I'll hold you to it

The van was steeped in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. The survivors were drained — physically, mentally, emotionally. They'd barely escaped the hell of the department store and now rode in near-complete quiet, craving the false safety of camp. But that wasn't the only reason for their silence.

No one knew what to say.

What do you say when you've left a man behind?

Alex sat with her knees bent, boots propped on the wall of the van, back against her pack. Her eyes were distant. Her mind kept circling the same thought like a vulture.

Merle.

She wasn't solely responsible. But she wasn't blameless either.

It was strange, how a single decision could split your path wide open. If she hadn't saved Rick from that tank, Merle wouldn't be haunting her conscience right now. Then again, if she'd left the city like she planned, Rick would be dead — and who knows what Merle might've done to the survivors in front of her.

Still. The math didn't feel right. Her choices had saved a life... and possibly damned another.

Alex shook it off. The world had changed. The only thing that mattered now was survival.

Finally, someone spoke. Morales, in the front seat beside Rick, broke the silence.

"Nobody's gonna cry over Merle... except maybe Daryl."

"Daryl?" Rick echoed.

"His brother."

Alex blinked. Brother? Of course Merle had a brother. Another loose end. Another fire waiting to start.

Before she could process that, a loud car alarm pierced the quiet, followed by the unmistakable growl of a Dodge engine. She heard Glenn's whoop echo off the trees as he tore past the van in the stolen Challenger.

"Lucky bastard," Alex muttered, cracking a tired smile. She should've been the one behind that wheel. At least she'd have avoided the suffocating tension in this rolling coffin.

"At least someone's having a good day," she added under her breath.

The van slowed, then stopped. The doors slid open, and fresh air — blessed and unfiltered — spilled in. Andrea was the first to jump out, followed by the others.

Alex rose slowly, every muscle aching, and stepped into the open.

She heard them before she saw them — the joyful voices of survivors greeting one another. Relief. Laughter. Hugs.

The camp had been built on a bluff overlooking a quarry. Tents, tarps, makeshift homes scattered across the area. Real shelter. Alex let it all wash over her.

Morales introduced them. "They're cops. Like you," he said, nodding toward Rick and Alex.

Then everything else blurred as Alex saw Rick freeze. Ahead, a woman and a small boy were staring at him.

Recognition hit like a tidal wave.

"Dad! Dad!"

The kid sprinted. Rick ran to meet him. Mother and son collided into Rick's arms, sobbing and laughing.

Alex leaned against the Dodge next to Glenn, watching. A rare warmth filled her chest.

For the first time all day... she smiled.

It was worth it.

***************

"Disoriented," Rick said, voice low. "I guess that's the closest word for it. Disoriented. Fear, confusion — all of it. But mostly... disoriented."

Thunder rolled above, punctuating the stillness. The survivors had gathered around a low campfire, the flames dancing between shadows. Rick sat beside his wife and son, recounting his story — waking in a hospital, abandoned by the world, surrounded by death.

Alex sat on a log between Glenn and T-Dog, listening. The flickering light gave her green eyes an orange glow, a haunted sheen.

"I felt like I'd been ripped out of my life and dropped somewhere else. For a while, I honestly thought I was still in a coma," Rick continued. "That I was stuck in some nightmare I'd never wake up from."

Carl leaned closer to his father. "Mom said you died."

Lori flinched at the words, visibly shaken.

Rick kissed the boy's head and pulled Lori in closer. "She had every reason to believe that. Don't you ever doubt it."

Lori explained how Rick was meant to be moved — but the hospital fell. Shane got her and Carl out before everything collapsed.

Dale turned toward Alex, who hadn't spoken once. "And how about you, miss...?"

"Alex," she said simply, barely glancing up.

"Alex," Dale repeated, nodding. "How did you find yourself here?"

"Not as interestingly as Rick, I'm afraid." Her voice was quiet but steady. She looked back down into the fire, reluctant to share too much. These people were still strangers.

Still, she gave them something.

"I was on my way out of the city when I ran into Clint Eastwood here," she said, smirking at Rick. "Figured he might need a hand."

"Saved my life," Rick said gently.

"We're both grateful," Lori added. "Me and Carl."

Carl nodded. Alex gave them both a polite smile.

Shane gestured toward her vest and gear. "Don't see many civilians packing like that. SWAT?"

"Yeah. Well, I was. Lieutenant Alex Winters." She gave a casual salute. "At your service. Not anymore, I guess."

"SWAT?" Glenn said, impressed. "So you were in the thick of it when everything started?"

Alex rubbed the back of her neck. "You'd think. But I was on leave when the outbreak hit. By the time I got to my team..." She hesitated. Her voice cracked just slightly. "They were all dead."

Silence fell.

