⤐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝.
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you le...
'I just need a quiet place, where I can scream, how I love you.' -mitski
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⤐
The moon was full on the night Zeppelin and Daryl would die.
By the time Zepp had accepted her fate, the rain had stopped, and the clouds gave way to the violet sky. She watched it for a moment, through the foggy glass panes of the window, past the clamoring hands of the dead, and above the ancient, towering tree tops. It made her feel smaller, and that made her feel worse, somehow.
"I love you," she finally whispered, her forehead now slick with sweat against Daryl's where they pressed together. Her hands shook as they clung to him, and she held on tighter. She never wanted to let go.
"I love you," Daryl's voice was strained and distant. The cold metal of the gun pressed to her temple made her cringe, and she forced herself to keep her gaze steady on his own. "I love you so, so much."
She'd see him again; she was sure of it. They were both too damn stubborn to let this be the end. And then maybe she'd see Abe again, Glenn, and Veronica... Veronica would be there, too. She was probably sitting on a beach somewhere, with her knees to her chest as she watched the waves crash onto the shoreline and waited patiently for Zeppelin. And her brother... she swallowed the lump in her throat and waited for the sound of the trigger clicking.
Snap.
The front door cracked, and the splinters of wood showered the tiny room as the dead begged to enter. Zeppelin spared another glance, saw three of them fighting to get in first, then looked back to Daryl. The man she loved. The only one she'd ever love. She didn't want to miss a single second of him.
"Daryl, please." He was hesitating, and they were losing time. If he couldn't do it, he might miss his chance to follow her quickly. Painlessly. She didn't want to be the one to shoot first. The thought was enough to push her over the edge of madness, but— but if he couldn't do it, she had to.
She loosened her grip on his hand, and pain contorted his beautiful face. She almost reached for the gun, almost shouldered the burden for him. Then, a horn rang out, loud and wild and wailing.
But that couldn't be right, could it? Then it sounded again—clear and bleating, and the pistol went slack in Daryl's hand.
The horn rang again and again, until the walkers lost interest in the tiny cabin and slowly turned to face the commotion.
"What the fuck is that?" Zeppelin wiped the tears staining her cheeks and let out a shaky breath. "Who is that?"
