Could It?

Athena

Time didn’t pass normally here. It moved like molasses - slow, thick, dragging through every breath and heartbeat. I counted days by the way the birds called in the morning, the way the Sisters’ chants rose and fell like some eerie tide.

I’d been here 9 weeks so far - I think.

The first week, I actually believed they’d saved me. I’d been so far gone I barely remembered anything - just flashes of Daryl sobbing, the cabin, pain splitting up my leg like lightning. But then came soft hands. Cool water. Herbs pressed to my skin. The smell of something burning in bowls around me. And the whisper of women’s voices saying I was safe.

But I wasn’t safe.

A week in, I’d seen straight through the curtain of peace and nature and whispered mantras.

They weren’t kind.

They were fucking psychopaths.

Mother Corinne - who I now knew to be leader of the Sisters - called it “cleansing,” but it was control. Their chants, their rules, their twisted belief that the world outside deserved to burn. They didn’t want to help rebuild. They wanted the silence that came after a scream. They wanted obedience, devotion. Surrender.

I wasn’t giving them that.

They kept saying I was “in transition,” like I was some broken, corrupted animal they needed to tame. I played along, at first - smiled when they brought me food, nodded during their endless rambling speeches about the “purity of isolation.”

Despite how desperate I was to flee, to get back to my family, it seemed like biding my time was the only way. I let them think I was weak in the way they wanted me to be. Because I was weak - physically. And I hated that more than anything.

My leg still hadn’t healed. And until it did, I felt completely fucking helpless.

My femur had snapped clean through. They set it, sure, bandaged it, but it was a torturous waiting game. When I first tried properly to stand weeks later, not able to lie on that bed anymore, the pain had been blinding. I’d collapsed, screaming through gritted teeth, sweat pouring down my neck. The Sisters had scolded me like a child for “forcing nature’s pace.”

They wouldn’t give me crutches. Nothing to lean on. Said if the earth wanted me upright, I’d rise on my own.

I pretty much lived in that damn bed. The walls of my little room closed in around me more each day. I laid there, staring at the arched ceiling, aching so hard for my family it was like my body was cracking apart all over again.

I missed them. God, I missed them.

I could still feel Sawyer’s little hand gripping my finger. Hear Briar’s sweet, cheeky voice asking for one more pancake, even though she’d already had a double-portion. I thought about Daryl’s rough hands brushing hair from my face. The way he’d kiss my temple and mutter something half-embarrassed about loving me more than life. The way he’d look at our children like he couldn’t believe they were real.

They’d think I was dead.

Did they bury something of mine so they could hold a funeral?

Did my babies cry, waiting for me to come home?

Was Daryl tearing himself apart?

I kept picturing him standing in the cabin, his shoulders hunched, his voice hoarse from yelling my name. It gutted me more than the pain in my leg. The idea that he’d found me gone, his heart in pieces, convinced he’d failed to save me. That he’d had to tell our babies I wasn’t coming back.

Two weeks ago, in a moment of raw desperation, I tried to escape.

It was night. I waited until the compound was quiet, until I could hear nothing but wind through the trees and the low creak of hanging herbs swaying. I dragged myself out of bed, breath sharp with pain. I fashioned a kind of splint from a broken chair leg. It wasn’t good. But I had to try.

I made it ten feet before I collapsed

The pain in my leg was like fire, and I remember crawling - sobbing through clenched teeth - back to the edge of the bed. That’s where they found me.

They didn’t beat me or punish. That wasn’t their way.

They just watched. Cold. Silent. One of them said something about “resisting the path.” And then they took the makeshift splint and burned it.

They started locking my door after that.

There was only one person here who gave me the vibe that she wasn’t completely insane - Agatha, the youngest of the sisters I’d seen. She didn’t come to my room often, but when she did, she looked at me with a sympathy none of the others had. She was young, and I wondered if she truly believed in any of this shit or had just grown up here and was too scared to leave.

If there was anybody here who I could convince to help me, it’d be her. I could see through her - she even answered my question about how many people lived here. Thirty-six sisters. One leader. Two seconds-in-command. Then there were men, she wasn’t sure how many. They were seen as lower beings, not allowed to speak, used only as muscle to hunt and protect. It was them who’d brought me here.

She got nervous after she told me about the men, like she’d slipped up, but I saw my opportunity. Each time she came after that, I made sure I was friendly, kept her chatting as long as I could. I could tell she was warming to me, she even spent a long time delicately brushing the tangles from my hair one day.

Something in me told me that she didn’t really want to be here, either.

~

I was finally getting stronger. The pain hadn’t gone, but I could sit up now without collapsing. I could pivot, inch across the floor when I had to. I was learning. Enduring. And waiting for a crack in their perfect little cult to show itself.

Because it would, and when it did, I’d be ready.

