Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 8 - The Suicide King

Nelly

The air in Woodbury feels different now—quieter, yet more sinister. With Glenn and Michonne hurt, it's just the three of us: Maggie, Rick, and me. We retrace our steps, sneaking back into Woodbury through the same route we used to escape. The once chaotic streets, filled with the roar of gunfire and billowing smoke, now lie silent and vacant. The eerie stillness settles in my gut like a lead weight.

I brush the curtain of a townhouse window aside, peering out with narrowed eyes. It's unsettling. The guards still patrol the walls, their silhouettes sharp against the dim light, but the streets below are weirdly empty. A ghost town, hollowed out by fear.

Rick gestures for us to move, and we slip out into the streets. The town feels like a different place—what was once a battlefield now resembles a graveyard, every shadow stretching long and ominous. Our footsteps are muffled, swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Rick leads the way, his eyes darting from corner to corner, every sense on high alert. Maggie follows close behind, her grip on the rifle tight. I bring up the rear, every muscle tense, my heart pounding in my chest. We're looking for Daryl, but after what feels like hours, there's no sign of him. My pulse quickens, anxiety gnawing at the edges of my mind.

Then, suddenly, Rick's steps falter. He freezes, his head tilting slightly as he listens. I strain to hear it too—a faint, rhythmic noise that seems out of place in the dead silence. Cheering. My heart skips a beat, and I exchange a quick glance with Maggie.

Rick shoots us a look over his shoulder, his expression a mix of confusion and determination. With a quick nod, he leads us toward the noise, the cheering growing louder with each step. The sound is unsettling, echoing off the walls of the deserted town.

The closer we get, the more uneasy I feel. Something about this doesn't sit right. The cheering, the excited shouts—they're wrong, twisted in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. We slip into the shadows, sticking close to the walls as we inch forward. I can feel the tension in the air, the anticipation that something terrible is about to happen.

Rick motions for us to stay low, and we crouch behind a nearby building, peering around the corner. 

An arena, with empty bleachers on each side, surrounds a loud, frenzied crowd. Torches line the perimeter like a cage match, casting flickering shadows that dance with the crowd's mix of boos and shouts of "Kill 'em!" The air is thick with the scent of sweat, fear, and something far more sinister.

Rick crouches us close, peering from behind a storage structure, still out of sight but now closer so we can see what's going on. My heart pounds in my chest as I focus on the scene before us.

Merle swings on Daryl in the middle of the crowd, the force of the blow sending Daryl to the ground with a grunt. Merle doesn't stop; he kicks Daryl, who groans in pain as he struggles to get up. A flicker of guilt stirs within me as I watch Daryl suffer. I shouldn't care, but something about the situation gnaws at me.

The sound of growling has the three of us tensing, our grips tightening on our weapons. Men push hungry, chained-up walkers closer to the circle, their gnashing teeth eager for flesh. My mind flashes to a memory I've buried deep, one I desperately want to forget.

His once warm, colored skin now pale, sagging with decay. His mouth chomping at me, his body stuck to a fence, eyes lifeless but filled with hunger.

I blink, trying to shake the memory. The ghost of it lingers, but I force myself to focus on what's happening now. The men push the walkers closer to the fighting brothers, cornering them in. Merle is on top of Daryl, his hands around his brother's neck, squeezing the life out of him.