Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 2 - Sick

Nelly

"Nelly!"

My body jolts at the sound, a sharp, piercing call that rips me from the darkness. My breath comes in heavy, ragged gasps as I sit up, heart pounding in my chest. Sweat clings to my shirt, sticking it to my skin, and I struggle to catch my breath. My eyes dart around the small room, scanning the shadows for danger. It takes a moment before I realize—it was just a dream.

I clutch my chest, willing my racing heart to slow down, my breaths coming in shallow bursts. The room is silent, but the echo of that voice still lingers in my ears, unsettling and all too familiar. My head tilts toward the small, grated opening above me, the storm drain where faint light filters through, the moon staring straight down, indifferent and cold.

My eyes sweep the room, lingering on the barricaded door. Just a few days ago, I stumbled upon this abandoned storm sewer system, tucked away in the woods. It wasn't much at first glance, just a concrete tunnel leading to nowhere. But after exploring deeper, I found a maintenance room, hidden and untouched. It's far from perfect, but it's safer than the open woods.

I've made it my home for now. A small, uncomfortable cot is pushed against one wall—better than the cold, hard ground I'm used to. Underneath, I've stashed a stack of books I've scavenged over the past few days. 

In the corner, there's a couple of old tool drawers I've repurposed to store my food. My unfolded map lies on top of one of the drawers, creased and worn, marking the places I've been and the ones I need to avoid.

The door is heavily barricaded with an unused desk I dragged in here, providing a bit of extra security. My weapons, always within arm's reach, hang neatly on the wall—two short swords in their sheaths, a hunting knife, and my guns in their holsters. Everything has its place, organized and ready.

This room, this space, is my shelter from the chaos outside. It's not much, but it's mine. And for now, it's enough to keep me safe.

A small breeze slips through the cracks, sending a shiver down my spine. I reach for the thin blanket at my side, pulling it tightly around me. It's barely enough to keep the chill at bay, but it's all I have. I lie back down, trying to will myself back to sleep, but after what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, I know it's no use.

My eyes drift toward the storm drain above, where the first hints of dawn are beginning to push through the darkness. The faint light filters in, casting long shadows across the room. I stare at it, waiting, as the sky slowly shifts from night to day. There's no point in fighting it; sleep won't come. 

I throw the blanket off me and sit up, the cold air immediately wrapping around my skin. No point in lingering. I slide on my boots, tying them tightly before tucking a small pistol inside. With a deep breath, I stand up and shrug into my button-up shirt, leaving it half-buttoned.

Next comes the belt, which I cinch around my waist, securing my knife holster and the new thigh holster I found. A familiar weight settles across my back as I strap on my short swords, followed by the double gun holster that hugs my sides. My eyes land on the small gun I took from that community, a bitter reminder of where I've been. My hand hovers over it, hesitating for just a second before I snatch it up, shoving it into the back of my pants.

I cross the room to the drawer, grabbing a can of beans for breakfast and a small pot to heat them in. My rifle and backpack are next, slung over my shoulders, completing my gear.

With everything in place, I push the desk away from the door, the wood scraping against the floor. The dark sewer hallway greets me, cold and damp, but familiar. I make my way through the twists and turns, following the faint light of the sun until I reach the caged door. I push it open and step outside, pausing only to grab a large branch. I lean it against the door, covering it up before heading out into the woods.