Chapter 58 - Ella

Sleep had just started to take me under when a horrible clanging echoed through Alexandria's walls. Daryl shot up like a gunshot, already reaching for his clothes. Naked as the day he was born, he yanked on his pants and grabbed a shirt, not bothering to button it as he shoved his feet into socks and boots.

And then I heard a voice that made my blood run cold.

"You may be wonderin' why the hell your lookouts didn't sound the alarm," Negan's voice crackled through a goddamn bullhorn, arrogant and taunting.

Daryl's eyes snapped to mine. In two long strides, he was in front of me.

"Get up. Get the babies. Get the fuck out. Head for the woods—hide." His tone left no room for argument.

I didn't move.

He stomped back, grabbing a pile of clothes, shoving them into my hands, yanking me to my feet. All while Negan's voice blared outside.

"You're all gonna line up in front of your little houses," Negan went on. "You're gonna work up some damn apologies—and the one with the lamest one? Dies."

Daryl gripped my shoulders, his eyes wild. "Ella, I'm serious. Get the kids. Get out. Keep 'em safe, baby. Go. Now."

Then he was gone—out the door, out into the firestorm—and I was moving.

I forced myself to breathe. Forced my hands to move as I shoved my legs into jeans and pulled a thick hoodie over my head. My fingers fumbled with laces as I jammed my feet into boots and pulled them tight. I scanned the room for my weapons, strapping on my belt, securing my knives, checking the clip in my handgun.

"I'm gonna kill Rick in front of everybody," Negan's voice blared again, casual and venomous. "Then we move on. You got three minutes. I repeat—three minutes before we start bombing the shit outta you!"

I sprinted down the hall to Ian's room and dropped to my knees beside his bed.

"Ian," I whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Baby, you need to get up. Now."

He groaned and turned over. "Five more minutes..."

"Ian, listen to me," I said, more firmly now. "There's no time. You need to get up, right now."

He blinked at me, his eyes going wide when he registered my tone. "Okay, Mama."

"Get dressed," I said, already moving. "Grab your bow and your knife. Get downstairs. Hurry, baby. Boots, not sneakers. And your jacket."

"Yes ma'am," he said, scrambling out of bed.

I was already in Ruby's room. I scooped her into my arms, whispering softly as I pulled on her little one-piece—rolling up the cuffs that were still a bit too big. She didn't make a sound. Just clung to me, blinking her sleepy eyes.

I found her wrap and strapped her tight against my chest, securing the knot, double-checking every loop and pull. I could feel her heart against mine. Hear Ian's footsteps pounding the floor behind me.

And through it all, Negan's voice kept cutting through the night like a knife.

Tick, tick, tick.

I could hear Negan still talking as I moved back down the hall, his smug voice dripping venom.

"Two minutes! Hope you're all good at goodbyes!"

I tightened the wrap across Ruby's back, her little arms locked against my chest. She was silent, but alert—sensing my fear, the tension in my body. She clung tighter, and my heart nearly burst with how fiercely I loved her.

Ian met me at the foot of the stairs, his coat crooked and his knife belt not buckled properly, but he had his bow, and his eyes were wide with something too old for any kid his age to wear. He didn't cry. He didn't ask questions. He just looked to me and waited for orders.

"Atta boy," I whispered, cupping his cheek for a split second before grabbing his hand.

Another blast from the bullhorn cracked through the neighborhood.

"One minute! Better hustle!"

I kicked open the back door and we slipped into the shadows behind our house. My boots crunched faintly over the dead leaves as I tugged Ian behind me, Ruby strapped tight and quiet to my chest. My heart was pounding in my ears so loud it drowned out even Negan's voice.

The streetlights were still on. Porch lights too. But I didn't see a soul.

Where the fuck were the guards?

We moved between the houses like shadows, the wind slicing down the back alleys with icy fingers that found their way under my jacket and down my spine. My grip on the gun never loosened. I kept it low and ready, finger brushing the trigger, every step a prayer. Every breath, a quiet plea that no one would see us. That no one would shoot.

Ruby shifted against my chest, her little body warm where it pressed against me. A soft whimper slipped from her throat—barely a sound, more a vibration. I cupped her head, rubbing slow circles into her back with my palm, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I got you, baby girl. Just hang on for Mama."