Agatha was coming to my room more often, as if she was volunteering herself to be the one to bring me my meals and change my bandages. I think she saw something in me she craved - life outside of these walls, freedom.

“Agatha,” I whispered one afternoon, when we were alone in my room and the halls outside had gone quiet. I reached for her wrist, gripping it tightly. “Please... I need your help.”

She went rigid.

“Please. I have a husband. Children. They'll think I’m dead. I need to get out of here.”

“If they knew I was talking to you like this…” her voice shook. “They’d banish me. Maybe worse... I have nowhere else to go.”

“Come with me.” I didn’t even hesitate. “Help me get out of here and you can come with me.”

She blinked at me, lips parted, tears swimming in her eyes - but then she pulled away and stood abruptly.

“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, voice cracking.

Then she left.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

Pain thrummed through every inch of me, but it was duller now - like it had fused into me. I stared up at the rafters and wondered if I’d acted on Agatha too soon, if I’d scared her and she’d stop coming now. If I’d fucked up my chance to get out of here and back to my family.

But then the door creaked open just as dawn lit the sky.

Agatha.

She looked like a ghost - pale, lips bloodless, hair loose from her braid. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke.

“There are men,” she whispered. “In the cells beneath the chapel. I heard them yelling. One kept demanding to see his wife.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Could it be?

No...

But then, could it?

“Who are they?” I asked her, barely able to breathe.

She shook her head, voice trembling. “I don’t know... I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I should go...”

“Please,” I begged. “Agatha, please. One of them might be my husband - Daryl. Can you try speak to them?”

She looked around wildly, as if expecting someone to appear out of the shadows, then she sighed, “I can only try after dark.”

Tears welled in my eyes instantly. “How?”

“They know I sleepwalk sometimes. If they find me down there, I’ll act disoriented. Say I don’t remember how I got there.”

“If it is him, can you open cell? Can you get him out?”

She pondered for a moment. “Maybe...”

I reached out, wrapping my fingers around hers. “Thank you.”

“If I do this... you said I can come with you...”

“You can,” I promised. And I meant it.

The rest of the day was excruciating. Knowing Daryl could be here, in the same building as me - but not able to see for myself.

Long after darkness fell that night and the building went quiet, I couldn’t wait any longer. Maybe Agatha would follow through, maybe she wouldn’t. But, I had to know if it was him. I had to at least try...

Every nerve screamed as I pulled myself out of bed. My legs trembled under me. Pain surged with every breath. I leaned against the wall and edged toward the door. Inch by inch. I picked at the lock with a bobby pin I’d stashed from the last time Agatha had braided my hair, cursing with every other breath before I finally heard the click.

I let out a sigh that was somewhere between relief, fear and desperation and forced my broken body through the door.

The corridor beyond was dim, the torches flickering low. Every second felt like an hour as I dragged myself along the walls. I didn’t know where I was going - all I knew was that the cells were underneath the chapel. That’s what Agatha had said. I forced my brain to try work out which direction I’d heard the chanting coming from in the evenings.

That’s where they’d do it - right?

After what felt like forever, I’d made it one hall over, maybe two, but my body was failing me. The world started to swim. My breath came in gasps. Every step hurt like hell. My knees nearly buckled. I wanted to cry.

Then I heard footsteps.

I froze.

They were too quiet. One of the sisters was coming.

My heart sank. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hide. My body wouldn’t let me. I was going to be caught out of my room and dragged back. I wasn’t going to make it to the cells.

I wasn’t going to know if it was really Daryl who was here.

The tears came. I couldn’t stop them.

But then, Agatha appeared from the dark.

My breath caught in my throat so fast it burned, because behind her...

Daryl.

And... wait, Carl?

My knees buckled. The world tilted.

Daryl froze mid-step, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His eyes locked on me - and in an instant, his entire face shattered. First, disbelief. Then relief. Then a desperation so naked and raw I thought it would drag me under.

“Ath...”

His voice cracked open, hoarse and broken like it had ripped its way out of him.

He ran, his emotions tearing out of him before he could close the space.

He crashed into me like a force of nature, his arms locking around me just before I hit the floor. My legs didn’t work anymore, didn’t care to. I melted into him as he pulled me into his chest so tightly I couldn’t breathe - and didn’t want to. I didn’t care if I suffocated right there. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and sobbed like my soul was tearing in half.

He smelled like sweat, smoke, blood, and dirt. And underneath all that - home.

His chest heaved against mine. He was crying. Full, uncontrollable sobs that he fought to keep quiet. The kind that felt like he hadn’t let himself cry in forever. I could feel the tremors in him, the way he clung to me like I was the only solid thing in the world.

I wanted to ask how he’d found me, if Briar and Sawyer were okay - but couldn’t speak. My throat was gone, raw with grief and joy tangled in a knot I couldn’t untangle.

