𝓬𝓾𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓭 | 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓵 𝓭𝓲𝔁𝓸𝓷

seven

"W-We need to-" the woman's mouth is covered by Macon's hand in an instant, shutting her up. The flickering lights above them give her enough light to see Macon bring her finger up to her lips, shushing her as the sounds of groans on the other side of the door become louder for a few moments. After a minute or so of walkers groaning and moaning, they become quiet. It makes Macon give a sigh of relief, sitting on the opposite wall across from the gray-haired lady.

"We should stay here for a bit," she whispers. "In case any more decide to pass us."

"How long?" the lady murmurs, her pitch high as her eyes show fear. Macon can only shrug, mumbling something along the words of, "A few hours, maybe." It makes the woman give out a quiet moan of despair, the prisoner rolling her eyes in response. "It could be worse."

"How?"

"You ever had prison food?" For some reason, despite the circumstances the two are under, her words make the woman give an airy chuckle, the ghost of a smile forming on her thin lips.

"Is it as bad as I've heard?" Macon smiles softly, happy to see that the woman has calmed down a bit.

"The worst," she grins, shaking her head at the memory of her eating the prison food the first time. "It almost made me hurl the first time I had it. It's not as bad after a while though," she shrugs, leaning her head back against the concrete.

The only sound heard for some time was the flickering of the light above them, which turns on for a few seconds before turning off for minutes on end. Neither woman seemed really phased by it after at least twenty minutes had passed, both more distracted by how dry their throats were.

"Do you think anyone will come for us?" the woman asks. Macon doesn't bother looking at her, seeing no point in the dark. Instead, she groans quietly as she lies down on the ground, placing her hands beneath her head for support.

"They'll come for you. I'll probably die here." The woman is surprised at how bored the prisoner sounds, despite talking about how she may rot in this hole.

"You're okay with that?" She shrugs in response, only to remember the lady wouldn't see it.

"Not really like I'd have a choice..." she trails off, discovering that she didn't know the woman's name. "What's your name?" she wonders aloud.

"C-Carol."

"Carol," she repeats, feeling the name roll off her tongue with ease. "Beautiful name."

"Oh." She hears the surprise in her voice. "Thank you. And your name is...?"

"Macon."

"Guessing you're from Macon then?"

"Nope. My daddy was, though. My brother got his name after my grandpa, and my sister got the city my mama was born in."

"And what were those names, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Marcus and Savannah." A small smile forms on Macon's face.

"Those are lovely names."

"Of course. They were lovely people. Well–Savannah could be an ass–other than that she was a sweet lady. Pretty one too. Could get any person she laid her eyes on. Hated her for that. My brother was the same too. Big jock and everything." Her words make her chuckle, memories flooding back. Words seem to pass her lips without even knowing. "My parents were the same. My mama got named Poppy, 'cause of the flowers that used to grow where my grandma lived. And my daddy was named after Billie Holiday. She was some famous singer or something. But yeah, they was all good people." A small smile resides on her lips, remembering all the family gatherings they used to have. Oh, what fun they had. "You have any family?"

"I have...had a daughter. Her name was Sophia."

"Beautiful name. She sounds sweet." A sad chuckle comes from Carol.

"Yeah. She was..." her words trail off, the silence becoming deafening between them. After some time passes Macon breaks it.

"Would you like to guess what I'm in the prison for?" she asks, sitting up and leaning against the wall once more. She doesn't have to be very smart to feel the tension she just built in the small room. "Just figured because you and your group were eyeing me a bit outside."

"We're just afraid you could create some problems-"

"I never said there were any hard feelings," Macon cuts her off, raising her hands in defense. "I would do the same thing if I had a group." She hears Carol let out a heavy breath, which she rolls her eyes at. A couple of seconds pass before a hum leaves Carol.

"I feel like you were arrested for armed robbery."

"Not murder?" Macon teases.

"I don't think you're crazy enough to kill someone."

"But Beardo is?" she questions, a hum leaving her lips. "He killed one of us."

"He did what he had to."

"And let's say I killed someone trying to hurt me. Would you still label me a murder?" She hears Carol take in a heavy breath before exhaling, seemingly running out of words to retort with. "There's no point in labeling me or my prison pals killers when some of your men have killed more than us."

"So you have killed?"

"I didn't say that," she chuckles. "I said your body count is higher than ours. That could mean a lot of things."

"But-" she cuts herself off, letting out an exasperated sigh. It makes Macon laugh some more. "I feel like at this point you're just messing with me."

"A bit," she shrugs, allowing a smile to grow on her lips. "It's funny."

"Not to me."

"It's never fun for the victim," she shrugs once more. The lights above them flicker for a split second, allowing Macon to see the look of annoyance and exhaustion on Carol's face before it shuts off, the hushed humming it once had becoming dead silent. "Well shit," she sighs, letting her head fall back against the wall once more.

Without any light and the lingering silence, the two lose their sense of time. Neither really know how long they had been in that room. Had to have been at least a few hours. But even so, Macon can feel herself losing connection with reality a bit.

"Is this what solitary feels like?" Carol wonders aloud. She hears the prisoner hum in acknowledgment before continuing. "You're just by yourself for hours, wondering what happens next?"

"No. You learn to see things that aren't there. After about a week or two in solitary, I started seeing Marcus and Savannah." A giggle leaves her. "They're so stupid," she laughs hysterically, admiring the patterns being created above her.

"But you know they aren't real, right? That it's all in your head?"

"I know. But...when you're alone for so long, you kind of just pretend they are. Makes everything feel a little less lonely."

Carol stays quiet for a moment or two, but for Macon, it feels like minutes. "What do they look like?"

"Good question," she chuckles airly. She notices how her breathing comes out in heavy, drawn-out pants like she ran a marathon. And when she began to acknowledge that, she also noticed how heavy her eyelids had become, making it hard for her to form an answer. "They're -um," she swallows, nearly gagging from how dry her throat has become, "they're pretty. Savannah has some dark brown skin, a pretty afro she used to pick every morning, a button nose too. Marcus was a bit lighter than me and Savannah–he got that from daddy–his hair was always clean, and he had this smile that would light up the room-" she pauses for a second, letting her words sink in before questioning aloud, "What the fuck happened to me?" Her words make Carol laugh aloud.

"Do you see your siblings now?"

"Haven't seen 'em since I've been around people," she sighs. She brings her hand to her forehead, wiping off the thick layer of sweat forming on it. "Besides, my eyes are closed anyhow." She hears a shaky chuckle come from her, but it sounds a bit inverted like Macon stuck her head beneath water. Soon Carol's quiet laughter fades into the background before up and vanishing, leaving her with silence.