Status: Work in progress
Antichrist
Three.
I woke up in a bed in a jail cell. The light poured through barred windows and into my 4x4. No one was around. I sat up and peered out the door. Slowly sliding open, I took a step out and then another until I was leaning on the railing, looking down upon a bunch of tables and stools Some people were down there, and others still in their cells, sleeping or occupying themselves In some other way. Everything was gray and concrete, and the black paint on the main wall read “BLOCK C” in bold font.
“Nice to see you’re up,” Rick called from further down the cellblock. He flicked his arm, motioning me to follow. I caught up and followed him down the stairs.
“Well this is it,” He said, stopping thigh his hands on his hips- stoic. “It’s not much, and It’s been hell, But we got a good thing going here.” You could hear both the pride and trouble in his voice as he spoke. He called up Carl and ordered him to show me around, then to take me to the infirmary to see some guy. He nodded obediently and took of with me trailing not so far behind. The outside of the prison had been converted into a farm of some sort, the rec yard had a tent, and a lady was cooking over a stove and feeding kids. There was a group near the main gates loading up to make a run. There were two people in a watchtower, and other people randomly strewn about.
“Wow,” I piped up. “How many people are even here?”
“Count was twenty… But we lost two and added you… so I guess nineteen until Michonne gets back. She’s always in and out.”
I had no Idea who that was.
We walked for awhile around the bricks and concrete and gates of the outer prison before we stopped amongst the vegetable crops and he opened the gate. Carl let me in and handed me a bucket.
“Help me water some of these, will ya?” He asked. I agreed and followed him to the well pump. He made small talk.
“So Dana,” He said. “H-how old are you?”
“Sixteen,” I smiled. “You?”
“Fourteen.”
I poured a bucket over a few tomato plants.
“How long have you all been here,” I questioned. “You found time to grow stuff and raise animals? It must’ve been a while.”
“We spent winter and spring here. Found the place around last november,” he told me. “My dad rallied everyone together and now we’ve got a pretty nice place, ya know?”
“So Rick is you guy's leader...? Kind of like a mayor or president type deal?” I asked. Carl nodded at me.
"He doesn't think of it that way, but yeah."
"Well look at lil 'ole me, getting saved by the president and his son," I joked. Some of the water from the bucket I was pouring spilled onto my leg, wetting the dried blood on my thigh. I tried to rub it out, but ended up wincing at the pain.
"Maybe I should get you to Hershel," Carl said abruptly, taking the bucket from my hand and leading me out of the field. "He'll clean that thing out and fix you up."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Jail infirmary was cool and damp. Much like everywhere else in the prison, it was dolphin gray and had barred windows. The only difference was the much darker and ominous lighting near the back. There were observation rooms separating the hallway by way of the windows on each side, and there were stretchers strewn about and papers littering the floor. Carl hit three knocks on one door and waited a second. It swung open, revealing a man much older than I had expected. He had long white hair and a scraggly white beard. If he wasn't so small, he'd easily fit into the Santa Claus mold of things. The only thing was, He was missing a leg. He smiled at Carl and I.
"Hershel, this is Dana. Dana, Hershel Greene."
"It's nice to meet you young lady," Hershel beamed. He took my hand into his and led me to the table in the room. "How did you get here?"
"Dad and I found her on our run yesterday," Carl interjected.
"Well then, you're a lucky girl. How long you planning to stay?"
"About a week maybe, or until this heals up," I answered slowly, gesturing to the bloody mark on my jeans. I eased up onto the table and laid back. I fiddled a bit with my belt before getting it undone and slipping my jeans down to about my knees. I heard Carl clear his throat from the door. I laughed to myself.
"You okay, boy?" Hershel asked.
"Uh- um- yeah," Carl swallowed hard. "I'm gonna go uh- um- I'm gonna go catch up on my chores. See you around." He darted out of the room. I waved him off and turned to Hershel.
"So... you're a real doctor right?" I asked him. "I'm not trying to have random people staring at my underwear and calling it medicine."
"Veterinarian," He corrected me. "But yes. I can work on you too. Now lets see this gash."
I had had the cut for about 2 weeks. I had kept it as nice and clean as I could, but when you have is t-shirt scraps for bandaging and river water to clean it with- coupled with the fact that you sleep on the ground or in random households, it's expected for it to heal slowly. Hershel looked at it for a moment and without question noted that it was infected.
"Well," he began. "this is pretty deep and pretty bad. Its not clotting well because of whatever you've got, and it won't stop until we get you some antibiotics. We do have fresh bandages and peroxide to clean out the blood and pus. The good news though, its that you should be fine."
"Good news? There's bad news?" My eyes widened.
"Bad news is, we are out of the antibiotics you're gonna need. We'll have to send a team out for you in the morning."
