HEART OF GLASS
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE !

[ season three, episode two ]

Outside, the prisoners congregated around the iridescent patch of sun-balmed ground like moths to a flame.

They hadn't seen the sun, or felt the heat of it upon their ashen skin, for months. Marley pitied them for that — though, admittedly not for much else. It was their own fault for landing themselves in a prison Before, after all. On those grounds, she couldn't sympathise. Especially with Tomas, who was constantly snarling like a rabid, vicious dog ravenous for bloodshed. Marley distrusted him, and she really didn't like him.

She gripped her machete handle a little tighter as the prisoners bathed in the baking sun, watching Tomas as if he were her prey.

"Maybe we should just lock the door and be done with them all." Marley muttered to T-Dog. "They're only gonna cause us problems that we don't need — not on top of everything else already on our plate."

T-Dog hummed, though she could not tell if it was in agreement, disagreement, or a neutral repose to yet another bold statement made by a withering survivor lacking strong moral-ground. His only words were, "Yeah. They're gonna cause us some problems, alright."

They sauntered towards Rick, each of them watching the prisoners intensely — of whom Marley had quickly placed names to, from what she had overheard. Big Tiny extended both of his enormous arms either side of his body like an eagle taking flight, lifting his head sunflower-style toward the burning globe suspended above. Axel stared at the minefield of bodies behind the chain-link, dumbstruck. Tomas and Oscar wandered aimlessly, taking in everything all at once.

The smaller man — Andrew — was not interested in the outside world anymore; he regarded it with a lack of interest. He turned to Rick instead, brows furrowed, "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Cut a hole in that fence over there by that guard tower." Daryl said, pointing out the area of interest with a sluggish arm-raise.

'Big Tiny' sheepishly poked a body on the ground, using the end of a mangled pipe. The bloodied flesh squelched beneath the pressure, and the burly man grimaced, taking a cautious step back.

"What is this," he pondered. "like, some disease?"

"Yeah." Rick nodded. He made the mistake of not telling the group about the circumstances of the viral outbreak immediately after Jenner's warning. They would not speak to him for weeks afterward. Rest assured, Rick was not going to make that mistake again, no matter who it was on the receiving end of the stick. "And we're all infected."

The prisoners shifted and glanced between each other, an unspoken feeling, uncomfortable and confused. It sounded like a death sentence. Ominous.

"What do you mean infected?" Axel queried nervously. "Like . . . AIDS or something?"

"No." Marley shook her head, scoffing incredulously. AIDS? These prisoners were beginning to cause her to develop a serious migraine, one she couldn't seem to shift. "It's different to everything we once knew. To . . . initiate the symptoms, you have to die. And after you're dead, once your body is cold, you come back as one of those."

She pointed to the walkers gathering around the chain-link fence a little way down the courtyard, rattling it vigorously. Axel shivered at the sight, but the others still seemed confused.

Daryl noticed, and explained further, "If I was to kill you—" He pointed at Tomas, and it almost felt like a warning. "—shoot an arrow in your chest, you'd come back like this. It's gonna happen to all of us."

That sunk deeper than Marley's attempt at explaining. She watched the prisoners closely, seeing the shift in their expressions — the stages of coming to terms with reality; bargaining, grief, disgust, all of the above — but Tomas caught her eye the most.

He saw her. Glared. She glared back, threateningly tightening a hand around the dinted hilt of her machete.

Tomas' eyes moved from Marley to Rick, and he scoffed derisively. "Ain't no way these Robin Hood cats are responsible for killing all these freaks. Must be 50 bodies out here."

Marley found she smiled when she was feeling particularly threatening. A tight-lipped, false, sickly sweet grin. This was one of those rare occasions, when her bottled emotions had been shaken to the point of no return, fizzed and fizzed and fizzed — until there was no way of stopping the outburst.

She gestured to Tomas and smiled, "Keep talking, and we can add one more to that tally."

"Hey!" Rick scolded. "Enough."

Marley rolled her eyes petulantly and stepped a few paces backward, standing in line with Daryl. Tomas' narrowed his eyes at her, like a wildcat prepared to pounce, but seemed to think better of threatening a teenager in front of her . . . family.

He frowned at Rick, "Where'd you come from?"

"Atlanta."

"Where you headed?"

"For now," Rick stepped closer to Tomas, as the prisoner slowly, gruellingly picked his way across the yard. "nowhere."

