❛ now daryl, daryl was gray. he always seemed to be bitter and emotionless with no other dimensions to himself; his mere presence was the only one. gray was intriguing, almost acting like an acquired taste, but it had the potential to be beautiful t...
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thirty nine.
When night fell, Rick decided we shouldn't go any further so we made a small camp next to a broken down car with a few things we found along the tracks.
Rick made a fire. The night was colder than usual and I was shivering. Daryl had given me his leather angel-wing vest to wear over my jacket earlier in attempts to help keep me warm, but it wasn't working that well. Other than the cold, it had been a nice quiet evening.
Rick and Michonne sat next to each other, Daryl and I across from them. The four of us traded stories on and off, Daryl staying his quiet self. Carl was already off sleeping in the car and I kind of wished I was asleep too; I was growing tired listening to the soothing crackle of the fire, my eyes struggling to stay open while Rick was talking about the days before this. A random unfamiliar voice interrupted the calm, the cocking of a gun following. My eyes flew open to see who had spoke: an old man with short gray hair had a gun to Rick's head.
"You screwed up, asshole," he chuckled to himself. A small group of men suddenly emerged from the woods armed with knives and guns. Three of them ripped Daryl away from me and threw him to the ground. Someone yanked me up off the log and put a knife to my neck, ready to slit it at any given moment. My breath hitched in my throat, my body restrained. "Today's a day of restitution: a balancing of the whole goddamn universe." He paused to laugh again. "And, hell, I was thinking of turning in on New Year's Eve! Who's gonna count down the ball dropper with me, huh? Ten Mississippi! Nine Mississippi! Eight Mississippi!"
"Joe," Daryl hissed from the ground.
"You bastard, you're stopping me on eight," Joe growled at him.
"Just hold up," he pleaded. I watched him nervously. What the hell was he thinking? How did he know this guy's name? Joe rolled his eyes. Daryl slowly stood up, rocking back and forth in his place anxiously. "Ye're gonna let them go. They're good people."
"Now I think Lou would have to disagree with you on that. I'll obviously have to speak for him and all because your friend, here, strangled him in the bathroom back at our place." Joe cocked his head to the side, staring at Rick.
"Daryl," Rick spoke up. "You know these people?" Joe nudged the gun harder into Rick's temple.
"Ran into 'em on a run a while back," Daryl answered, glancing back up at Joe. "You want blood?" He held out his arms. "Take it from me." I went to speak, but I was silenced as the man behind me sensed my movement and pressed the blade harder against my skin.
"Hush now, Princess," he whispered in my ear, his fingers brushing my hair. A sickening chill ran down my spine.
"You say these are good people and that right there is a filthy lie," Joe snarled as a cue for a few of the guys to all hit Daryl in the stomach with the butt of their guns. He fell to the ground. They towered over him, stomping and kicking him repeatedly. The car door creaked open, a distressed and frightened Carl crying out. Someone found him.