He pulled back to look at me for just a moment, his hands framing my face as we took each other in.

He was thinner. His face hollow, bruised. His cheekbone split. One eye nearly swollen shut. His hair was damp and matted with blood, but it was the tears streaming down his face that broke me the most. I couldn’t bear to think what he’d been through getting here.

He pulled me back into him again, that same crushing embrace as before only his arms trembled even more now.

Agatha’s voice broke the moment. A whisper, urgent and brittle. “We have to go. Now.”

Daryl didn’t move. Didn’t let go. I don’t think he could.

“Daryl-” Carl pressed.

Daryl didn’t let go. He shifted me in his arms, lifting me like I weighed nothing at all as he started moving back toward the others, holding me as close to him as he could.

We moved fast, Agatha leading us through the maze of old stone halls. The air was damp and cold, every footstep echoing like a warning. Shadows shifted like ghosts along the walls.

We reached a heavy, rusted door at the end of the corridor. She pulled out a ring of keys, her hands shaking.

“None of these keys are right,” she hissed, fumbling with the locks. “Must be on a different set.”

Daryl growled, staring at the door. “Gotta break it down.”

“What about guards?” Carl whispered.

“There’s always some,” Agatha replied. “But no guns. Blades and batons only. That’s all they’re allowed.”

Carl didn’t look convinced. “They’ll have my gun, Daryl’s crossbow...”

Agatha shook her head. “They wouldn’t bring them inside. It breaks a sacred vow.”

I rolled my eyes - that didn't even make sense - but was secretly grateful.

Daryl kissed my forehead, slow and reverent, then gently passed me to Carl. “Hold her tight.”

Carl didn’t hesitate. He grunted as he steadied me but didn’t complain. He smelled like the woods and gunpowder. He had a beard now. When had that happened? When had he stopped being a kid?

Daryl stepped back - and then slammed into the door with his shoulder.

Once. It creaked.

Twice. The frame cracked.

The third time - the whole thing burst open with a groan of splintered wood and ancient hinges.

Yells erupted down the hall. Footsteps. Echoes.

Two guards surged around the corner, their boots pounding the stone floor.

Daryl lunged without flinching. One went down.

The other raised a blade - but he was already moving, all rage and instinct. He crashed into the man mid-swing, slamming him against the wall with a feral growl. The guard's blade scraped Daryl’s shoulder, opening a fresh line of blood - but he didn’t stop. He pummeled the man with a grunt of fury until he dropped.

I froze, watching the blood soak into his shirt.

“Go!” he roared, grabbing me from Carl and lifting me again.

He ran. Carl and Agatha followed.

Branches whipped our faces as we burst into the woods, the forest swallowing us whole.

Daryl held me close like a lifeline, carrying me through the dark.

Behind us, yells. But farther now. Fading.

Carl skidded to a stop ahead of us.

“No fucking way,” he breathed.

There, in a patch of moonlit leaves - Daryl’s crossbow. Carl’s pistol. Clean. Untouched.

Agatha, breathless and teary-eyed, grinned like she’d just pulled off a miracle. “Told you they wouldn’t bother bringing them in.”

Carl didn’t miss a beat. He snatched up his gun and Daryl’s crossbow, slung it over his shoulder, and kept going.

We didn’t stop running until the forest swallowed the last of the old world behind us. I’d never seen Daryl look so exhausted, so broken - but he moved like the world would end if he didn’t.

Finally, after enough distance had been put between us and the Covenant, we slowed near a grove of trees draped in moss and mist.

Daryl lowered me to the ground like I was made of glass, his hands still gripping me like he wasn’t sure I was real. He dropped to his knees in front of me, eyes wide and red-rimmed.

“Baby...” he said, hoarse and reverent. “I-”

He cut himself off, shaking his head before he leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine, his hands gripping my face

“You-” My voice cracked like ice. “You found-” I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t get my throat to work properly.

“Never stopped lookin’,” he whispered, his forehead pressing to mine. “Not for one damn second.”

“Are you okay?” I choked. “Briar and Sawyer... are they okay?”

He pulled back, nodding. “I-” he tried. “They’re with Merle. I had to...”

Tears welled in my eyes again. My babies were safe - I knew they would be if Merle had them. I reached for Daryl’s face, tracing the new bruises, the cuts. “You look like hell. Daryl... I’m sorry that I-”

“Don’t matter,” he cut me off. “Nothin’ matters now. Yur here. I’m gonna take ya home.”

I pulled him into me, and he collapsed in my arms. Not like a man giving up - but like a man who had finally found peace after a war. We clung to each other, completely unaware of Carl and Agatha nearby, both in disbelief that we’d finally been reunited.

I was going home.

We were going home.

A/N: Thoughts? 😬❤️