Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 29 - Remember

Nelly

Morning comes, and we squeeze ourselves into the RV. The ride isn't long, considering we're already halfway there. I sit back, watching Eugene and Tara play some card game, Eugene muttering the occasional curse under his breath, adding a bit of humor to the otherwise tense mood.

Of course, nothing can ever go smoothly.

The RV sputters, and we come to a sudden stop. Abraham slams his hands on the wheel. "Pissed dick horse shit!" he growls before storming out. "Can't win," he mutters angrily, disappearing around the side of the RV.

One by one, we file out. Glenn heads over to the engine to help Abraham, who's already elbow-deep in the problem. I lean against the RV, scanning the area while Daryl climbs the ladder to get a better view.

Carol approaches me with a water bottle and towel in hand, a small smirk on her face. "Here," she says, holding them out. "You should clean up. Make a good impression."

I raise my eyebrows, looking around like she can't be serious. A good impression is the last thing on my mind right now.

"We need to look friendly, approachable," she adds, unscrewing the cap and wetting the towel. She steps closer and starts wiping the dried blood from my face, her hand tugging at my skin a bit too harshly.

"But I'm not friendly or approachable," I mutter, taking the towel from her to finish wiping myself down.

She smiles knowingly. "No, you're not," she says, glancing at the others before lowering her voice. "If they sent Aaron and Eric, those might be their strongest." Her eyes lock with mine, serious.

I nod, understanding. These people could be scared of us, seeing us as outsiders, ready to strike at any moment. We need to play this carefully.

Just then, the RV sputters back to life, and clapping breaks out. A few cheers go up as everyone starts heading toward the vehicle again.

Carol's words stay with me as I take my pistol from its holster and tuck it into the back of my waistband, pulling my shirt over it.

Daryl climbs down from the ladder and walks over to me, giving me a reassuring nod. His hand lands on my shoulder, a brief but comforting gesture, before he leads us back to the RV.

...

We pull up to the gates, and they look exactly like the picture Aaron showed us. I hover behind Abraham and Rosita at their seats, my eyes darting toward the gates, studying them, interrogating every detail.

I step out of the RV, my rifle tight in my arms, while Rick grabs Judith. We wait in silence.

Aaron helps Eric forward, taking most of his weight due to his injury, his arm draped around Aaron's shoulders. They're the first ones to approach, just as the gates creak open slowly, only showing a sliver of what's inside. But, like the photos, it's a clean street lined with houses.

Aaron leads Eric inside, and I watch him exchange a few words with someone hidden behind the gate.

A sudden rustling sound and the clang of a can makes us all whip our guns to the side. A possum squeals and darts out, but Daryl's faster. He shoots it dead without hesitation, picks it up just as the gates open fully, revealing a man now staring at us.

"We brought dinner," Daryl mutters awkwardly, holding the possum.

The man's eyes widen, clearly intimidated. His gaze drifts over all of us, but when it lands on me, he pauses, taking in my scarred arms and blood-stained shirt.