Chasing Amy (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead)

Chapter 42 - Inmates

"They're--"

Footsteps.

Loud, obnoxious footsteps -- that couldn't possibly belong to a roamer -- had sounded out just as Daryl was about to spit the next word. It never quite left his lips, as his attention had immediately been drawn away from what he was saying.

My breath hitched, my fingers tightening on my grip of the small knife in my hand.

I found myself taking a silent, rapid step towards where Daryl was standing in my moment of pure panic.

Last time we'd heard footsteps... Well, it didn't end too well.

Daryl tensed and leant forward slightly, pushing himself sideways just a little so he could stand close in front of me.

I gripped tighter on my knife, my hands feeling numb as a figure stepped from the darkness of inside the door.

The first from the shadows was a beady-eyed looking man, his long hair partially tied back in a greasy, matted bun, his expression neutral.

There was something about the way he stared at Daryl and his raised crossbow that made me feel as though the two had already met.

The next was a blonde man, with a strange looking moustache and tired features. His back was slouched slightly, as though he were trying to make himself as small as possible whilst Daryl had his weapon trained on them.

The next was a huge man... Taller than Shane had been and possibly even bigger. He was followed by another black man, who was noticibly smaller, with sharp features and wandering eyes.

And lastly, a neutral-looking man, his eyes trained ahead of him as he took the two of us in. This man seemed to be the only one not panicked, not staring at us like something to fear, or to manipulate.

These five men stood before us, eyes scanning the room, our faces, the weapons we held...

Where did they even come from?

They wore the blue jumpsuits, the first man tying it around his waist, leaving only his white muscle shirt to keep him from being entirely shirtless.

"Tha's far enough." Daryl looked across at the men, as their walking slowed to a stop just metres from us.

His voice was so deep and cold, echoing through the room. Seeing as he'd just been so annoyed, I was amazed to see that he'd dropped that entire tone to his voice.

"Cell Block C. Cell four," The man with greasy hair said. He had a accent about him, one that I was unfamiliar with. Even from where they stood, I found myself wanting to get further away. "That's mine, gringo."

Cell four... I was sure that cell belonged to Rick and Carl. Mine was cell six, and somehow I had a feeling that each of these men came from this cellblock.

He continued to walk forward slowly, whilst Daryl stared down his sight, his finger twitching slightly on the trigger. This man had an air of self-confidence about him, but instead of the kind I was used to from my brother, his was more intimidating.

"Let me in."

The men behind him only shuffled slightly, adding to the tension in my heart as my eyes shifted over my shoulder where I could still hear Beth crying and Carol ordering for more blankets.

I had assumed they'd be roamers... Never had the thought occurred to me that there may have been survivors here already, just because of how abandoned the prison looked.

Now, holding my knife just felt a little extreme.

At least the blonde guy was looking at the blade, probably thinking I was prepared to use it.