The Monsters Among Us ➳ Daryl Dixon

11. The Sorrow of Crimson

Biters were everywhere.

Not in dense packs but spread out through the unkempt fields surrounding the feed store, wading mindlessly through the long grass. The sounds of their gargled moans were the only thing louder than my ragged breaths as they echoed around my head in time with my heartbeat.

I’d paused long enough that Daryl had managed to catch up to me. He jogged to a stop by my side, looking out into the field through the thin line of trees in front of us. At this proximity, I could hear his heartbeat, too. It was thundering almost louder than mine.

Without a word, he pulled his crossbow from his shoulder just as I unsheathed the two knives from my belt loops, and we both stepped forward into the field.

I walked almost in a trance. Daryl seemed to do the same.

We disposed of whatever biter came within reaching distance, barely blinking through the process as we approached the abandoned feed store. The silence that echoed within the building made my throat tighten.

The two of us made our way to the front of the building, dispatching biters as we went without barely thinking about it. Daryl had forgone the crossbow at this point, wielding his bowie knife instead as he stepped up the small series of steps at the front of the feed store. The metal and wood roller door was partially open. I reached out and grabbed Daryl’s shoulder out of instinct, pulling him back half a step so I could enter the dark room first.

He gave me an odd look and opened his mouth as if he intended to argue, but I shook my head, lifting a hand to extend a finger before my lips.

The moment I entered the room, I smelt it. Metallic and sweet, fresh enough to taste. I swallowed back against the rising trepidation taking root at the base of my throat and stepped further into the room. The glistening puddle was instantly noticeable, though it was obscured, as if something had been dragged through it.

I heard Daryl take a quick inhale when he saw it. The sound made my heart stutter in my chest, but I forced myself to ignore it and continue on. Blood trailed through the interior of the rundown shack, fading the further along it went, until it all but disappeared at the edge of the doorframe across the room from the entryway.

I made myself take a deep inhale through my nose, wishing that I’d had more time to discover more about what I was, to learn how to sort through my senses. All I could tell from the smell was that the blood was human. I couldn’t tell who it came from. Everyone had a distinct smell, I knew that, and it was supposed to translate to the blood, too. But I couldn’t sort through the different levels of the smell, couldn’t take it apart and analyse it like so many of my kind could do. It was just human blood to me. Which was almost worse than knowing with certainty to whom it belonged.

Daryl and I continued silently through the shack until we reached the opposite door. It was left ajar, parted far enough from the frame that we could both slip through without touching it.

Stepping onto the creaking wooden platform at the back of the shack, I reached out to gesture for Daryl to stop. Biters had gathered this side of the feed store, too, and some of them had turned in our direction at the sound of my booted foot against the loud, settling wood beneath me.

There was a car sitting in the middle of the field, a blue one I didn’t recognise. I knew it hadn’t been there two days ago. The door was open and biters were mingling nearby, shuffling around the car in mindless circles.