WHITE FLAG

chapter fifty-five : the night before
{ season four - episode five }

"YOU LOOK LIKE shit," Daryl Dixon started, his left hand holding onto the strap of his crossbow as he stood in the entrance to the cell Kloe was in.

Kloe let out a small, chesty laugh - a cough flaring up in her throat. She turned her head to the side, setting her brown eyes on the man, who wore a cloth over his nose and mouth. "Thanks."

"How're you holding up?" he queried.

"Never been better," she responded sarcastically, barely able to stick her thumb up to the man. She lowered her hand back down to her side when she noticed the amount of blood stains on her hand.

Daryl, who seemed to notice the unfamiliar color painted on her hand, frowned at the woman, "You've been coughing blood?"

Kloe blinked, "Yeah, I guess." She shrugged, parting her lips to breathe more clearly through her airways. It felt like she was breathing pure dust when she inhaled through her nose.

Daryl shared a glance with the ground in front of him before looking back up at the woman who watched him. "Thanks for not dying on me yesterday," he said, sending her a single nod.

She returned with a tight-lipped smile, her lips chapped and discolored. "You're welcome, Dixon. This bitch right here is immortal," she pointed at herself, weakly smirking as she watched Daryl chuckle.

"Your brother wants to see you. He wants to see that you're okay," he informed her, remembering that the second reason he went up to her was because Zayn had asked him to. Little did he know Daryl had already planned to visit her anyway.

Kloe sighed, realizing she was going to have to find the insufficient strength within her to work her way down to the prison's visiting room. She bopped her head, signaling that she would go see him.

She slowly threw her legs over the bed, setting herself up and steaded her hands beside her as she let out a shaky breath. "Need any help?" Daryl offered, extending out his arms - ready to hold her.

"Nah, I got it," she replied. "Why don't you go check on someone else? I'll be fine." Kloe gripped onto the sink beside her, pushing all her weight onto it as she raised herself.

She caught a glance of herself in the mirror in front of her - except the glance lasted for at least five seconds. Kloe stared at herself. She almost looked...dead.

The bags underneath her eyes were jet black - not matching her insanely pale skin that would match the color of the clouds. Blood stained her lips from where she had coughed blood up previously; almost matching the scar that ran to her chin.

Most of her hair was drenched with sweat - making it stick to the side of her face. She slowly turned around to face Daryl, who still made sure she never fell. "Don't worry, Daryl. I got it, trust me."

He seemed hesitant - which he was to her surprise. Although, he complied and left her all alone. Considering it was completely dark outside, she figured it was around eight p.m.

She pushed herself off the sink, dragging her feet over to the exit of her cell. From nearly every direction came someone coughing up their lungs, struggling to breathe.

She felt pity for them - knowing exactly what the pain felt like. She continued to strud forward, making her way to Glenn still sat: against the wall. He had completely passed out, his breathing heavy.

"Glenn," she whispered, his body immediately jolting awake as his head turned upward to look at her, "why don't you go rest on my bed. I'll stay out here for a while."

"Kloe-"

"Nope," she stopped him, moving forward and clutching her sweaty palms around the railing at the top of the metal staircase. "No refusing." She moved one foot forward, stepping down the steps.

She somewhat plastered a smile on her lips, knowing the exact look Glenn was sending her. As she got closer and closer to the bottom of the staircase, she felt weaker and weaker.

She paused approxiametly three steps away from the ground, putting in all her effort to regain her sudden loss of strength. She eyed the people that struggled to stay asleep - struggling to breathe and who knew what else.

Her chest shrunk and she knelt forward, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth as she coughed up more blood. She cringed at the taste, the iron setting on her tongue.

A warm liquid dribbled out of her nose, making her wipe it away with her wrist briefly. She furrowed her brows as she eyed her wrist - that was now freshly covered with red.

Then, the same warm liquid escaped her right eye socket, making her look up away from the ground. Some parts of her vision was bright red. She was crying blood.

She started to panic, accelerating forward. Her legs gave way when she reached the second last step, making her tumble to the ground. Her hands flung forward, saving her face from smacking down onto the concrete beneath her.

She grunted with pain, clutching onto her wrist that submerged the most pain. She sucked in a deep breath - immediately regretting it when she, once again, coughed repeatedly.

