tech," Hershel suggests. "That's one place people may not have thought to raid for medication. The drugs for animals there are the same we need."

"That's fifty miles," Daryl says. He nods a little. "Too big of a risk before. Ain't now." He slaps the top of the chair and pushes himself up, reaching for his crossbow. "I'm gonna take a group out. Best not waste any more time."

"I'm in," Michonne says.

"You haven't been exposed," Hershel says. "Daryl has. You get in a car with him..."

Michonne smirks. "He's already given me fleas."

It gets me to smile, laugh even, as Daryl huffs. Hershel smiles a bit and also stands.

"I can lead the way," he says. "I know where everything's kept."

Daryl glances from Hershel to me, then back to him. "When we're out there, it's always the same. Sooner or later, we run."

Hershel purses his lips, shifting on his prosthetic leg. "I can...draw you a map."

"I could go," I offer. I look to Daryl and Michonne. "I'm not as experienced as Hershel, but I know what we'd be looking for."

"That's not a bad idea," Carol says. "We don't have many people left healthy enough to do runs."

There are a few agreeing nods and everyone starts to stand up. Already, I'm planning to put a list together with Hershel as soon as possible. I'm rusty when it comes to runs. It's been months since I've left the walls of the prison, but my people need me, so I'll go.

"There are other precautions I feel we should take," Hershel says, stopping everyone in their tracks.

"Like what?" Carol asks.

"There's no telling how long it'll be before Daryl and his group return," he says. "Wouldn't it make sense for us to separate the most vulnerable? We can use the administration building. Separate office, separate room."

"Who is the most vulnerable?" Glenn asks.

"The very young."

Glenn's lips purse and he seems to ponder his words before finally saying, "What about the old?"

All eyes fall on Hershel.

"Dr. S is already sick," I say. "If Hershel has to go into quarantine, maybe I should stay."

"You ain't going in there," Daryl retorts.

"Someone has to look after them, and I've already been exposed," I throw back. "I could end up in there tomorrow for all we know."

"Then who's gonna show us the meds?" Michonne asks.

"We could ask Bob to go with you," I suggest.

"He was an army medic," Hershel says, nodding slowly. "He should have the knowledge available and last I checked, he's still symptom-free."

Daryl opens his mouth again and I grasp his arm, stopping him as he looks at me. I shake my head. I know exactly what he's thinking and I won't let him say it here.

"But..." Hershel says. "I can always keep helping."

"No," Glenn retorts. "Think of Maggie and Beth."

Hershel doesn't reply, his brows slightly pinched. Daryl adjusts his crossbow and jerks his chin.

"Let's move," he says. "Time's wasting."

I leave with him, hand still on his arm. His muscles are tense beneath my fingertips.

"I'm sorry," I say as we walk. "I wasn't gonna let you suggest that Bob become our main medic."

"Why the hell not?" he demands. "You said he knows what he's doing."

"But he's only been here a week. The people don't know him. They know me." I point at my chest as I say it. "I'll wear a mask. I'll do what I can, but someone needs to be there for them. I can't just leave them to ride it out."

"You ain't gotta risk your life like that."

I stop. He notices when my hand slips from his arm and he turns, jaw clenched. "You're kidding, right?" I ask, trying not to let out a sarcastic chuckle. "You're gonna preach to me about risking my life?"

"I'm serious."

"You're about to go on a run. You're always going on runs. You risk your life every day!"

"But that don't mean you have to!"

I close my eyes and take a breath, clearing my mind. I cup Daryl's face, looking him in the eyes as my thumbs stroke his cheeks. He reaches to hold my wrists, his lips pursing.

"I've already been exposed. You have, too. We're risking our lives just by breathing," I say. "And besides, I know that if you were in there, I wouldn't hesitate to look after you. I have to extend that same love to everyone else."

He exhales. I feel him press against my palm as his eyes close. "Just don't want to lose you."

"And I, you." I lean up and kiss the corner of his mouth. "Get home safe, as fast as you can, and I promise I'll still be here."

"Hard thing to promise."

"I know, but it's all I can do."

His grip tightens for a moment, but he doesn't say anything more.

----------

It doesn't take long to move the children and elderly into the administration building. Beth and Carl stay with them. Glenn arrived at A block, pale and weak, and I found him a cell with a clean bed. That means Maggie, Rick, and Carol are left to take care of things outside, and I...

I've walked right into the lion's den.

Maybe I'll be like Daniel and God will close the jaws of sickness against me.

