Lost ; Daryl Dixon

Chapter 20

The cross had been lowered to the ground beside you, the wood gnarled and warped. It had obviously been weathered from its position raised above the camp, subject to battering by the storms that passed through, worn by the rain, but that wasn't enough to have given it the aged look it wore. You wondered vaguely if it had been brought from the town church that Eddie had told you about, carried aloft by the community to their new home, bringing with it hope for the future and what came after. This close up you could smell the mustiness of the thick beams and the coppery tang of the blood that stained it, seeping into the whorls and cracks, saturating it until all it represented was death. Seven lives had drained away on this instrument of torture, Eddie had said, maybe eight. Had they been scared, you thought to yourself, or had they been resigned to their fate? What about the children? Had they understood what was being done to them and why? Had they cried for their parents? A solitary tear rolled down your cheek and dripped into the dirt. It wouldn't happen to you.

You were still bound, and your face was throbbing from the heel of Helena's boot being driven into your cheekbone which such force that you were sure that you'd have a black eye at the very least. Your head ached, and your wrists were smeared with blood from your ongoing struggle against your restraints. In the time you'd been unconscious, you'd been carried from your tent to the small clearing beside the cross, laid on the ground in full view of the people whose souls your sacrifice was supposed to save. Occasionally they would approach you, whisper thanks into your ear before stealing quietly away, and you would fight the urge to curse at them, to spit and scream and make it clear that you couldn't give a damn about their souls. They didn't deserve salvation. But the stinging pain in your wrists and ankles reminded you that fighting now was pointless. All you were doing was draining your energy. You had to be smart, to bide your time, and then, when they gathered to perform the ritual, that was when you'd unleash hell on them. You just had to be patient.

All you really truly wanted in that moment was Daryl. If this was going to be the end for you, you needed to feel his arms around you one last time, to feel the brush of his scruff against your skin and to taste him on your lips. As you'd done back in the walker-filled barn, you almost welcomed the idea of death, though you were going to make damn sure it wasn't going to go down the way they wanted it to. Death might reunite you with your archer, and that would make it infinitely better than life had been since you lost him. This was just further proof that you couldn't do it without him by your side. He never would have wandered in to a new community, weak and unarmed, and just waited for them to turn on him. You were so used to having him there to protect you that your instincts had become dull and you'd made too many bad decisions. If this was your last day, if it all ended tonight, you'd find him, wherever he was, and everything would be okay again.

As the residents began to drift towards the marquee where the evening meal would be taking place, you heard footsteps approaching, and Eddie's voice whispered in your ear as he dropped into a crouch beside you.

'You holding up down there?'

'Not sure,' you whispered back, barely audible as you mumbled against the grass, hoping nobody would notice your exchange.

'It's not over,' he reassured you. 'I've got something lined up, but you're gonna have to think on your feet, okay? I can only do so much.'

'What d'you-'

Eddie cut you off as a small group wandered past, lacing his fingers together and bowing his head as though in prayer. 'Bless you for your sacrifice, that means that my soul can be redeemed, and I pray that you are strong enough to withstand the trials ahead.'