Ian's small hand was tight in mine, his fingers laced through mine with surprising strength. He was keeping pace, his breath puffing in the cold air, but I could feel how fast his heart was thudding. Could see how wide his eyes were in the dark.

"Are we goin' to the forest?" he whispered, his voice so small it made something inside me crack.

"Yeah, baby," I breathed, scanning every corner, every shadow. "Just like we practiced."

"I remember the trail," he said, nodding fiercely, jaw set with that stubborn little tilt of his chin. A miniature Daryl. Tough as nails. "I remember how to hide."

I swallowed hard, that familiar cocktail of pride and terror bubbling in my chest.

A sharp whisper cut through the dark. "Ellie!"

I froze, gun lifting instinctively, before my eyes found the source—Carl. My heart lurched.

"Carl," I exhaled, relief and worry crashing together like waves. He wasn't a boy anymore, but he would always be mine in some way. "Baby, I have to get the kids out. Where are the others? Where are the mothers with children?"

"I've got people getting them out," he said, eyes scanning the shadows behind me. "Team's in the infirmary too. But we don't have much time. They're blowing through the gates. We need to move. Now."

I shifted Ruby against my chest, her weight a reminder of everything I had to lose. "Carl, come with me," I begged. "We'll go together, we'll all go together—"

"No," he said, voice hard, no room for argument. "You know the way out. You get them safe. I have to stay and hold them off. Make sure everyone gets out."

I could hear Negan in the distance—his voice blaring over the bullhorn, mocking us like he always did. Every word he said struck a deeper chord of urgency in my bones. I wanted to grab Carl, haul him with me, scream that he was just a kid and this wasn't his war.

But it was.

Carl had made his choice.

"Go," he said, and turned away before I could speak again. He sprinted toward the front gate, gun already raised, coat flapping behind him like a flag.

I watched him go, my heart cracking into pieces. But I didn't call after him.

He wasn't a boy. Not anymore.

I ran. My feet pounded the pavement, Ruby jostling gently against me, her fingers tangled in the collar of my coat. Ian stayed close, his tiny legs pumping, face pale but determined. I saw the headlights—heard the roar of the garbage trucks smashing through Alexandria's gates. We didn't have time. We were out of time.

I grabbed Ian and hauled him onto my hip, the weight of both kids nearly staggering me, but I didn't slow. I couldn't.

Gunfire cracked in the distance. Screams followed.

I didn't look back.

We reached the edge of the wall, the hidden grate to the sewers looming like salvation. My chest heaved with exertion as I spotted other Alexandrians ahead of us—people lowering themselves into the darkness, helping one another down into safety.

"Help me," I shouted, my voice hoarse. A man reached up and took Ian from my arms, helping him disappear into the hole. I clutched Ruby tighter and slid my boots into place, finding my footing, gun still clutched in one shaking hand.

I lowered myself in, slipping through the metal grate, one hand bracing Ruby's head, the other gripping the side of the wall.

The air was damp. Cold. It stank of mildew and metal and fear. But it was safe.

And right now, that was all I could ask for.

I reached the bottom, pulling Ruby closer, her cheek tucked against my neck. I blinked hard, trying to see through the tears I didn't remember letting fall.

"We're okay," I whispered. Maybe to her. Maybe to myself.

"We're okay."

But my heart still screamed for Carl.

And for Daryl.

And I had no idea if either of them would make it out of this alive.

I moved deeper into the tunnels, my boots sloshing through ankle-deep water as the cold pressed in from all sides. The air was thick with damp mildew, every breath tainted by rust and rot, but none of that mattered. Not when I still didn't know if Daryl had made it out. Not when I didn't know if Carl was even alive.

Ahead, the faint golden glow of rechargeable torches flickered along the tunnel walls, casting warped shadows across the huddled bodies of our people. They'd strung the lights like a lifeline, low and buzzing, enough to see faces but not enough to feel safe.

I scanned the crowd, my heart thumping like a war drum in my ears.

And then—Judith.

She was fussing in the arms of one of the other mothers, tears shining on her cheeks, her golden hair a tangled halo of chaos.

"Judy," I called softly, forcing brightness into my voice I didn't feel. I plastered on a smile like a mask, willing it to be enough. "Hey, sweet thing. Auntie Ellie's here. Come sit with me and Ian, okay?"

