Lost ; Daryl Dixon

Chapter 6

You'd heard the gunshots.

True to his word, Negan would send one of his men to fetch you in the early hours of each morning, allocating you to a task which would dominate your day. Your knees were constantly sore from crawling over the concrete floors, scrubbing them clean until your knuckles were cracked and bleeding. Even that was better than wrangling the walkers out in the yard though. Negan's men would create cruel games, forcing you as close to the corpses as possible, their guns trained on you, as they shepherded you backwards towards the snapping jaws, seeing how near they could get you before cackling hysterically, lowering their weapons and letting you scamper away, your body trembling with fear.

At least once every single day, you'd feel your chest tighten, the iron band constricting your lungs until you couldn't breathe, gasping for air as black dots danced in front of your eyes. There was no one to help you here, no one to calm your shaking body and hold you as you calmed yourself, and so you found yourself delving into your memory to summon up Daryl's actions when you'd gotten yourself into this state before. You could feel his hand rubbing circles over your back, taste the tobacco tang of him as he breathed with an exaggerated slowness, his face close to yours, hear his gruff rasp as he told you it'd be okay. It will be okay, you told yourself. He will come for me. And with that thought came a sense of peace, of confidence, and you'd find that your panic would fade and you'd be able to keep going, to keep surviving.

The gunshots only reinforced your hope, your belief that he was fighting for you. It had to be them, Alexandria, coming to take you home. You were in the hall, scrubbing the bricks around the furnace, your skin coated with soot, when you'd heard the noise from outside, pausing in your work, until you heard a throat clear behind you, and turned to see the narrowed eyes of one of the Saviors as he jabbed his gun towards you, motioning for you to continue. You did, though you strained your ears to hear what was going on, freezing again when you heard Rick's southern tones, as he shouted up to Negan. Finally...

'What do you think you're doing?' A low snarl came from behind you, though you noticed that his attention was also semi-focused on whatever was going on on the other side of the wall. 'Get back to work.'

'I-'

Your protest was interrupted as a barrage of gunfire was let loose on the Sanctuary, the glass in the windows that ran along the top of the room exploding in a shower of shards. You dropped to your knees, covering your head with your arms as the chaos continued, the sting of debris cutting your skin making you whimper as you tried to crawl towards the door. You had to get to out of there, you had to reach them, but you just couldn't...

An explosion shook the building, and you could feel the heat penetrating the thick concrete walls, and then the sound of engines revving reached your ears, and the squeal of tires as several vehicles peeled out of the yard and drove away.

'No!' The cry that left you was wild and guttural, as you clutched at your chest, fighting against the tightness that was constricting your organs. They'd left you. Why would they do that? Had someone gotten hurt? A million worst case scenarios rushed into your brain, and you clawed at the ground as you struggled to catch your breath, the room spinning as you choked, unable to draw enough air into your lungs to force your body to its feet.

'Get her back to her cell!'

The shout only intensified your panic, and your vision began to fade as strong hands grabbed at you, roughly hauling you upwards, struggling with you as you stumbled.