Although, this time, it didn't stop. Her coughs were vividly louder than most of the faint coughing from people's cells. That's because she wasn't coughing. She was choking.

She turned onto her side, her vision growing blurry as bood poured out of her mouth and onto the ground.

Glenn, who stopped right before entering the cell Kloe had instructed him to go in, turned around and frowned. He moved himself over to the railing, looking over it.

He scanned the area, his eyes landing on the very familiar figure on the ground. She continually attempted to gasp some oxygen into her lungs, but the blood pooling in her throat stopped her from doing so.

The Rhee man's eyes widened without hesitation, the adrenaline beginning to activate in his body. He spun on his heel, weakly rushing back to where he previously was - the top of the staircase.

It felt as if she was getting strangled again. Except, it was ten times worse. She turned back onto her back, staring straight up at the ceiling that turned into two.

Glenn's body crashed onto the ground beside his wife, his hands reaching for her face. It was as if blood was coming out of everywhere on her face. Her mouth, her nose, her eyes.

Her body twitched and shook as she tried and tried to get the air she needed. Glenn watched her with panicked eyes, not knowing what to do. "Hershel!" he yelled, knowing he was somewhere in the cell block. "Hey, hey. Kloe."

Her wide, bloodied up eyes slowly moved over to where her husband was, a blood-tear spilling out of her eye. Hershel appeared out of one the cells nearby, hearing Glenn's yell for him.

The elderly man sped over to the Rhees, immediately dropping to his knees beside Kloe. He grasped onto each of her shoulders, rolling her back onto her side.

A few people nearby stood near their cells, watching the situation with pity. The blood stacking in her throat soon leaked out of her mouth as she turned her head to the side.

Racing down the flight of stairs, Daryl Dixon showed himself. Glenn kept hold of her face while further blood continued to fall out of her mouth, forming a small puddle of blood on the floor next to her.

"Put her back on her back," Hershel instructed, making Glenn set Kloe back to how she previously was. She was still choking to death, causing him to repeatedly mutter the word 'no'. He wasn't losing her. Not to a pathetic flu. Not to choke on her own blood.

"Hey, Kloe. Kloe, look at me," Glenn cupped her cheeks, looking down at her just as more blood spilled out of her mouth, running down her cheek. She shifted her eyes up to her husband, her eyes filled with fear and panic.

Hershel gripped onto Kloe's jaw, pulling her mouth open. He shined his flashlight down her mouth, catching sight of the back of her throat. He raised his chin to the Dixon who knelt over Kloe, "Daryl, hand me that knife."

Catching Glenn's attention, the man's brows pushed together. Aware that whatever Hershel had planned to save his partner, Daryl clutched onto the knife that was on a unit beside the staircase like it was already waiting to be used as something to save someone's life.

Taking the blade without hesitation, the elderly Greene man positioned the knife to go down into Kloe's mouth. "Glenn, I need you to hold her mouth open, alright?" Glenn nodded subconsciously, his hand setting down onto his wife's jaw. "Whatever you do, son, do not let go."

He nodded again, his eyes brimming with tears as he watched his wife suffer. Kloe kept her bloodied eyes on him as Daryl stepped over beside Glenn, pushing his hands against her arms so she couldn't move or jolt.

Hershel started lowering the long blade into her mouth, blood immediately painting the knife as it splattered out of her throat. Just before the blade reached the back of her throat, Hershel carefully but firmly placed the flat blade against her tongue.

He pushed it down so he had a much clearer view of her throat, producing an entrance for an air bag that waited to be used. Kloe's chokes sounded more evident than before now that her airways were more open.

Daryl peered over his shoulder, eyeing the bag that he had gotten on his run earlier that day. Inside of it held the air bag's that he knew Hershel would ask for.

Rapidly, the Dixon leaped over to the backpack, flipping it open. Inside lay two air bags. He grasped onto one at once, passing it over to the older man. Hershel took it appreciatively, twisting the turner on the pipe that connected to the air bag itself.

Daryl wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife in Kloe's mouth, allowing Hershel to position the air bag. He depressed it, going further and further until it entered her throat.

The pipe stopped when it reached her lower part of her throat. Glenn's hands quaked with trepidation as Kloe's eyelids closed. "No, no, no. Kloe, stay awake. Open your eyes. Look at me."

