Zedler, M.D. // Daryl Dixon

Chapter One Hundred: Fever Dream

🎉one-hundred🎉

Beatrix

"No, let me," I push myself to stand up straight when I realize that Doctor Carson is taking Mark off to clean up his face. Full offense, but Mark doesn't deserve to look anything like Dwight with a half melted face, and I can help make it look better.

"I've really got it under control," Doctor Carson insists, so I turn to Negan.

"Please let me," I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand to get rid of any lingering residue of vomit.

"Go ahead," he nods before walking off, his arm draped over Carl's shoulder.

Thankfully, Doctor Carson gives in and steps back, allowing me to follow the Saviors carrying Mark to the infirmary. They strap Mark to the bed, even though I'm very doubtful that he's going anywhere, and then leave us alone.

I take my time working on his face, because honestly, I'm not a hundred percent sure on how to fix it. I think that maybe the best course of action is to just debris the wound, put on some silver sulfadiazine and then wrap it, so that's what I do. I try to make the skin look as even as possible, too, so his scarring is at a minimum.

Right after I finish wrapping his wound, the door flies open and Sherry walks towards me.

"Is he awake?" She asks, frantically looking around the room for anyone else.

"No, he's out cold. Is everything okay?" I look at her, concerned at her frazzled state.

"Listen, Beatrix, you need to leave this room, now. Take a left. After you pass four doors, take another left. Don't ask questions. Just go. Now," she says, so fast her words are almost smushed together.

She pushes me towards the door, and I listen to her. I'm not sure what she's talking about, but I go anyway. I take a left out of the infirmary and after four doors, I take another left. Unsure if I should keep walking or just stand here and wait, I take a few steps down the dark hallway before running into someone.

"Sorry," I mutter, looking up to see Daryl staring back down at me. He's standing there, pipe in his hand ready to swing at my head, and he's dressed in normal clothes with a hat on. "What the—"

"Shh, we're getting the hell out of here. Come on," his voice is frantic, too, and my heart starts to beat faster.

My blood starts pumping faster, flowing epinephrine through my veins. The adrenaline kicks in, and I rush behind Daryl, holding lightly onto the back of his shirt as he leads us to the exit. Once he pushes the door open, the light is almost blinding. He pulls me sharp left over to the bikes. I stand back and watch as he tries to find the right one until Fat Joey shows up. Of course it's fucking Fat Joey.

"Hey, it's cool man. I'm cool. You can walk right out that gate there, and I won't say a word to anybody," he holds his hands up defensively as Daryl slowly walks towards him, pipe in hand. "I'm just trying to get by here, man. Just like you. Please."

Thud.

Daryl brings the pipe down on Fat Joey's head, swinging with all of his force again and again until he's dead on the ground.

"Daryl," I say, breaking his concentration. I can't let him get too lost in this and get us caught. We will be dead. "Daryl, let's go."

"It ain't just about getting by here. It's about getting it all," he scoffs, dropping the pipe and taking the gun from Fat Joey's pocket. "Come on. I got the key."

With that, he heads back to the motorcycles and quickly backs out the one he has the key for. He hops on, and as soon as I'm on behind him, he starts the engine. We head to the gate and, sure enough, nobody is there and it's sitting wide open. Thank you, Fat Joey.