Lost ; Daryl Dixon

Chapter 1

Light filtered in through the bullet holes that littered the back of the van, cutting through the darkness, as the muffled voices from outside seemed to draw closer. You were curled up in Daryl's arms, holding your wadded shirt against the wound in his shoulder, trying to stem the bleeding, though the blood had soaked through the fabric and was dribbling down your hand. His skin was waxen, his eyes wide with fear, as he strained to hear what was going on on the other side of the doors. He had a tight hold of your waist, his nails biting in to you, but the pain was a welcome distraction from your current situation so you made no move to stop him. Michonne's eyes were closed, her head tipped back against the side of the van as though she were sleeping, but you could feel the anger coming off of her in waves and knew she was still conscious, biding her time until the moment came to make a move. With Daryl hurt, she was your best fighter, and she'd be feeling the burden of that responsibility if you knew her at all. Opposite you, Glenn drummed his fingers lightly against the metal floor, a nervous habit, and you could see his mouth moving, a silent promise that he'd return to his pregnant wife. Beside him, Rosita's expression was vacant, a blank mask, but her hands were balled into fists, her knuckles white as she struggled to keep control of her emotions.

A raised voice called for Dwight, and you felt Daryl's body tense beneath you at the mention of the man he hated so vehemently, the man who'd killed Denise; and then the sound of footsteps, coming closer, and blinding light as the doors were wrenched open and the glare of headlamps from several vehicles flooded in. Rough hands gripped your arms, tearing you from Daryl's embrace and dragging you out onto the rock-strewn floor, shoving you roughly into place and forcing you into a kneeling position. In horror, your eyes found Rick's, and you were shocked to see so many of your family, all lined up on their knees, trembling with terror. Maggie was beside him, barely able to hold herself upright, and you felt ice shoot through your veins as you took in her deathly appearance, murmuring her name, though your voice was drowned out by Glenn's desperate shout as he tried to go to her, held down by the men that stood over him, weapons raised.

Abraham, Sasha, Aaron, Carl, Eugene. You counted them off in your head as your eyes flicked down the line, shaking your head in disbelief. This couldn't be happening.

'We've got a full boat!' the man standing before you announced, grinning in twisted pleasure as he surveyed your group. His eyes flashed viciously as he backed towards the RV parked up behind him, his thick moustache twitching as he held in a chuckle of satisfaction. 'Let's meet the man!'

He knocked twice on the door of the caravan, moving over to the side, as you held your breath, waiting to see what monster would appear.

The door swung open, and a tall, lean figure appeared, stepping casually out into the clearing, with a smug grin painting his features. 'Pissin' our pants yet?'

As he moved into the light, you could see his perfectly slicked-back hair, the snappy red scarf that tucked into the neck of his leather jacket. The atmosphere in the crowd of men surrounding you had shifted as soon as this man had appeared, the sense of fear tangible in the air, and you felt yourself growing cold as his eyes flicked over you. 'Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close.'

He had a baseball bat resting on his shoulder, and as the light of the headlights glinted off of it, you realised it was wrapped in barbed wire, a growing nausea rising in your stomach. 'Yeah, it's gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon.'

You tried to comprehend his words, what he was actually saying, but it was all just nonsense, self-indulgent, as if he just enjoyed hearing himself talk. You hated him. You didn't even know this man, but as you watched your family cower before him, you hated him.