Cult » Daryl Dixon

thirty

thirty.

Stampedes of frantic footsteps thundered on outside the cell. I opened my eyes to the noise, the bright hot Georgia sun hitting my retinas. I pushed myself up off the mattress and peered outside. People armed with weapons breezed past in a rush to get outside. I stumbled out of bed towards my pants that laid bunched up on the ground. Daryl stirred, rubbing his eyes as he woke. I quickly pulled on my pants and wandered out into the steady stream of residents. I looked around in confusion, watching them barrel past me. A woman came right towards me, bumping into me. I stumbled back, watching as she continued on without saying a word. It was like I had never even been there.

Fear was spread across everyone's faces while they jogged. A few were even looking around for their loved ones in the mess. What was going on? I turned around to see Daryl with his crossbow slung over his shoulder, my sword in his hand and a large gun equipped with a scope in his other.

"What's going on," I asked him nervously. He shrugged in response.

"Dunno. Here." He tossed the gun to me. My heart began to race as it flew my direction. I clumsily threw my hands out but caught it just in time. I almost dropped it; it was heavier than I expected. "Just in case." I eyed him suspiciously as I took my sword from his possession, sliding it onto my body.

"I hope it's not anything too serious," I muttered, Daryl sauntering towards me. He stopped a few inches away, gazing down at me. He could sense my anxiety, my fear.

"Hey." His warm fingertips brushed over the top of my hand. I wiggled mine to sneakily wrap them around his hand. "We ain't ashes." His calm eyes gazed into mine. I looked down at my feet. Daryl's free hand was quick to fly to my chin, lifting my head back up. "Whatever happens out there, we'll be okay. I'll be with you the whole time, alright? You trust me," he asked, his thumb lightly brushing over a short stint of my jawline to soothe me. I nodded, shivering at the contact. I longed to be closer to him again just like I had wished a while ago. The feeling never went away. When Daryl retreated, he left me breathless. It was like he took my ability to breathe with him every single time he backed away. "C'mon," he chided, gently brushing past me. I ever so reluctantly followed after him out into the sticky heat.

The scene my eyes landed on outside the comforting walls of the prison startled me, my heart leaping at the overwhelming presence. People were lining up against the fence, dropping to their knees and aiming their weapons out into the yard at the thing sitting outside the fence. Daryl grabbed my hand and quickly pulled me towards an open space in the fence next to Carl.

"Don't look," Daryl whispered to me. "Don't look." My eyes nervously darted around. He pulled me down to my knees, my body nestling in next to his.

"Why?" I feared to look out at what sat ahead, anxious tears filling my eyes. "Why?"

"Shhh," he hushed me, putting his finger to his lips. "Put the gun up." I stared at him blankly, my breathing quickening as I grew more and more terrified by the second. "Put the gun up," he repeated. I obeyed him, raising the gun and resting it on top of one of the chain links in the fence. I peered through the scope; this move was a mistake. I could feel my insides start to creep up my throat, threatening to escape my body. My whole body felt light, like my soul completely abandoned me. Daryl gazed over at me just in time to see my lip quiver. My father stood on top of a tank, his hands on his hips, two others sitting on either side of him. He had an army, guns, and hostages. My chest hurt, a large weight-like feeling crushing my ribs. I tried to breathe steadily but failed miserably.