"Well, not as dead as I thought they were," she added, and the firelight flickered across her face.

Her tone chilled the air.

"I had to put down my whole squad."

Andrea's sister, Amy, spoke softly. "What about your family?"

Alex looked up. "They were my family."

Everyone fell silent. Even the fire seemed quieter.

"Yeah," Alex murmured, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers. "Disoriented."

"Words fall short," Dale said. "Paltry little things."

A log shifted in the fire with a hiss. Shane stood and headed toward Ed, who was arguing over firewood with Carol. Voices rose, tempers flared.

Alex stayed where she was, watching flames as her own mind spun.

Then Dale addressed the unspoken storm.

"Anyone given thought to Daryl Dixon? He's not going to take this news well."

"I'll tell him," T-Dog said. "I dropped the key. That's on me."

"I cuffed him," Alex said, bluntly.

"My cuffs," Rick added. "That makes it mine."

Glenn raised his hands. "Guys, it's not a contest. But... maybe it'd sound better coming from a white guy?"

"I did what I did. I'm not hiding from it," T-Dog said.

Andrea argued that it wasn't anyone's fault but Merle's. But Alex wasn't convinced. She hadn't had to get involved. But she had. Her temper, again.

Then T-Dog dropped the bomb.

"I stopped long enough to chain the door. Padlock, tight. Narrow stairwell. Maybe half a dozen geeks could press it at once, tops. It won't break. Not that lock. Merle's alive. Still cuffed to that roof. That's on us."

No one said a word.

Alex flicked her cigarette into the fire, stood abruptly, and stormed off.

She marched to the Challenger, threw her gear in, and collapsed in the back seat.

Her head rested on her pack. Eyes shut. Fists clenched.

Another life. Another weight on her shoulders.

She heard her father's voice again, crystal-clear in her memory:

"You're not the executioner. Only kill when there's no choice."

Leaving Merle cuffed like that went against everything she was trained to do — everything her father taught her. That lesson had been fading... even before the world collapsed.

**************

Alex woke with the sunrise, groggy and stiff. She was desperately craving coffee.

Dale provided, on the condition he could strip the Dodge for parts. It was a beauty of a car, but Alex conceded — not exactly family-friendly in the apocalypse. Still, she hadn't been thrilled to see it gutted.

Glenn was pissed, calling Dale and Jim vultures. Alex just laughed and promised that next time, he could pick the car to steal.

That turned into a lengthy debate on what car would be best.

***************

Inside the RV, Alex changed into spare clothes from her pack. Carol offered to wash the rest for her — an act Alex quietly appreciated.

She dressed in fitted black pants, with strips of leather stitched down the sides, and a clean white wife-beater. Her signature look. Her scuffed boots went back on, and she stepped outside, vest in hand, feeling halfway human again.

Then the scream cut through the camp.

Children. Terrified.

Alex barely had time to process it before Rick, Shane, and the others sprinted toward the sound. Carol and Lori screamed after their kids.

Alex jumped down from the RV, nearly tripping on her laces. Andrea tossed her holster mid-run, and Alex caught it in stride, strapping it on and drawing her gun.

She bolted after the group, leaping over roots, dodging trees. "They okay?" she called to Lori.

"They're fine!" Lori shouted. "It's back there!"

Alex shoved through a wall of branches and stumbled into a circle of men surrounding a headless walker and a dead deer.

"They don't usually come this far up," Dale muttered, panting.

"They're starving in the city," Jim added.

A snap in the trees silenced everyone. Alex and Shane raised their weapons.

Branches parted — and a man stepped out, crossbow in hand.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, storming toward the deer. "That's my deer!"

Alex lowered her weapon slowly.

He ranted and stomped and kicked the walker corpse. "Filthy, disease-carryin', poxy bastard!"

"Calm down, son," Dale said.

The man got in his face. "What do you know, old man? Take that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond."

Alex stiffened.

That voice. That rage. That accent.

This was Daryl Dixon.

Merle's brother.

Alex stood beside Shane, silent as Daryl checked the deer, muttering about salvaging the meat. Then—

"Ugh!" Amy gasped. The walker's head was still moving.

Daryl casually drew and fired a bolt through its eye.

"Gotta hit the brain," he said. "Y'all don't know nothin'?"

Then he walked straight past Rick, muttering, "Merle! Merle! Get your ugly ass out here. Got us some squirrel!"

Everyone stopped.

Shane stepped in first. "Daryl, we need to talk."

"About what?"

"About Merle. There was... a situation."

"He dead?"

"We're not sure."

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl snapped.

Rick stepped forward. "No easy way to say this. We handcuffed him to a roof. He's still there."

Daryl froze. Then he exploded.