They levelled each other with venomous stares. One leader against another. A community had no place for two leaders — not a steady one, at least. Someone always wanted the power welded solely into their hands, and it was a difficult feat to share it. Tomas seemed the type to kill anyone who stood in his way . . . but so was Rick. Marley had seen it herself, back at the bar when Rick put bullets in the men who had been openly threatened to end their lives and brutalise their colony. He put an end to it before it could even begin.

He didn't have to say a word to threaten Tomas further, his eyes like chips of cold-ice, sharpened icicles that could be deadly if warranted the chance. Rick was marking his territory.

But so was Tomas. He gestured vaguely to the flat-land in the corner of the courtyard. "I guess you can take that area down there near the water. Should be comfortable."

"We're using that field for crops." Rick said.

"We'll help you move your gear out." Tomas retorted, ignoring Rick's statement as if he had never even spoke at all. His expression was one of pure arrogance; he knew exactly what he was doing, the anger he was instigating.

Their leader shook his head valiantly, "That won't be necessary. We took out these walkers. This prison is ours."

"Slow down, cowboy."

Andrew flanked his comrade, sneering viciously, "You snatched the locks off our doors."

Slowly, Marley stepped behind Rick. Her machete dangled from her hand, the elongated blade catching in the sun. It dazzled and gleamed, coaxing her into using it — a devil on her shoulder tempting her into putting the blade through Tomas' skull and wrapping up his nonsense. But, she still had her humanity; she still had remorse and mercy, and she wouldn't kill a man unless he really, truly deserved it.

Rick shrugged, "We'll give you new locks, if that's how you want it."

"This is our prison," Tomas splayed his hands out, his frustration visibly mounting. "We were here first."

"Locked in a broom closet?" Rick asked. He laughed shortly, sardonically, further infuriating his opponent. He was making a mockery of him. "We took it, set you free. It's ours. We spilled blood."

Marley pointed to a patch of bloody grass, shaded beneath an outcropping of the farthest watchtower. She was showing who was in charge; not him, and definitely not his commands. "You can take that area there. I'm sure it'll be nice and comfortable for you."

He shook his head violently. "We're moving back into our cell block."

"You'll have to get your own." Rick said.

"It is mine." Tomas spat angrily. His fingers were inching toward his gun. "I've still got personal artefacts in there. That's about as mine as it gets!"

In the flash of a light, he whipped out his gun and pointed it directly at Rick. There was a resounding click of weapons from every angle, rushed footsteps and panicked breaths. Marley's heart hammered against her chest, despite knowing Tomas' threat was an empty one. For precaution, she lifted her machete and lifted it to rest mere inches from his throat.

"Not another step." She pushed the tip of the blade closer. It hovered a hair's breadth away from completely severing his neck, ripping it to shreds of red-ribbons. She revelled in knowing she had the upper hand. "Put the gun down."

Tomas stood his ground, puffing his chest out adamantly, but looked at the blade with clear apprehension. "I ain't taking orders from a little girl."

"No?" Marley remarked sarcastically. Her hand was growing clammy around the hilt, and the weight of the weapon was making her arm ache. She tilted her head, "Fine. Time to say your goodbyes."

"Woah!" Axel rushed forward, arms raised in surrender. He stood between Marley and Tomas, pushing the machete away with the tip of his fore-finger. Marley reluctantly lowered it and faced Rick's unendurable wrath in the form of narrowed eyes and a tight mouth. Axel continued blabbing, "Let's try to make this work out so everybody wins."

Tomas' brows furrowed in contempt, "I don't see that happening."

"Neither do I." Rick hissed.

"I ain't going back in that cafeteria for one more minute."

Axel stepped forward again, nervous and mouse-like, the defuser of this situation, "There are other cell blocks."

Daryl had his crossbow raised, pointing an arrow between Tomas' eyes. His lip curled with distaste, "You could leave. Try your luck out on the road."

Tomas looked around. He realised what choices he had. He realised he did not have the upper hand here, nor would he ever if the group had anything to say about it.

"If these three pussies can do all this," He gestured to the bodies, the dilapidated building that was ripe with their scent. "the least we can do is take out another cell block."

"With what?" Big Tiny inquired.

Rick's face remained stoic — spare the small twitch of his eyebrows — even as Tomas addressed him with a fierce expression, and dark eyes burning like roasted coal. "Atlanta here will spot us some real weapons. Won't you, boss?"

There was silence as Rick turned over a possible response in his mind.

