Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 3 - Killer Within

Nelly

I don't know why I helped the kid. I should have just left him for dead.

He'll probably tell his dad—who I'm guessing is the cowboy—and then they'll hunt me down.

I should stay hidden from now on. My place is too close to the prison. I'll have to find somewhere else to stay, somewhere far away from anyone who might get too close.

On the way back to my shelter, every step feels heavier. I kill every moving dead thing that crosses my path. Each slash of my blades is driven by frustration, anger, and something deeper that I can't quite name. I slash, kick, and stab until I'm surrounded by nothing but lifeless bodies.

The sun starts to sink, casting long shadows across the ground. Numbly, I walk back to a familiar area, my steps dragging as if I'm wading through quicksand. I drop my knives, the weight of them suddenly unbearable, and press my palms to my knees, trying to hold myself up.

I can't keep doing this. Is this all I am now? A killer, a scavenger... alone?

I close my eyes, desperate to escape the storm raging inside me. But it's no use. The memories flood in, relentless and unforgiving. I collapse to my knees, a hand instinctively clutching my chest as if trying to keep my heart from tearing apart.

It feels like someone has ripped all the air from my lungs. I gasp, but the air won't come. Tears blur my vision as I stare at the dirt beneath me. My palms press into the earth, grounding me to this moment of agony.

Everything he did.

Everything I did.

This is my punishment.

I have to live through this pain. I have to relive all the suffering, over and over again, until it consumes me.

Suddenly, a sharp crack—the sound of a stick breaking—pierces through my thoughts. I'm on my feet in an instant, blades in hand, every muscle tense and ready. Without thinking, I bolt in the direction of my so-called 'home.'

I reach the concrete bridge that hides my temporary shelter, my breath ragged and my heart pounding. I drop down under it, pressing my back against the cold, unyielding wall.

As the sun sinks below the horizon, I force myself to watch it disappear. I make myself suffer, reliving the memories in the growing darkness, letting the pain take hold once more.

...

I didn't sleep last night. Whether it was the cold, unforgiving concrete bed or my own cowardice, I don't know.

As soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, I made my way to a small creek nearby. The water was cold, but I didn't care. I grabbed a towel from my bag and scrubbed off the gore and blood, the remnants of yesterday's madness. The stains ran off my skin and into the creek, disappearing like they were never there. If only my thoughts could be washed away as easily.

What am I even surviving for? Every day is the same—find food, kill the dead, stay alive. But for what? Is that all I am now? Just a survivor? I feel like I'm drifting, clinging to this life because I don't know what else to do.

I can't go back—not after what he's done.

And I can't go with the kid—not after what I've done.

His group is weak. Too weak to survive in a world like this. He even said one of them lost their leg. And that pregnant woman... She looks ready to pop any minute now. A baby is the last thing they need in a world like this. That community could get them any minute.