Her head snapped up at my voice, those big eyes searching, then lighting like sunrise. "Auntie Ellie!" she squealed, wriggling out of the woman's arms and rushing toward me on unsteady little feet.

I dropped into the driest patch of floor I could find, Ruby still nestled in the wrap against my chest, and opened one arm to catch Judith as she barreled into me.

"Oh, sweet girl," I breathed, tucking her into my side. She smelled like smoke and baby shampoo, her cheeks sticky with tears. "Carl's on his way, don't you worry. You're with me and Ruby and Ian now. You'll be good for me, won't you, honey?"

"Yes, Auntie," she nodded solemnly, leaning her head against my arm. Her golden hair clung to her little ears, her fingers curled into the hem of my jacket.

I kissed the top of her head, blinking back the sting in my eyes.

Ian appeared beside us next, but he didn't sit. His eyes were scanning every face, every shadow, his small fingers wrapped tight around the hilt of his knife like he was ready to fight off hell itself.

I didn't tell him to relax. I didn't ask him to sit down. He was doing what he needed to do—what his daddy would've done. And even though it twisted my stomach to see him like that, I knew it was the only way we were going to survive this.

Time passed in jagged pieces. Long stretches of silence interrupted by distant sounds—thuds, screams, explosions that vibrated the sewer walls. My heart stayed above ground with Daryl and Carl, while my body stayed here, wrapped around three babies that didn't deserve a world like this.

At some point, I passed Ruby to one of the other mothers. Judith, too. They clung to her like barnacles, their little arms twining around each other's shoulders as they were pulled close.

Then came the noise.

The clatter of boots overhead. The sound of the grate groaning open. A shout.

"Bow up, Ian," I said without turning my head.

Ian didn't hesitate. His hand dropped from his knife to his bow, his fingers selecting an arrow like he'd done it a thousand times. He notched it, drew it back, his stance steady despite the tremble in the air.

I stood beside him, gun raised, my grip tight as the first boot dropped through the grate. The shape that followed hit the floor with a splash, then another, then another.

"Get the fuck in!" someone hissed. "They're blowin' shit up!"

My heart launched itself into my throat as a familiar figure straightened, dripping wet and breathless.

"Oh, thank God!" I gasped, emotion slamming into me like a freight train.

"Baby," Daryl said, his eyes locking on mine, and then sliding to our son. "Good job, little man."

Ian didn't lower the bow until I nodded at him. "Hi, Dad," he said calmly, like we weren't crouched in the sewers while our home was on fire. "I kept our girls safe."

"I know you did," Daryl rasped, pride thick in his voice. "Let's go find your sister."

He moved through the gathered crowd like he had a tracker in his bones, like his whole soul was being pulled toward Ruby. And sure enough, when he spotted her being held by a tired-looking mother, he didn't waste a second. He made a face, half a scowl, half a grin, and scooped both Ruby and Judith into his arms like they weighed nothing.

The girls latched onto him immediately—Ruby burbling her soft baby sounds, Judith clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

Daryl didn't say a word, just turned and headed toward the far side of the tunnel, toward a quieter space near the wall. I followed, my fingers finding Ian's again.

And when we sat, it was together. All five of us. My whole world crammed into a sewer tunnel lit by battery-powered lights and stinking of rust and filth.

"Carl?" Daryl asked, shifting the girls in his lap—Judith tucked against his shoulder, Ruby cradled across his thigh.

I shook my head, the breath catching in my throat. "Being a goddamn hero," I muttered, anger and panic warring in my chest. "Said he had to hold off the Saviors."

Daryl's jaw tightened. His arms went stiff around the girls. Then he moved to stand, his muscles coiled, jaw set.

I reached out, laid a hand on his forearm. "No. Give him time. If he's not back in thirty, we go after him."

"I'll go after him," Daryl said, his voice sharp as flint. "You ain't goin' nowhere. You're pregnant."

"Daryl Dixon," I snapped, my hand tightening on his arm, my tone going cold. "If you think for one second you're going to stop me from going after my boy, you are dead. Fucking. Wrong."

He turned to me, slow and deliberate, his eyes hard—flashing—with something I rarely saw aimed in my direction: command.

"I ain't playin' with you, Ella."

His voice wasn't raised, but it sliced through the space between us like a blade.

"You're pregnant. We got three kids dependin' on us. You are staying right here—whether you like it or not."