"How stocked is that cafeteria?" he asked. Making possible deals, in return for good deeds. He was one step ahead, always. "It must have plenty of food. Five guys lasting almost a year?"

"Sure as hell don't look like anybody's been starvin'" Daryl grumbled.

Their response happened to be, as expected, "There's only a little left."

"We'll take half." Rick rolled his lips, satisfied with his end of the deal. "In exchange, we'll help clear out a cell block. You pay, we'll play."

Andrew waved his hand around irritably, not conflicted, only determined to serve his own self-interests, "Didn't you hear him? There's only a little left."

"We didn't ask you." Marley snapped.

Lifting a hand, Rick gesticulated again the desire he had for her to be silent. She obeyed, but a fury like no other was crackling in her chest, igniting every atom in her body like embers from a fire.

"All right. I'll play." Tomas agreed reluctantly. His body was stiff, rigid.

"Let's be clear," Rick stepped forward, his heated glare unwavering — as was his heavy threat, "If we see you out here, anywhere near our people, if I so much as even catch a whiff of your scent, I will kill you."

Tomas glowered, but mustered a short nod, "Deal."

✧.｡. *.

Sage knew what she was doing was going to get her into a world of trouble, but that didn't stop her from following Carl through the winding tunnels, sinking deep into the prison.

Their destination was the infirmary . . . wherever it was. Somewhere. Somehow, they would find it.

She had protection against potential threats, too; just in case. Not that Sage should have, and against all reasonable judgment, she had taken Marley's handgun from their shared-cell, stuffing it into the back pocket of her pants. Everyone had been too concerned over Hershel to notice — and Marley was with Rick and Daryl, sharpening her skills as a soldier, meaning she was nowhere in sight when the minor theft occurred.

But Sage didn't care either way. Hershel's bandages were an array of dirty sheets that would soon lead to an infection if not neutered, and he needed medication. Fast. Nobody else could make the time to find the infirmary. Nobody but Sage and Carl.

She trudged down the hallway, eyeing the grimy walls spotted with mould. Carl was leagues ahead, pointing his silenced-weapon around every corner.

Unlike Carl, Sage was a poor shot. Always had been, always would; without proper practice, it would never improve. It simply wasn't her forte. After the frequent target practicing on the Greene's farm, she couldn't find the patience for it. Handheld weapons and blades were easier to use . . . yet she still chose to swipe Marley's handgun, despite knowing the chances of actually using it were slim.

Sage swallowed thickly and rushed to catch up with Carl. The pressing darkness of the windowless hallway was slightly terrifying, and she did not feel like getting lost anytime soon.

Her comrade stopped, turned, and surveyed her carefully. Communication between the companions was reasonably difficult to accomplish, but Carl tried his damned hardest to converse with her no matter the circumstance, and she appreciated the efforts he went to in order to make her feel less excluded.

Not everybody did that. Not everybody tried.

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Carl slowly lifted his hands — gun wedged between his armpit and forearm — where they hovered in mid-air as his brain whirred introspectively as he thought about how to wordlessly gesticulate his thoughts. Sage arched a brow.

"Left. Monsters." Carl appeared to sign. She gathered as much, from the violent gestures he made down the left tunnel, followed by the pointing of his fingers that resembled the horns of a devilish creature. Then, he waved his hand in what Sage assumed to be, "This way."

Without wasting time, she followed him.

There was a singular walker hobbling idly along the walkway — at the end was a door, and a sign above it that read infirmary. Her heart skipped a beat.

Hershel was going to be okay.

The walker raised its head when the children approached, its decomposing mouth hanging agape in a silent scream, fleshless arms lifting desperately to claim its prey. On the creature's rotting body were prison garments, a navy-blue jumpsuit, soaked in dry blood and peppered with splatters of brain matter.

Sage's eyes wandered, and her mouth tightened in repulsion. Something had torn the flesh from the walker's right arm, revealing strings of corded muscle and hollow strips of bone — an injury that assumably had been the very thing that killed him.

Carl lifted his gun and squeezed the trigger. The walker dropped to the ground, blood weeping from a cavity in his forehead.

They stepped over the corpse and continued down the walkway. Once they reached the end, Sage turned the door-knob to the infirmary, and allowed Carl to enter first. He explored the dimly-lit room, checking for deadly threats lurking in the shadows, but came up empty-handed.

Good.

Sage stuffed everything she could find inside of a discarded duffel bag, making rolls of bandages her top priority.