A block echoes with the sound of coughing. I adjust the bandana wrapped around my face, covering my nose and mouth, and tighten my grip on my kit. I have to do what little I can with what little I have.

I make rounds, checking on every cell and making sure people are as comfortable as possible. There are some who have just arrived—their symptoms are minimal, mostly coughing and a fever. Others are far worse. They're pale, sweaty, and so exhausted that the effort of coughing blood into a cloth seems monumental.

I offer water. I bring food. I tuck people in as they shiver. I press cold cloths to their foreheads. I pat their backs as they cough until they struggle for breath. I'm grateful for the mask—it makes hiding the grimace on my face easier.

As I pass near the entrance to the block, I see movement and pause. Tyreese stares into the block intermittently, pacing with that intense look on his face that I saw when he showed us Karen and David's bodies. I approach.

"Tyreese," I call, getting his attention through the glass. "Everything okay?"

He shakes his head. "Sasha, is she okay?" he asks.

I just saw her. She's weak, exhausted, and more scared than she'll ever let on. "She's fine," I tell him. "I'm looking out for her."

"Good. That's good. You don't let anyone in here who you don't trust," he says. "I trust you."

His eye is swollen shut, the side of his face bruised, and yet he's still so focused on his loved ones. After Karen and David, he must be expecting the murderer to strike again, to hurt Sasha.

"Do you want to talk to her?" I ask. He frowns and I add, "We have a meeting room. There's a glass window. You could see her."

He looks away, then he nods, slowly picking up the pace the more his head bobs. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd...I'd like to see her."

"I'll get her for you."

I walk off, headed toward Sasha's cell. She's coughing when I reach her, although thankfully nothing but saliva passes her lips. She looks up at me with hooded, gaunt eyes.

"Still here?" she asks.

"Of course," I reply. "Tyreese wants to see you."

She shakes her head. "He can't come in here."

"There's a meeting room. I can direct you there."

She nods slowly, forcing herself to her feet, and I reach out to her. She barely takes a step when another fit of coughing wracks her and she stumbles forward. I steady her and wait as she finishes, her gasps rasping from her throat. I help her from the cell and direct her to the small hallway leading to the meeting area. She stumbles off, slowly but surely, hugging the wall.

I hear a tap on the window and see Daryl by the door. For a moment, my heart squeezes. Did he start coughing already? I come to the door, beginning to tug the door open when he shakes his head and pulls it shut on his side.

"Nah, I'm good," he says. I exhale and he presses his hand to the glass. "I'm leaving soon. Just...wanted to see you."

I let my hand overlap his on the glass. "Hurry back."

"How bad is it in there?"

I look over my shoulder just as a wet, hacking cough echoes through the block. "It's...not great."

"So it's shit."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks for that, but yes."

"Stay strong. I'll be back before you know it."

"I'll count down the minutes."

His lips press together and his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. "Still hate that you're in there."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

He pulls his hand from the glass, nodding. "Love you, Hope."

I hope he can picture my smile even with the bandana over my mouth. "I love you too, Daryl."

Then, he's gone, and I'm back to focusing on my job.

----------

The front door to A block swings open. I leave my current patient and head down the stairs only to see Hershel walking in. I pick up the pace. He's holding a crate in his hands and he wears a bandana, but that's the least of my worries.

"Hershel, you can't be in here," I say, urgent.

"I can, and I am," he retorts. "I'm no help to anyone out there."

"But—"

"And I can't let you handle this alone, either. Come," he says, lifting his crate. "They're elderberries. My wife used to make tea with them. Natural flu remedy."

I don't like that he's here in principle but, damn it, I'm just so relieved that he has something to soothe these people. I should send him away but if there's one thing I've learned about him, it's that he's stubborn as a mule.

"You're not leaving, are you?" I ask, although I know the answer.

His eyes crease at the sides. "No, I'm not."

----------

I go cell to cell with Hershel, updating him on what I've done already and passing out drinks. A lot of people are so weak that they can barely lift the cup to their lips, yet we encourage them to drink and help guide their hands. Even if the elderberries don't match up to modern cough medicine, it will soothe the throat.

Lizzie, a blonde girl a year or two younger than Carl, nods demurely as she takes the cup from my hands. She sips it, her nose wrinkling a little as she swallows.

"Kinda sour," she mumbles.