I jerked back, stunned. Daryl had never spoken to me like that before. Never drawn that kind of line in the sand. Not with me. I didn't know whether to swing at him or cry.

Maybe both.

But before I could say a word, he leaned in closer, his voice low and solid, eyes locked on mine. His grip stayed gentle on the girls, but everything in him burned.

"No. You listen."His voice was firm—controlled, but just under the surface, a tremble of emotion he couldn't quite bury. "Any other day, I'd let you holler at me, shove me, cuss me out. I'd take it. I'd let you win. 'Cause truth is, I don't care about bein' right with you. But not today."

He took a breath, heavy and uneven.

"Today, you are pregnant. You are the mother of our kids. And I swear to God, Ella—if I have to tie you to this wall to keep you and our baby safe, I'll do it. You hear me?"

Tears sprang to my eyes without warning, heat and panic and helplessness pouring out all at once. My mouth trembled, trying to shape words I couldn't find.

He shifted the girls in his arms, softening just enough to reach me.

"I love you. I love our babies. But I ain't gonna lose you tryin' to be a damn hero. Not for Carl, not for nobody. He wouldn't want that either."

My lips parted, but no sound came out. Just tears.

"Please," he added, quieter this time. "Just once, Ella. Do as I ask. Don't make me beg."

I stared at him—at the fire still in his eyes, at the way his whole body trembled with restraint—and nodded.

My voice was barely a whisper. "Alright. You win."

He let out a breath, shoulders sagging like the weight of the world had been lifted.

"Thank God," he muttered, slumping back against the damp wall. "You're a damn storm when you're pissed. I can't boss you around like that. Don't like it much neither."

I sniffed, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand.

"Yeah," I said, voice watery. "It doesn't suit you much... being the boss."

He looked over at me, the corner of his mouth tugging up just a little.

"No," he murmured, voice soft and hoarse, "twenty minutes—"

"Ellie?"

The voice cut through the low murmurs and distant shuffling of boots in the sewer tunnel, clear and familiar.

I jerked upright like someone had pulled a string through my spine, every nerve in my body going taut.

"Carl?" My voice was more breath than sound.

I surged to my feet, heart galloping in my chest as I shoved through the clusters of huddled people. My boots splashed through the trickling water of the sewer floor. Then I saw him. My boy.

"Carl!" I half-cried, half-laughed, and flung myself toward him.

He looked worse for wear—soot-streaked cheeks, disheveled hair, panting like he'd run full tilt. But he was upright. Whole. No blood. No limp. No hollow look in his eye. Just Carl.

I threw my arms around his waist and yanked him into me, nearly knocking him off balance.

"Oh thank God," I breathed into his shoulder, my fingers clutching at the back of his shirt like I could anchor him to me. "Thank God."

He let me cling, arms folding around me tightly. I felt the tremble in his muscles, the tired weight of his body. He was pushing himself to stay strong, but underneath it—he was still a boy who had just danced with death again.

Behind us, I heard Daryl exhale sharply, a tension releasing from him like a drawn bow finally let loose. My husband shifted Ruby higher on his chest and nodded at Carl with a look that said everything he didn't speak aloud.

"Carl!"

Judith's little voice rang out like a bell, clear and delighted. She practically dove from Daryl's lap at the sight of her brother.

Carl pulled away from me just in time to catch her. His arms closed around her like instinct, like she was a piece of him that had been missing and just found its way back.

"Hey, Judy Bug," he murmured, his smile lighting up his entire face despite the grime and the weariness.

"You being good for Uncle Daryl and Auntie Ellie?"

Judith gave a proud little nod, her curls bouncing. "Yes!"

"Good thing," Carl chuckled, his voice warm as he tucked her tight against his chest and brushed her hair back. "Otherwise I'd have to sic the tickle monster on you!"

"No! No tickle!" she squealed, already wiggling and laughing, but Carl just kissed her forehead and held her tighter, grounding himself in her weight, her warmth. I watched him breathe her in, his eye closing for just a second, like he needed that contact to come back to himself.

When he opened his eye again, he looked at me and smiled. And I felt something crack loose in my chest. The panic, the waiting, the bone-deep fear... it all crumbled under the relief of having all my babies within arm's reach.

"You alright?" Daryl asked from his spot along the wall, his voice quiet but serious.