Hershel squeezed down on the air bag, the oxygen storing inside her lungs...or so they thought. The woman's choking came to a stop, relieving them for a few seconds before Daryl noticed something off.

Her chest wasn't rising. Hershel noticed too, his expression dropping. Glenn completely froze, his eyes pecking with tears. "No, no, no, no, no," he panicked, carefully tapping his wife's face. "No, Kloe. Don't do this to me. Wake up. Wake up..."

"Glenn," Hershel attempted to catch the man's attention, but he was too busy frantically panicking over his wife who was no longer breathing. Who was no longer living. Who was now dead. "Glenn!" The Rhee's eyes snapped over to the elderly man, tears spilling out of his eyes. "I need you to lift her chin up, okay?" The man nodded within an instant, a quiet sob leaving him. "And Daryl, I need you to squeeze the air bag when I say."

The Dixon complied, his own eyes pricking with a few of his own tears. He shifted forward, grasping onto the air bag. Glenn pressed his fingers against her chin, elevating it upward. Hershel moved any strand of her raven-brown hair out of the way, his hands pushed against her chest.

It wasn't long before he began performing CPR on the woman. He began doing chest compressions, two times every second, just like you were supposed to.

Once he reached a certain amount of chest compressions, he stopped, lifting his eyes to the other two men beside him. Glenn glanced down, pinching her nose as Daryl squeezed the air bag twice.

The three waited and watched her chest to see if it rose at any point, but nothing. Hershel tried again, beginning the chest compressions. Then Glenn pinched her nose again, Daryl squeezing the air bag twice again.

They waited again. But nothing again. Hershel tried one more time. Third time was the lucky charm. If she didn't wake up after the third time...

then they had lost her.

And obviously, they were not going to let that happen to Kloe freaking Rhee. She could not die that easily. So when they repeated the steps for the third time, the woman's eyes shot open and gasped for air, the tube running deep down inside her throat stopping her from doing so.

While she did, an abnormal sounding wheeze formed in her chest. Hershel instructed Daryl to retrieve the woman's inhaler while she coughed over and over again.

Glenn comforted her, relieving tears running down his cheeks as he watched his wife. He may have hated seeing her in the unpleasant state she was currently in, but he was glad - so glad that she was okay... for now.

Daryl was quick to return with the inhaler. Glenn took it from Daryl's grasp appreciatively, watching as Hershel removed the air bag from her throat. Once it was out, he shook it. He of course didn't have asthma, but watching his wife use it most of the time, he knew the steps like the back of his hand.

He pushed the canister down once Kloe began breathing in, the particles rushing down to her lungs. Her airways started to sound more clear, making Glenn smile with ease.

Kloe moved her gaze away from the ceiling above her, her eyes landing on her husband, as fearful yet relieved watery tears ran down her own cheeks.

...

"You what?" Zayn Schmidt's eyes bulged out of his sockets, staring through the glass separating him and Kloe. After the dramatic event of her evidently dying, she had slept through the entire night without any complications.

Daryl had told Zayn that she wasn't well enough to get her way to the prison's visiting room. It wasn't exactly a lie, but he missed out the biggest part of what Kloe Rhee had gone through.

"Yep," Kloe replied, still shocked herself that she had died, but was brought back to life. "I can't believe it myself, either. Apparently I was sort of awake most of the time... I just can't remember."

Zayn still stared at his sister like he had seen a ghost, the blood falling from his face. He had almost lost her with a snap of his finger.

"Well, I guess I didn't die. But I stopped breathing. That counts, right?" Kloe wondered, her voice hoarse. Despite literally getting killed by it, it still lied within her, too stubborn to leave.

He was still at a loss of words, and he had every right to be. His sister could've properly died, but no one told him. No one came to get him. "You..."

"I called it..." Kloe started to talk to herself. "I-I called being immortal." She tried to joke, and she was to lighten the mood. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't be making jokes."

"You died..." he said, barely above a whisper as his gaze lowered down. "I'm... I'm gonna go get some air." He started to take a few steps back, pointing toward the exit of the room.

"Wait, Zayn," Kloe called out to him, but he only ignored her and left the room, leaving her alone. She sighed heavily, wiping away the sweat on her forehead.

She released chesty coughs, pushing herself back over to the doorway of the visiting room. Outside of it stood her husband, waiting and making sure she was okay.

