Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 30 - Forget

Nelly

As soon as the sun breaks over the horizon, I rush back to the house. The house is already bustling with activity, but I ignore the curious glances and bolt upstairs. I find an empty room, lock the door behind me, and collapse onto the bed with a long sigh.

I'm running myself ragged. Every thought, every plan, is consumed by the need to find out if he's still alive. The exhaustion I feel is more than just physical; it's a deep-seated weariness that makes it hard to focus on anything but him. I need to know.

I pull out the map I've been carrying and spread it across the desk. I stand over it, my legs restless, my mind racing. I rummage through the drawer and find a pen, my fingers shaking slightly as I trace the route I need to clear. It's going to take me a couple of days on foot, and that's if everything goes perfectly.

After what happened yesterday with Aiden and Nicholas, there's no way they'll just let me walk out of here with guns and supplies. I have to find a way to get what I need without anyone knowing about it

A knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts. I fold up the map quickly and stuff it into my pocket, heading to the door.

When I open it, Carol stands there, her gaze softening with concern as she takes in my disheveled appearance—still in yesterday's clothes, dark circles under my eyes. She's dressed similarly to the day before, in a light floral sweater layered over a blouse.

"Rick wants to meet outside the gates. Just you, me, and Daryl," she says.

I nod curtly, my mind already racing ahead to the meeting. "Okay."

"Nelly... are you okay?" she asks, her concern palpable. She can see there's more going on than I'm letting on.

"I'm fine," I reply, though my voice rises a notch in my attempt to reassure her. "I'll meet you at the gates."

Carol studies me for a moment longer, her worry evident, but she eventually turns and leaves. I close the door and move quickly to the closet. As I grab a new shirt, my eyes are drawn to a hiking backpack lying flat on the floor. I snatch it up, my movements quick and deliberate, and head back to the desk. I grab the flashlight I spotted earlier, stuffing it and the map into the backpack, then slide it under the bed.

I change clothes in a rush, the fabric feeling unfamiliar and stiff against my skin. As I head downstairs, I know the others will notice—my appearance, my demeanor, the exhaustion that has pushed me to the brink. They're already waiting at the gates, their eyes following me with a mix of curiosity and concern. Rick is still in his sheriff's jacket, and I can tell Daryl has finally showered.

I feel a small pang in my chest... I wonder if he was waiting for me last night.

"I'm ready," I say, trying to dismiss their scrutiny with a sharp gesture. My voice, though steady, betrays the fatigue and manic energy that has taken over me.

Rick leads us into the woods, not even a mile from the gates of Alexandria. The trees cast long shadows in the early light, their branches swaying in the breeze. A small, run-down house stands to the side, partially hidden by a huge pile of junk—broken furniture, fans, an old radio, a mop leaning haphazardly against the heap. We stop, eyes scanning the perimeter to make sure no one followed us.

Daryl, ever alert, hears a twig snap. He moves silently to the nearest tree, his eyes narrowing as he listens intently. A faint snarl echoes through the trees.

"I don't see it, but it's close. There's just one of 'em," he rasps, walking back to us with that typical calm, though I can see the slight tension in his stance.