He hurled his squirrels at Rick, swung — but Alex was faster. She tackled him to the ground.

"Who the hell are you!?"

"I'm the one who cuffed your piece-of-shit brother to the roof," she hissed. "Take it out on me!"

He lunged with a knife. She dodged, heart racing.

Rick and Shane wrestled him down. Shane locked him in a chokehold.

"You best let me go!"

"Nope."

"Chokehold's illegal!"

"File a complaint," Shane grunted.

Rick crouched. "We want a calm conversation. Can we manage that?"

Daryl panted, nodding. Shane let go.

Rick explained. T-Dog admitted to dropping the key. Daryl's fury cracked—just slightly.

His voice broke. "To hell with y'all. Just tell me where he is."

Rick nodded. "I'm going back."

Alex already knew she'd be going with him.

***************

Alex climbed into the back of the van, fully geared up. Her police vest was snug over her clean shirt, rifle at her side, and her holster locked and loaded. She sat with one leg dangling out the back, cigarette between her fingers, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the morning sun.

Daryl was already inside.

He saw her hop in, and the second he did, the temperature in the van dropped ten degrees.

"Hell no," he growled, stomping toward her. "Best rethink that idea, lady."

Alex didn't even flinch. She took a slow drag and smiled.

"Okay," she said, voice soaked in sarcasm.

"You cuffed him up there, now you wanna save his ass?" Daryl barked, pacing like a caged animal.

Alex stood, still grinning. "Actually, I was thinking of cuffing you up there. Right next to him."

Daryl stepped right up into her face. "That so, bitch?"

"Yeah," she shot back, eyes cold behind her shades. "Problem?"

"Guys!" Glenn shouted from the driver's seat. "Can we not throw punches before we even hit the road?"

But neither of them moved.

Daryl leaned in. "That vest won't stop an arrow."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "I'll hold you to it."

Daryl snarled, turned, and stomped to the front, jabbing the horn. "Come on! Let's go already!"

Alex sat back down just as T-Dog climbed in beside her. Rick approached the van.

"You don't have to do this," Rick said, voice low.

Alex looked back to check Daryl wasn't listening. "Rick... you know I do."

He nodded once. They both knew Merle was a loose end they couldn't ignore — and that neither of them could sleep until it was dealt with.

"Besides," Alex added, smirking, "you wouldn't get far without me."

Rick smiled despite himself. "Thank you."

"You just make sure I get one of those guns you dropped."

"Done."

Alex stubbed out her cigarette, stood up to adjust her vest and thigh holster, and slung her rifle over her shoulder. Then she dropped beside T-Dog, checking her magazine and adjusting her scope.

She was ready.

****************

The ride back toward Atlanta was quiet, broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the occasional jostle from cracked pavement. No one spoke. No one needed to. The stakes were written on every tense face.

As the van pulled onto the train tracks, Glenn slowed.

"We walk from here," he said, cutting the engine.

Everyone jumped out. Weapons ready. Eyes sharp.

They jogged into the city. Alex ran beside T-Dog, who moved slower than the others, still nursing bruised ribs courtesy of Merle's fists.

Glenn took point, leading them to the rooftop first. No doubling back. Get Merle. Then the guns.

The streets were quiet. Eerily so. Most of the walkers that had once flooded these blocks were long gone, drawn elsewhere by noise or scent.

Inside the department store, the group moved like shadows, slipping past shattered glass and rotting shelves. There were signs of struggle—trails of dried blood, overturned displays—but few walkers remained.

"Damn, you're one ugly skank," Daryl muttered, planting a bolt through the skull of a lingering corpse.

They reached the stairwell. T-Dog stepped forward and clipped the padlock.

Alex took a slow, measured breath. She rested her hand on her sidearm, not knowing what they were about to find.

Daryl kicked the door open and bolted ahead.

"Merle! Merle!"

Alex followed, rifle tight in her hands.

Then she saw it.

The bloodstains.

The sawed-off wrist.

The hand.

She stopped in her tracks.

"No..." Daryl's voice cracked as he stumbled forward. "No! No!"

The others hesitated at the threshold, the horror hitting them all at once.

Merle was gone.

The blood told the story — a desperate, feral act of survival. A saw was discarded nearby, caked in gore. The pipe was empty. The hand lay curled on the rooftop, fingers stiff.

Daryl's face twisted — rage, panic, and grief all colliding at once.

He turned toward them, eyes locking with Alex's.

Alex didn't move. She felt her stomach drop, guilt gnawing its way through her spine. But she held her ground.

"No! No! NO!" Daryl shouted, pacing the rooftop like a trapped animal.

He was looking at her. Not just the others. Not Rick. Her.

Alex's shoulders tensed. She could feel the heat radiating from his glare.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.