Daryl's Angel: Saviour (Book Two)

Chapter 47: The Day Will Come When You Won't Be

Negan drags Rick into the RV and drives off with him.

Daryl sits and waits among the vigilant Saviours.

It's dawn by the time Negan returns, the foggy forest steadily lightening as the pale sunlight creeps over the horizon. Daryl's whole body aches. His heart aches. He tells himself not to look at Abraham's body, at Glenn's, but he can't stop. It's the least he can do, witnessing what he brought upon them.

Negan walks Rick like a dog, hauling him by the back of his jacket, and Rick is a man undone.

"Here we are," Negan says as he throws Rick down before them. "Let me ask you something, Rick—do you even know what that little trip was about?" Rick doesn't answer, and Negan rolls his eyes. "Speak when you're spoken to."

"Okay. Okay," Rick says. He sounds dazed, eyes wide, Abraham's blood on his cheek.

"That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand," Negan explains. "But you're still looking at me the same damn way...like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that's not gonna work! So..." He squats next to Rick. "Do I give you another chance?"

Rick nods, over and over again. "Y-Yeah. Yes." His voice is ragged. "Yes."

"Okay!" Negan slaps Rick's back as he straightens up. "Here it is—the grand prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone's last crap day or just another crap day. Get some guns to the back of their heads."

How is it not over? How can it still be going? Daryl hears the click, feels the barrel nudge the back of his head. He closes his eyes for just a second.

"Good. Level with their noses, so if you have to fire—" Negan puts his hand in front of his face and splays his fingers out, imitating an explosion. "It'll be a real mess." Negan smiles at Carl. "Kid?" He gestures Carl to him with one finger, pointing to the spot beside his dad. "Right here. Kid, now."

Carl glares at Negan even as he walks the few steps to him, teenage attitude in full swing. Negan removes his belt.

"Are you a southpaw?"

"Am I a what?" Carl snaps.

"You a lefty?"

He tilts his head. "No."

"Good." Negan fastens the belt around Carl's left arm, tying it nice and tight. "Does that hurt?"

"No."

"Should. It's supposed to." Negan steps back. "Alright. Get on the ground, kid, next to Daddy. Spread them wings!"

He knocks Carl's hat off and, as Carl starts to kneel, Negan pushes him the rest of the way to the ground. Daryl watches his expression falter, fear pushing through as he lies with his arms out.

"Simon! You got a pen?" The moustached balding guy tosses him a black marker, and Negan takes the cap off with his teeth. He squats, rolling Carl's sleeve up. "This is gonna be cold as a warlock's ballsack, just like he was hanging his ballsack above you and draaaaagging it across your forearm."

He draws a line across Carl's arm, just below his elbow, and Rick shakes his head, begging him in barely a whisper. Daryl can't hear the words, just the breathless cadence, and Negan grins at Rick.

"Me? I'm ain't doing shit," he says with a chuckle. "Ahh. Rick, I want you to take your axe, cut your son's left arm off, right on that line. Now, I know, I know. You're gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though, I'm gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then Carl dies, then the people back home die—"