Daryl's Angel: Saviour (Book Two)

Chapter 36: No Way Out

T is a lot tougher than he looks, but Daryl makes quick work of him anyway. Even the toughest sumbitches can't shake a knife to the skull. Too bad Daryl had to feel the end of the knife, too. He's just lucky the guy missed.

He's gonna need a hell of a patch job when they get home. He's going to be sore as hell for the next couple of days, too.

He loads up the RPG, stepping around the side of the truck and aiming it at those smug fuckers and their smug faces. They haven't noticed that their friend is dead or that they're about to join him. He squeezes the trigger.

There's nothing like watching a bunch of jackasses explode.

The heat blasts against Daryl's face, the stench of smoke and powder filling his nose. He lowers the RPG as he reappears around the front of the vehicle, watching as Sasha and Abraham get back to their feet, coughing. They stare at Daryl in mild shock even as Sasha starts to smile.

He glares at the blood-splattered road, chunks of motorcycles and human beings scattered everywhere. The air stinks of cooked meat and gasoline.

"Son of a bitch was tougher than he looked," Daryl says, glancing back at T's body.

"Did he cut you?" Sasha asks.

Daryl grunts. "A little. What a bunch of assholes."

His eye twitches for a second as Sasha presses a cloth to the wound, a short sting shooting through his shoulder. She laughs breathlessly, shaking her head as she claps him on the chest.

"Let's get you fixed up at home," she says.

"Yes, ma'am."

----------

The sun goes down. Maggie and I sit side by side and try not to think about the death awaiting us below. The platform keeps quivering, and I know that, sooner or later, it'll collapse whether we're on it or not.

I can't relax. I can barely think. My mind is an endless list of names and wishes and prayers. Did Daryl hear me in the end? Did Rick and the others get to safety? Is Glenn close by, and was he really behind those green balloons? Is Elliot holding up in the infirmary, and can he hold on until I can get back to him?

"Here, drink," I say, offering Maggie my thermos. I'm not even sure whether my nausea is from the panic attack or the baby. "It's not much, but we should stay hydrated."

Maggie accepts it, taking a long drink. She exhales as she sets it down between us. I shift, pulling myself up and peering over the side of the wall. It's clearer now, only a few stragglers lingering behind.

"Do you think we could climb down the other side?" I ask. A moment later, I shake my head and sit back down. "No, I...you've got a twisted ankle and—"

"We can't risk a fall," Maggie says. "Not in our condition."

I wrap my arms around my middle, sucking a deep breath. If Maggie lowers me down, I might be close enough to the ground to stick a landing, but already I know that it's a fool's errand. I'm lightheaded, my throat hurts, my arm is starting to itch like crazy, and I'm so stupidly hungry that I might be sick again. I feel like a mosquito bite could knock me out.

Nothing about this is fun. Nothing about this is good, and I so desperately want to believe that there's a way out of this, even when it's clear that there isn't. Maggie can't run. Everything I do risks my baby's life, not just my own. There's no way out of here. Maggie's right. If I lose my footing or drop too far, and I fall, then—

I blink, slowly looking over at Maggie. "Did you say...our condition?"

Her eyes are sad. "Yeah."