Eight months… Eight months of staying in this shit-hole of a cell block, with nothing but his thoughts and the other prisoners for company. Of course, they were… okay for conversation. But none of them were family men. They didn’t have kids; they weren’t married.
Hell, they were just kids.
It was almost a blessing when those people came in. Although they were trailing two and a half kids with them.
It had been a week since they’d arrived. And he was sitting on the bottom step in the cell block, his jumpsuit lowered to his hips, and his t-shirt wet through with sweat, keeping an eye out for any trouble; as per the leader’s instructions.
None of them trusted the new woman, who had turned up with a basket full of baby milk. And it showed, as Hershel was barely touching her as he worked on the wound on her leg.