He never let her out of his sight, after when he did the night before, he just couldn't. He blamed himself, no matter how many times she told him it wasn't his fault and that it would've happened either way, he continued to do so anyway.

She steadied herself on the doorframe, Glenn standing beside her with his arms over his chest. She was relieved when she stopped coughing up her own blood. She was also relieved when she woke up that morning, she felt stronger than she did the day prior. Yes, she still didn't feel normal, but she began to feel better.

"I don't think he's gonna take it very well," Kloe informed, already knowing that Glenn had heard the conversation anyway. "Well, I wasn't really expecting him to jump up and down anyway with joy."

"I don't think anyone would," Glenn muttered, loud enough for the woman to hear. "I'm just glad you're okay."

He took her hand in his, weakly squeezing it supportively. He gave her a soft smile, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as he began leading her away. Kloe returned the same smile, "And I'm glad you are, too."

Once they stepped toward the staircase, the very staircase where Kloe had collapsed the night before, Glenn stopped. Kloe turned her head to face him, only then noticing how he looked.

"Glenn..." she started, watching him with worry, "you look... exhausted." It was true, he was very much exhausted. He couldn't sleep at all, knowing the fact that his wife had temporarily died left him terrified.

The whole night he stayed right by her side while she slept. He held her hand until the sun rose, when her eyelids opened, when she was alive. His eyes lingered over the dried-out blood on the ground beside the start of the stairs.

Kloe pursed her lips when she set her eyes over the same spot where her husband was looking, carefully pulling Glenn with her as they started to step up the stairs.

Once they reached the top, Kloe led the man over to the farthest cell to the right of them. Inside, a man with the exact air bag they had used to save the Rhee woman in his throat laid on the bed, resting.

Kloe bit the inside of her cheek as they entered the cell. That morning her, Glenn, Sasha and Hershel saved the man from dying. See, Kloe would've survived throughout the whole thing, if she wasn't asthmatic.

They had had a very busy morning, is what they could say. Which was probably one of the main reasons why Zayn was impatient when he first saw her in the visiting room.

There were more people to save from the virus, while others didn't survive it. "Okay, wait here while I go see what's up with Hershel," Kloe told him, cautiously setting him down on the stool beside the bed.

Right before Kloe could leave the room, he stopped her by taking a firm hold of her wrist. "No, don't go," he looked up at her with pleading eyes. He was definitely too weak to do it himself, so the only option they had was for Kloe to go look for the elderly man. Although, Glenn didn't want Kloe leaving his sight.

"Glenn, I'll only be like two minutes, tops," she reasoned, appearing to have more strength than the man as she relinquished his grasp off her wrist with her other hand.

He swallowed thickly, still sending her the look of not wanting her to leave him. She returned a look of reasoning. Sasha had collapsed around twenty minutes prior, and Kloe, being clearly worried, wanted to check up on her to see if she was doing okay.

In defeat, Glenn turned his gaze to the ground beneath his sneakers. Kloe watched him sadly for a few moments before spinning on her heel. She exited the cell and made her way back downstairs, her eyes searching for the correct cell that the Williams' woman was.

Her dark brown eyes landed on the exact cell, instantly pushing herself forward toward it. When she reached it, she stopped, steadying herself on the doorframe.

Her eyes fell down to the woman on the ground, an IV connected to her arm. The water ran through the tube and into her arm, just like Kloe had the night before.

Sasha's eyes slowly moved over to the Rhee woman. Sasha's skin was saturated with sweat, the eye bags under her eyes being bright red. Kloe watched the woman with sympathy.

She shifted her eyes over to the Greene sitting on the bed. "How is she?" she inquired, referring to the woman beside his feet, whose head was resting on the pillow from the bed he was sitting on.

"She was just telling me how she doesn't believe in magic or luck. Isn't that right, Sasha?" Hershel grinned, earning a breathy chuckle from the Williams.

"I'm not wrong," she responded, receiving a small laugh from the other two. Kloe stepped inside the room, kneeling down beside her. "Are you okay, Klo?"

"Me? Psh, don't worry about me, Sash," Kloe smiled. "You're the one we need to worry about right now."

Little did Kloe know that when she said that, the person who also needed to be worried about was her husband as he started to choke on his own blood.

Just like she had the night before.

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words: 3546
19th december 2022
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IM SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG TO PUBLISH- i aint even got a reason why i stopped i just forgot hELP