He managed to clean my wound out pretty well, even though I squirmed and probably cursed him out more time than he'd ever experienced in my life. Every dab and every scrape felt like I was being slowly carved on a spit for a gyro. I held the gauze down as he wrapped me up and told me I was good to go. I thanked Hershel and started back for my cell.
“Nice to see you’re up,” Rick called from further down the cellblock. He flicked his arm, motioning me to follow. I caught up and followed him down the stairs.
“Well this is it,” He said, stopping thigh his hands on his hips- stoic. “It’s not much, and It’s been hell, But we got a good thing going here.” You could hear both the pride and trouble in his voice as he spoke. He called up Carl and ordered him to show me around, then to take me to the infirmary to see some guy. He nodded obediently and took of with me trailing not so far behind. The outside of the prison had been converted into a farm of some sort, the rec yard had a tent, and a lady was cooking over a stove and feeding kids. There was a group near the main gates loading up to make a run. There were two people in a watchtower, and other people randomly strewn about.
“Wow,” I piped up. “How many people are even here?”
“Count was twenty… But we lost two and added you… so I guess nineteen until Michonne gets back. She’s always in and out.”
I had no Idea who that was.
We walked for awhile around the bricks and concrete and gates of the outer prison before we stopped amongst the vegetable crops and he opened the gate. Carl let me in and handed me a bucket.
“Help me water some of these, will ya?” He asked. I agreed and followed him to the well pump. He made small talk.
“So Dana,” He said. “H-how old are you?”
“Sixteen,” I smiled. “You?”
“Fourteen.”
I poured a bucket over a few tomato plants.
“How long have you all been here,” I questioned. “You found time to grow stuff and raise animals? It must’ve been a while.”
“We spent winter and spring here. Found the place around last november,” he told me. “My dad rallied everyone together and now we’ve got a pretty nice place, ya know?”
“So Rick is you guy's leader...? Kind of like a mayor or president type deal?” I asked. Carl nodded at me.
"He doesn't think of it that way, but yeah."
"Well look at lil 'ole me, getting saved by the president and his son," I joked. Some of the water from the bucket I was pouring spilled onto my leg, wetting the dried blood on my thigh. I tried to rub it out, but ended up wincing at the pain.
"Maybe I should get you to Hershel," Carl said abruptly, taking the bucket from my hand and leading me out of the field. "He'll clean that thing out and fix you up."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Jail infirmary was cool and damp. Much like everywhere else in the prison, it was dolphin gray and had barred windows. The only difference was the much darker and ominous lighting near the back. There were observation rooms separating the hallway by way of the windows on each side, and there were stretchers strewn about and papers littering the floor. Carl hit three knocks on one door and waited a second. It swung open, revealing a man much older than I had expected. He had long white hair and a scraggly white beard. If he wasn't so small, he'd easily fit into the Santa Claus mold of things. The only thing was, He was missing a leg. He smiled at Carl and I.
"Hershel, this is Dana. Dana, Hershel Greene."
"It's nice to meet you young lady," Hershel beamed. He took my hand into his and led me to the table in the room. "How did you get here?"
"Dad and I found her on our run yesterday," Carl interjected.
"Well then, you're a lucky girl. How long you planning to stay?"
"About a week maybe, or until this heals up," I answered slowly, gesturing to the bloody mark on my jeans. I eased up onto the table and laid back. I fiddled a bit with my belt before getting it undone and slipping my jeans down to about my knees. I heard Carl clear his throat from the door. I laughed to myself.
"You okay, boy?" Hershel asked.
"Uh- um- yeah," Carl swallowed hard. "I'm gonna go uh- um- I'm gonna go catch up on my chores. See you around." He darted out of the room. I waved him off and turned to Hershel.
"So... you're a real doctor right?" I asked him. "I'm not trying to have random people staring at my underwear and calling it medicine."
"Veterinarian," He corrected me. "But yes. I can work on you too. Now lets see this gash."
I had had the cut for about 2 weeks. I had kept it as nice and clean as I could, but when you have is t-shirt scraps for bandaging and river water to clean it with- coupled with the fact that you sleep on the ground or in random households, it's expected for it to heal slowly. Hershel looked at it for a moment and without question noted that it was infected.
"Well," he began. "this is pretty deep and pretty bad. Its not clotting well because of whatever you've got, and it won't stop until we get you some antibiotics. We do have fresh bandages and peroxide to clean out the blood and pus. The good news though, its that you should be fine."
"Good news? There's bad news?" My eyes widened.
"Bad news is, we are out of the antibiotics you're gonna need. We'll have to send a team out for you in the morning."
He managed to clean my wound out pretty well, even though I squirmed and probably cursed him out more time than he'd ever experienced in my life. Every dab and every scrape felt like I was being slowly carved on a spit for a gyro. I held the gauze down as he wrapped me up and told me I was good to go. I thanked Hershel and started back for my cell.