Daryl's Angel: Saviour (Book Two)

Chapter 35: Walls Come Tumbling Down

I head to the infirmary as soon as I'm awake. As I enter Elliot's bedroom with a tray of breakfast, he looks up from the book on his lap. I would think it was a novel if it weren't for the pen in his hand.

"Writing something?" I ask.

He closes it with a shrug, setting it aside. "An old diary. Keeps me sharp," he says. "Tell me you got some sleep, cher."

"Yeah." I omit the fact that it took Carl ordering me to rest for me to do so. I set the tray down on Elliot's bedside table, fending off Tabitha's curious nose. "How's the hip?"

"Sore," he says. I reach over and adjust his pillows as he leans forward, fluffing them. "I tried to move it, but...no luck."

I sigh. "I'm sorry."

I'm glad Rosita stabilized his leg. I just worry how well it'll heal for someone of Elliot's age. I pull up a chair at his bedside as I settle his breakfast on his lap. He digs in, and I fold my hands under my chin, elbows propped on my knees.

"I could look into non-surgical treatment," I suggest. He hums, taking a sip of his tea. "I won't be able to even attempt any physical therapy for a few weeks, just to make sure the bone is setting again. Then—"

"Cher, I'm not stupid," he says with a chuckle. "I'm eighty-two years old. I don't have nice young bones anymore."

"You were still mobile until now," I insist. "It'll take longer, but you can heal. We'll make sure you have everything you need to keep the pain down, and in time, we'll get you back on your feet."

He gazes at me with that soft smile of his. "And if I can't?"

"I'm not going to let something like this be...be..."

The words choke in my throat. I know he's old. I know how injuries like this can pan out, but damn it, this is Elliot. He deserves to keep going. There's so much I still want to learn from him. There are still so many people who can benefit from his wisdom.

"I'm going to take care of you," I say, finally.

I feel Tabitha nudge her nose beneath my arm, letting out a tiny whine. Elliot tosses her a scrap of his breakfast and she darts away to gobble it off the floor.

"Don't worry," he says. "Everything will turn out the way it's meant to, and I'm not giving up. I promise."

I let out a breath. "Is there anything you need?"

He shakes his head. "I'm gonna finish my breakfast, then have a nap." He motions to the radio still sitting at his bedside. "I know how to reach you."

"Alright. Good."

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"Heading out again?" Denise asks.

She sits at the kitchen island with Tara. She has an anatomy textbook laid out in front of her, a soft smile on her face. She's been busy in here—she brought out a chalkboard that's loaded with hints, like a cheat sheet, and she seems relaxed, more so than I've seen in the brief time I've known her. Tara's here a lot too, and whenever she is, they stand so close together that their elbows nearly touch, stars in their eyes.

Good for them.

"Yeah, going to the wall again," I reply. "If you need me, Elliot has a radio."

She nods. "Good luck out there."

I head out. Tobin's watching the front gate when I arrive, and he reaches a hand down to help me the rest of the way up the ladder. I accept it, steadying myself on the platform. It's amazing how unchanged the crowd of walkers is, the same grey sea of death and tattered clothing, echoes of those who once were.