"Yeah, but it'll help your throat," I say. I reach forward, pressing the back of my hand to her forehead. "Your fever isn't too bad yet. That's good." Again, Lizzie nods. Her eyes droop with exhaustion and I stand up, patting her shoulder. "Lie down, okay? Sleep will help."

With her tucked in, I move on. Hershel kneels next to Glenn on the second level, adjusting the cool cloth on his head as I ascend the stairs.

"This sucks," Glenn is saying. "After everything, we just get taken out by a glorified cold."

"Don't say things like that," Hershel says. "Don't even think things like that."

"All I can do is stop saying them."

"No, you can do more. You got this far somehow, you can believe somehow. Now we all have jobs here. That one's yours."

Glenn coughs and Hershel fixes the cloth against his skin as it slips. I keep pouring cups of tea and hoping that it makes a difference.

----------

The hours in A block pass by quickly and yet, not at all. I don't pay attention to the time, to the passage of the sun. My focus is on keeping people alive and, right now, we've only lost one person, late in the night when most were asleep.

For now, I tell myself. It's only for now and then people will either die or get better. I have to prepare myself for the worst. I have to or else I'll fall apart again.

Having Hershel around is...nice, if I can use that to describe anything about our situation. The guy's unstoppable, always on the move, inspiring me to keep going even though I'm dead tired. I'd prefer just to stay awake anyway. The last time I dared to take a nap, my nightmares were full of dead babies with bleeding eyes.

Besides looking out for the sick, and keeping them as hydrated and fed as possible, we keep an eye out for visitors. Of course, with all of D block already inside A and the kids and elderly squirrelled away in administration, it leaves few people actually capable of visiting.

Carol stops by to talk to Lizzie. She's going on a run with Rick and wanted to check on her before she left. Maggie shows up to talk to her dad and ask about Glenn. Other than that, no one darkens our doorstep. Just me and Hershel and plenty of work to do.

Hershel isn't wearing his bandana anymore. When I asked him, he said in the most nonchalant way that, if he's infected, the cloth won't change much. I can see Hershel's point. I keep waiting for the sickness to take me down, because I refuse to let myself hope that I'll be spared. I keep my mask on only because I know Daryl would want me to be as safe as possible.

Daryl...I pray he's alright. The vet college is far and the further the journey, the more dangerous, the bigger chance of running into trouble. I've learned to trust him over the year we've known each other. He always comes back, maybe a little roughed up, but always alive and never bitten. It's the most I can ask for.

It doesn't stop me from feeling anxious when he leaves. I pour the nervous energy into my work, making elderberry tea, making cold compresses, and closing cell doors whenever people go to sleep for the night. We can't risk a repeat of cell block D. Thankfully, people seem to understand why we have to do it and don't question it. They give me sad looks when I lock them up.

Hershel has recruited Sasha and Glenn to help out where they can. I come up the stairs to find them inside Henry's cell. He's one of the worst as far as symptoms go right now, although his endless coughing has ceased now that he has an airbag pushing oxygen into his lungs.

Sasha and Glenn both start coughing. They both look like death warmed over, sweaty and pale with dark circles beneath their reddened eyes. Hershel looks back, noticing me just as I arrive with a thermos of fresh tea in hand. He nods to me.

"Drink some of that. Both of you," Hershel says.

I pour each of them a cup. Hershel keeps watching Henry's face, squeezing the bag intermittently. I close the thermos lid.

"Some council meeting, huh?" Hershel asks.

"We're two members short," Sasha says. She lifts the cup to her lips, hands shaking.

"I think we should make some new rules before they get back," Hershel says. "I hereby declare we have spaghetti Tuesdays every Wednesday."

He looks around as Sasha gives him a long-suffering look, begging him to take this seriously without a word.

I give him the barest smile. "I do like spaghetti," I say.

"Now we just have to find some," he says. Glenn and Sasha don't offer any responses.

"Hershel, could you check Mr. Jacobson? He wasn't doing so good last I saw," I say.

"Of course. It's about time for my rounds anyway," Hershel says. He looks to Sasha. "Are you okay to take over?" Sasha nods and she shifts over, gripping the airbag as Hershel passes it off. "Every five to six seconds, squeeze. You start feeling lightheaded, grab somebody else to take over. We'll take it in shifts." Again, all Sasha does is nod, and Hershel looks at Glenn. "How about you help me on my rounds?"

Glenn exhales. "Yeah. Sure."

I step back as Hershel and Glenn leave the cell, although their attention turns back to Henry as they go.

"How long will that keep him alive?" Glenn asks.