Carl gave a tired nod. "A little sore, but I'm fine. One of the blasts hit a car near me—knocked me back, maybe bruised a rib or two. Nothin' that won't heal." He adjusted Judith on his hip and looked around. "I bought us some time. Held them off. They'll be regrouping, but we've got a window."

"You bought us more than time," I said, brushing a strand of damp hair out of his face. "You bought us a chance."

Carl smiled, then flinched slightly as Ian, who had been lurking close, finally dropped down beside him and leaned into his side without a word. The boy tucked his face against Carl's shoulder, his bow resting across his knees, and let out a long, slow breath.

Carl shifted just enough to loop one arm around Ian's back. "You did good, little man," he murmured to him.

"You too," Ian whispered. Soft. Awed. Like he'd just watched a real hero walk into the fire and come back out again.

I sank back down with them, heart finally starting to beat at something closer to normal. My legs felt numb, and every part of me ached from the tension I'd been holding all night.

"Now we wait," I said, wrapping my arms around Ruby as Daryl pulled her back into his lap. My voice trembled, but I held steady. "We're alive. That's what matters."

Carl nodded. Daryl leaned back against the wall, his body curling protectively around our daughter.

"That's all that matters now," Daryl murmured, his voice low and solid as the earth beneath us.

We listened for a long while, the explosions above echoing through the stone and steel around us. Each blast rattled the walls, each thud of destruction clawed a little deeper into my chest. That was our home being torn apart—what little comfort we had built, gone.

My bow? Gone.The kids' clothes, their books, their toys? Gone.Diapers, bottles, baby wipes? All of it—ash and smoke now.

The sounds got louder. Closer. My ears strained, heart lurching with every distant boom. Carl held Judith tight, his jaw clenched, rocking her gently even as she whimpered in fear. Daryl kept Ruby tucked to his chest, arms wrapped so tightly around her that I could see the tension in his forearms. I sat beside him, my hand never far from my gun.

A splash hit the water off to our left. Sharp. Sudden.

I rose to a crouch, gun drawn in an instant. Daryl shifted, shielding Ruby automatically. Every nerve in me went on fire.

Then—

"No!" Carl's voice cracked the air. "He's a friend!"

I froze, breath caught in my throat. A man stood in the murky tunnel light, dripping and wide-eyed. I kept my gun leveled anyway.

"Carl, what the hell is happening?" the man asked, voice rough with disbelief.

"It's a long story," Carl exhaled, glancing between me and Daryl. "Ellie, Daryl... this is Siddiq."

I didn't lower my gun until Daryl gave the smallest nod. Still, my eyes stayed sharp, scanning the stranger's hands, his stance, his every twitch. Carl filled us in quickly—how he'd met Siddiq at a gas station with Rick, how he'd gone back out to find him on his own. Brought him back.

Siddiq told us about his past in short, clipped words. A medical resident before the world fell apart. A healer. A survivor. His eyes were kind, but tired. I could tell he was telling the truth. Still, I couldn't help but glance at Daryl, who stayed stone-still beside me, watching Siddiq with the cold wariness only my husband could wear so well. But over time, I saw Daryl's shoulders relax slightly, just enough to breathe.

Eventually, Rick and Michonne made their way into the sewers. Judith squirmed out of Carl's arms and flew at Rick the second she saw him. He folded her into his chest, holding her like the world was ending. Carl leaned into him. For a moment, they just stood there—father and son, wordless in reunion.

Plans were made fast. Wait out the assault underground, then move to Hilltop. Get the children to safety. Get the wounded treated. Start again—again.

Rosita, Tara, and Michonne had came down with Daryl, battered but whole. And with them... Dwight.

Shot, but alive.

I stayed quiet, hovering close to my babies while everyone else talked. I didn't miss the way Daryl's hand slid subtly to the knife at his hip when Dwight got too close. He said nothing. But I knew. He didn't trust him. Neither did I.

And then I saw it—Daryl's vest. The angel wings on the back dulled by dirt and grime but unmistakably his. He'd taken it back. Reclaimed what was his. And damn if he didn't look like the man I'd fallen in love with—worn leather, sharp jaw, baby on his chest, fire in his eyes.

So we waited. Buried under our city, in the stink and stone and dark. We waited for the fire to stop. For the dust to settle. For the chance to rise again.