~47~

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After several hours in the musty car, I was loosing my mind on how quiet it was. Everybody was passed out in the back, Michonne had actually climbed over the seat and into the trunk to lay down, leaving the two boys leaning against the windows snoozing. Driving, Daryl had one hand on the steering wheel and the other propped up on the window leaning his head against his fist. I don't think I'd seen him sleep this entire trip.

"You should sleep, I can drive," I offered him. He glanced over at me for a moment, before returning his eyes to the road.

"Naw, I got it," he responded in a hushed tone. I frowned at his answer, looking over his busted knuckles on the wheel that never seemed to heal.

"When are we gonna talk about... us? What are we?" I stared out the windshield, almost afraid to make eye contact with him. Being in this car for so long left me to endless thinking and self doubt.

"Not here," He grumbled, eyes flashing into the review mirror at the still sleeping bodies. I let out a deep sigh, resting my temple against the window and just dropping the conversation all together. I was beginning to think we'd never have that talk.

A few hours later we were driving down the road to the prison. We'd heard a large amount of gun shots along the way but they seemed to stop as we approached the gate. When the gate didn't open, I stared into the dark trying to find any movement, it looked like one of the fences had fell, making my chest tighten with nerves. The screeching of the gate opening caught our attention as we drove through and met with Rick and Carl.

"Sasha?!" Ty jumped out first, questioning Rick.

"I don't know, I'm sorry," Rick answered him.

Daryl tossed him a bag full of the scavenged medicine and gave the all clear to go find her. There must've been near a hundred of dead walkers on the ground inside the inner fence. Rick and Carl were probably the cause of the gun shots we'd heard.

"Everybody alright?" Daryl asked, looking around. Rick nodded his head, swinging the rifle he had in his hands over his shoulder.

"It's gonna be a long night of clean up," I sighed, looking over all the bodies.

~~~~

The sun was was up, and after taking a few hours to rest I was back outside with Michonne and Daryl to finish packing up the last round of biters from the prison. Hershel came outside, a hot sweat across his forehead and dried blood all over his clothes. His eyes were dark from lack of sleep, yet he smiled up at the sun as it warmed his face. He gave us an update on how Glen was doing in his recovery, and that everybody else was slowly getting better. Daryl smiled at the old man, calling him a tough son of bitch to which Hershel agreed with.

"How about Carol, she up in A block with Lizzie?" Daryl asked Hershel. There was a moment of silence.

"No. Talk to Rick about her. She's okay, but talk to Rick," he said, voice going serious.

I felt my eyebrows pull together as Daryl headed off back inside the prison. Michonne had loaded up the very last corpse inside the trailer and was headed for the drivers seat of the jeep.

"You headed out?" Hershel asked her.

"Ya, you wanna come?" she gave the both of us a look.

"Hell ya," Hershel answered, making me smile as we both hopped in.

We drove out to a small clearing in the woods not to far from the prison. There was a large smoldering pile of burnt corpses from the previous trips that had left a fowl smell in the air. We started unloading the trailer, tossing the heavy bodies onto the pile. I was standing in the trailer, reaching down for another body when I heard a thud. I reached for my bow but heard the sound of a gun click, making me freeze.

"That's it, now turn around slowly," his voice sent chills up my spine.

I straightened up, my heart racing in my chest at the familiar voice as I spun around. A crooked smile grew across his face as he recognized me with a shocked expression.

"Hello Jules, long time no see," he smiled, looking me up and down.

"Not long enough," I hissed, noticing Michonne blacked out on the floor, a gash on her forehead.

He chuckled, motioning me to come down with his raised gun. As I jumped down, I reached for the small knife I had tucked away and reeled my arm back, throwing it as hard as I could towards him. He ducked, the blade only clipping the side of his ear which now trickled with blood. The anger in his one eye was haunting as he picked his gun up at me again, ripping the knife from the tree it sunk into behind him. I felt frozen as he shoved me against the side of the metal trailer.

"How's the wound?" he asked, before sending his knee hard into my gut. I crippled over in pain clutching my torso, then being thrown back up and feeling the knife press hard against my throat.

"How many times are you gonna make a father kill his own daughter?" he growled at me.

"Go to hell," I spit, chest heaving. I felt the knife slice into the side of my neck, unable to move as I yelped, feeling blood drip onto my shirt.

"Wait! You'll want her alive," Hershel peeped up. "It's the prison you want, right? You'll need her to negotiate," he pleaded with the governor.

"You may be right, but that's why I have you. We'll continue this later, get in the car," he ordered, tying my hands together.

"I need to stop the bleeding, before it gets infected," Hershel tried to tell him. My dad glared at me and the blood staining my shirt as I felt a little light headed, but keeping a straight face.

"Fine," he said, throwing him a rag.

In the back of the car, Hershel pressed the rag against my neck until the bleeding stopped. He told me it wasn't to deep and wouldn't need stitches. But I was far from concerned about that right now, I was more worried about what else my dad had in store.

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