Changing To Adapt ➵ TWD

➵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀᴛʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

After the most useless argument Lucas has been privy to, Rick gave the prisoners an ultimatum. 

Live in the opposite cell block, resisting any sort of encounter between their groups. Or leave and try their luck with the dead. Something they've yet to encounter one on one.

See, the oily-haired man had it stuck in his head that they would hand over the prison to him.

As if. 

They fought for it. Spilt blood in it. Plain and simple.

Faced with the threat of getting kicked out, the convicts made up their minds pretty damn quickly. Rick'll help clear up the cell block, only if they gave up half of what food they had in the cafeteria.

And holy shit, Lucas hadn't seen so much food in one area since the CDC. The prisoners' leader had the gall to say there "wasn't much left" because he wanted it all for himself.

But he didn't have much choice in the matter; refuse and deal with the consequences.

They would've had a good feast that night if Hershel's fate wasn't hanging in the balance. Every bite wound up tasting like dust, watching the rise and fall of his chest and hoping it never faltered.

In cell block C, with the prisoners, Lucas stands gobsmacked. 

If he wasn't aware of the current world conditions, the scene in front of him would've looked like any other prison riot. 

Except they were fighting against walkers, with one clear goal in mind. Go for the head, Daryl had told them. And what did they do? Everything but.

He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose, feeling the lack of rest start to settle in his bones. "We should've left them in the cafeteria." 

"You can say that again." T-Dog watches them with a blank expression. When he looks at the members of his group, they blink in unison, sharing stupefied looks.

Living among the dead for almost a year leaves you with plenty of muscle memory - and the convicts surely did not have the same corpse-killing experience they had.

"The brain. It's gotta be the brain, not the heart." Daryl repeats. Almost like he's teaching a bunch of pre-schoolers the basics of English.

Lucas chuckles into his closed fist

The taller guy jumps forward, slamming his axe into one of the walkers successfully. It drops to the floor. "Like that?" He asks, to make sure.

"That's what the man said," Lucas confirms, standing a few feet behind the others to watch their backs.

"Stay in formation, no more prison riot crap." Rick grits out, starting forward.

Lucas doesn't notice Big Tiny inching backward behind him. Not until, of course, he hears the groans echoing around the wrong corner.

Shocked that he'd manage to sneak around his vision, Lucas stops in his path, "Hey." He gestures toward the walkers sneaking up behind him. "Careful."

Big Tiny whirls around and stumbles back, extracting his makeshift bat from his pants. He tries his best, lifting it up above him and slamming it down on the head of the closest walker. He quickly kicks away the second one.

"Good job." Lucas says, "Now you gotta finish the job." He holds out the machete.

The way the guy hesitates in accepting the blade, face twisting in disgust, has Lucas wondering what got him chucked in jail in the first place.

But, he supposes he can relate to the disgust in a way. Refusing to believe the dead students stumbling around outside the gates were actually gone. Hadn't wanted to finish them until he was forced to.