The shelves of the medicinal pantry had been raided, though evidently by someone who did not understand the labels, or had little time to gather everything in sight. Antibiotics, amoxicillin, and an array of useful tablets had been left behind, collecting dust amidst the opened and sealed packets of medication. Relieved, Sage took everything.

She and Carl compared their findings, nodded in approval, and raced back down the walkway like charging bulls, hopping over the corpse once again.

Hershel was going to be fine.

He was going to live.

Tangled up in her own overwhelming relief, Sage did not notice the walker teetering through the hallway to her right. She could not hear its snarls, and she was far too focused on the path ahead — the changes they would make to Hershel's condition with the new findings, the clean equipment — to think of looking around for oncoming threats.

She felt cold hands coil around her throat, and she screamed. How loud, she did not know. Only her throat burned, her eyes watered, and her lungs squeezed and strained with effort.

Sage fumbled to reach the handgun in the waistband of her jeans, struggling against the walker that pressed its weight to her back. With a heave, Sage successfully curled her fingers around the hilt and pried the gun out, almost retching with the overpowering surge of relief and fear mingled into one.

In the effort, she caught sight of discoloured teeth inching closer and closer to the exposed flesh of her collarbone. Her heart kicked with adrenaline.

She propelled her leg backward and shattered the walker's kneecap, rushing to escape the creature's unrelenting grip. It fell lopsided, one hand now reaching into her hair, tangling itself in the plume of blonde curls. Her neck snapped backward as the walker tugged, and she screamed again — scalp burning, head throbbing — trying with all her might to pull herself free.

Thinking of what Marley would do in this situation, Sage reared her leg back up again and landed another backward blow to the walker's face. Her heel found its home in the creature's eye-socket, and blood seeped from the newfound wound and exploded across her shoes, weirdly reminding her of a dropped watermelon or a paintball bullet. Unfortunately, however, her heel didn't quite catch the brain.

But she managed to break free.

Again, Sage fumbled with the gun, stepping backward shakily as the walker clawed across the ground. It was unable to stand, unable to see clearly, unable to fight properly. Sympathising with it was difficult, given it was valiantly attempting to assassinate her, but she found she wanted to put the thing out of its lingering misery rather than view her upcoming actions as full-brunt killing.

Squinting, Sage pressed the muzzle of the handgun to the walker's forehead and squeezed the trigger.

Boom. Its head burst. Blood and brain matter splattered up against the walls, across her cheeks, clinging to her mussed-up hair, pouring like a crimson waterfall from the open cavity that was once a dead man's face.

Sage stared.

She remembered Shane Walsh. He was her first walker kill. This was her second — somehow she had escaped it all during those long seven months on the road.

Both had been entirely different. Shane's reanimated corpse would have killed Carl if she hadn't intervened. Might have killed Rick. Might have still been walking the farm, snarling and snapping.

Strangely, Sage found she never felt guilt over her actions until weeks later, when she was sitting by a fire as the group cleared out trailers for temporary residency. She recalled the type of person Shane had been in the first few weeks holed up in Atlanta. He had been good. He had been generous, and selfless. Until the sadistic, malevolent veil of darkness looming over the world had changed him, warped his brain, altered his perception of good and evil. They blurred together. And so Sage convinced herself it was right — what she did was right. Shane's time had ran its course. He had to go. She watched him murder Randall in the woods, and she knew then he had changed in an irreversible way. He was no longer the Shane Walsh who carried her across a creek because she cried when she saw a frog in the water, or the Shane Walsh who made her a hot chocolate the first night in camp.

Over time, he transformed into a monster. And he died a monster.

This walker, the one dead beneath her feet . . . she didn't know who he was, or what he was doing in prison, or if he had family waiting for him somewhere. All Sage knew was he needed to die, no matter what — everything that made him human once upon a time was gone. Gathered, he died when that wound on his arm festered, and blood loss eventually claimed him. That was the moment his life ended.

Sage killed a monster. That was all they were. Monsters. They killed Dale and Amy and Jim, they killed Mom and Dad. Cold-blooded, undead creatures with an insatiable desire to tear families apart and overtake the entire world, a tornado of devastation ripping through the only good left in their tarnished universe.

And Sage promised herself she would never feel remorse over killing one of the monsters. Ever.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

sage is my baby and it makes
me wanna cry when she gets
hurt, even though i literally
write it myself.

also carl was literally
walking ahead thinking sage
was behind him the whole time.
sorry but that is a funny image
in my head because when he
heard her screaming his face
would have been priceless.

:')