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026: ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍʏ ʜɪᴊᴏ ᴅᴇʟ ʜᴇʀᴍᴀɴᴏ

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Danny watched, leaning against the cell door, as Hershel, Glenn and Sasha tried to put a tube down a man, Henry's, throat to stop him from choking. 

He was tired. So, so, tied. He could hardly breath himself. He couldn't hear it, but his breaths were coming out small, strained. He couldn't breath through his nose, so small sighs of pain escaped with each one. 

His face was pale, dark circles under his eyes. His body weak and frail. He didn't even have the strength to walk. He kept freaking out if he wasn't near Hershel, so he'd started carrying him from place to place with him. 

Danny thought maybe he felt safe with Hershel because Sami trusted him so much. Or maybe Danny just trusted him. Not everything had to be about Sami, right? Or maybe it was. Danny's head was too foggy to think of much other than people.

Hershel looked at Danny at the door, leaning against the metal poles. "want to help me go on my rounds?"

He nodded, slowly. It was getting much harder to read what people's lips were saying, now, considering his eyes were half shut. 

Hershel stood, smiling softly at Sasha and Glenn, before taking Danny's arm to help him walk. Hershel was sick, now, too, but was trying to help Danny walk as much as possible. If Danny stopped, he was afraid it would make his lungs set off and they wouldn't be able to revive him. 

Danny knew if he stopped, everything stopped, too. It sure felt like that. 

They made their way down the stairs, taking their time, since every step made Danny's heart pulse worse. Hershel was glad he couldn't hear the hopelessness of the cell block. The silence, broken only by coughs or the odd whisper. Then again, he wasn't sure the almost silence would be better. It was darker here than the other cell blocks, and Danny hated the dark.

The first man was dead. Choked on his blood. Hershel grabbed his gurney, and wheeled it over to him.

It took everything Danny had, but he managed to help slide the body onto the gurney, and then, putting his weight on it, pushed the sheet-covered body out of the cell block, Hershel leading them.

"What are you doing?"

Danny didn't hear Lizzie, but Hershel did, stopping, making Danny jolt more awake, and follow his gaze to see her behind him.

"We're taking Mr Jacobson to a quieter place." Hershel walked over to her, placing the back of his hand on her forehead. "Why don't you go get my copy of 'Tom Sawyer' from my room? I want you to read it by tonight. We all have jobs to do."

She coughed into her elbow. "I won't finish it."

"Why?"

"It's gonna get too dark."

"Well, give it your best try. And drink some tea."

She nodded, and then looked at Danny, who's eyes were closed as he leaned against the gurney. "Is Danny gonna die?"

"No." Hershel said, forcefully. "Danny's going to be fine. Just like you."

She nodded, and walked away.

Though Danny was close to collapsing, he was doing better than Glenn and Sasha. And though if he collapsed it would bad, it would be worse if he sat reading or lay in his bed. He'd be gone within minutes, and Hershel knew it. Once Danny got more than a splatter of blood in his throat, no tube would save him.

Danny hadn't killed many walkers point blank before the sickness. but now, since Hershel never had, Danny had stabbed three bodies in the head. This was his fourth. He wondered if killing humans felt this horrible, or if it was just the sickness.