𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 | Daryl Dixon

45 | MIGHT NOT MAKE IT

Her tired eyes carefully fluttered open, a wince scratching the back of her dry throat as she immediately rolled onto her side and started coughing. Her palm cupped over her mouth, catching the small amount of warm blood that fell from her lips.

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder as the person kneeled on the ground beside her bed. Tori's eyelids felt so heavy, her vision so distorted, that it took her several seconds to look up. Hershel's face wore a sympathetic smile as he held a cup in his free hand.

"Here, drink this," he said softly.

He had to reach for Tori's hand and put the cup in her palm, helping her guide it to her mouth to take a sip. The warmth of the berry flavour washed away the taste of blood that lingered on her tongue, the heat of the liquid going down to her stomach, settling the ache that coursed through her weak body.

"How long was I out for?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, raspy and exhausted.

"About three hours," Hershel replied, helping her take another sip of the tea. He saw her eyebrows raise at his answer, and he assured her, "It's a good thing. You need the rest."

Her bones felt like glass, like the slightest strain of movement would shatter them into dust. Biting back a cry of pain, she pushed herself off the mattress and sat up, Hershel's hands holding onto her upper arms to help her balance. As soon as she was sat, her head rested against the bed post, the coolness of the metal soothing her sweating skin a little.

"Give me a sec... I'll-I'll come help you," she mumbled. "I'll help you check on everyone."

"There's no rush," Hershel said, placing his hand over hers. "Get some of your own strength back before trying to help anyone else. They always tell you planes to put your own oxygen mask on before helping the person next to you," he added with a small chuckle.

Tori smiled, but it dropped after a moment when she started coughing again. No blood this time, but it still felt like her throat was on fire. "I'm so stupid," she uttered.

"For being sick?" Hershel furrowed his eyebrows.

"No, no. For not realising before," Tori corrected. A sad chuckle left her lips, her eyes stinging. "You know, a few days ago... I thought that-that I was pregnant? I'm not, obviously. But it-it never occurred to me to wonder why else I wasn't feeling good." 

She looked at Hershel, who seemed to just be listening as she stuttered through her words. "What if I had this sickness the whole time, and I've just been passing it around?"

"Don't think that way," Hershel told her, squeezing her hand. "You said it yourself – you did the reading. This kind of sickness comes from animals. Not people. You know how fast even you got hit with this. If you had it before, you'd have known about it."

She nodded her head slowly, tears of pure exhaustion running down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat on her face. Hershel handed her a soft towel, telling her to hold it to her forehead for a moment, before he helped her to her feet.

It took a minute or so to get her head to stop spinning, making her feel like she was floating. Once she was steadier, she started to walk, following Hershel along the cells to check on each person. He gave Tori a flask with some of the berry tea he'd made, and some cups, to pass around while he went off up the stairs to check on the people up there.

Inside the first cell she went to, the little blonde girl, Lizzie, was lying on the bed with her eyes half open. She knew how scary it could be for a child to be sick normally, but something like this, must have been terrifying.

Her knees wobbled as she got down on the floor next to the cot, her hand resting on Lizzie's shoulder and giving a small shake. The girl's eyes opened a little more, and she gave the brunette a very weak smile.