"Just as long as we're willing to do it," Hershel says. "As long as it takes."

We head back down the stairs, me leading the way to Mr. Jacobson's cell. Patches of light slip through the windows, but Hershel's lantern lights our way. Scattered coughing chases us.

I reach Mr. Jacobson's cell first, expecting to find him the same way I last saw him—coughing, experiencing discomfort, the usual—but he's still and quiet. Far too quiet.

I step inside and Hershel lifts the lantern, illuminating Mr. Jacobson's face. Blood coats his dark skin, his eyes glassy and lifeless. He's gone.

It slaps me across the face. This is our second death since moving everyone to A block and the first one where I have a true timeline of events. I was only gone for a few minutes to get Hershel and in that short window, Mr. Jacobson died. It's startling how quickly things can go south.

Glenn coughs as he steps forward, readying his knife, but Hershel puts his hand on his arm. "No," he hisses, keeping his voice at a whisper. "Not here."

Hershel goes back outside the cell and Glenn looks at me, pursing his lips as he puts the knife away. Hershel comes back pushing a stretcher.

"Help me get him on this," he says.

I move to Mr. Jacobson's feet, but Glenn stays put, facing Hershel. They keep their voices low. "Okay, but in a couple of hours when Henry's dead—"

"Glenn—"

"How are we gonna get his body down the stairs, across the cell block and through those doors without anyone noticing?"

"If that happens—if..." Hershel says. "You're gonna help me. Both of you."

"Hershel," I whisper as urgently as I can. "We don't have much time."

"What if I'm gone?" Glenn asks, ignoring me.

"Shut up," Hershel retorts. "Help us."

We work as fast as we can, getting Mr. Jacobson onto the stretcher, and I drape a sheet over him. Glenn moves ahead to the doors while Hershel and I push the stretcher. We've just about made it into the other room when a small voice interrupts us.

"What are you doing?" Lizzie stands a few feet away, her expression surprisingly composed.

Hershel turns, moving towards her, and I keep my grip on the stretcher.

"We're taking Mr. Jacobson to a quieter place," he tells her. He tests her temperature with the back of his hand. "Go get my copy of Tom Sawyer from my room. I want you to read it by tonight. We all got jobs to do. That's yours."

She coughs into her elbow. "I won't finish it."

He lowers himself a little as he props his hands on his knees. "Why?"

"It's gonna get too dark."

"Well, give it your best try, and drink some tea," he says, sandwiching her tiny hand between his larger ones and patting it. "Hope will bring you some, alright?"

She nods, casting one more look toward us and the stretcher as Glenn lets out a few more raspy coughs. With her gone, Hershel returns, and we disappear into the corridor.

Hershel pulls a small Bible from his pocket, flipping it open and reading a few passages to send Mr. Jacobson on his way. Glenn has his knife in hand again, staring down at the shroud.

"You haven't had to do this yet, have you?" he asks.

"There was one late last night. Sasha did it," Hershel replies. "People don't need to see it. I don't want them to."

The sheets shift as Mr. Jacobson returns, snarling, dead-eyed, and Glenn plants the knife between his eyes. He pulls it out, wiping it off on the sheet, lips pursed.

"Gonna go rest..." he mumbles.

He takes his leave, coughing into his arm as he goes. I stay put, looking at Mr. Jacobson, exhaustion pinching my shoulders. I pull down my bandana, letting it hang around my aching neck.

"Is any of this helping?" I ask.

Hershel closes his Bible as he looks at me. "Glenn's negative enough for all of us, Hope."

"I'm serious," I retort. "All we have is...tea and wet cloth. It all feels so...so—"

He comes closer to me, dead serious. "Being here, doing what we can, is helping," he insists. "It makes a difference, even if it doesn't feel like it." I rub my forearm, head drooping. "You have to believe that things will get better. Nothing kills faster than a broken spirit."

"I'm trying, Hershel. I just wish I could do more to take away their pain."

"And I can see that. You have a strong faith, Hope, so have faith that we'll make it through this. Have faith that Daryl will be back with the medicine."

I take a deep breath, nodding as I pinch the space between my eyes. "Okay. I will. I do, I'm...I'm sorry."

"You're exhausted. We all are," Hershel says. He reaches out, gripping my shoulder, and I meet his eyes as he smiles. "But I'm glad you're here."

I return his smile, not showing any teeth, and overlap his hand with mine. "You're a crazy old man, Hershel. I don't know why you'd choose to do this."

"I think my reasons are much the same as yours."