𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 || ᵈᵃʳʸˡ ᵈⁱˣᵒⁿ

vi

|[chapter six]|
-҉

THE FOLLOWING MORNING you found yourself once more navigating the streets, the trio of shopping carts clattering ahead as you made your way towards the library. This wasn't just any library; it was a marvel, a structure that could easily be mistaken for a national monument. Its Victorian architecture boasted towering ceilings and intricately carved wooden adornments, a sight to behold. Inside, it housed majestic dark oak bookshelves that towered over everything else, accompanied by vintage furniture pieces that likely held more value than anything you'd ever owned. Yet, in these times, their worth seemed inconsequential—survival had a way of stripping beauty of its value.

Approaching the library's grand entrance, you steeled yourself for the inevitable confrontation with the ghouls inside. That's when the sound of a faulty muffler pierced the silence, confirming your suspicion from the day before. The guns you carried felt suddenly heavier, a stark reminder of the potential danger in any human encounter these days. Quickening your pace, you positioned the carts strategically a short distance from the door for a quick retreat or barricade.

As you were about to make your entrance, the sound of the muffler grew louder, prompting you to seek cover in the untrimmed bushes flanking the library's facade. Peering through the foliage, you spotted the source of the noise and your heart skipped a beat.

Before he could disappear from view, you dashed towards the sidewalk, cupping your hands around your mouth to amplify your call. "Daryl!" Your voice echoed in the empty street, a risky move that could attract the wrong kind of attention. You called out again, urgency lacing your voice, until he glanced back, a look of surprise briefly disrupting his usual stoic expression. He brought the bike to a halt, letting it stand idly in the middle of the street as he approached.

You closed the distance between you, stopping only when the familiar blue of his eyes was unmistakable. "Hey," you greeted, a smile breaking across your face, a mix of relief and disbelief coloring your voice. "You're alive." The weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a moment, in the comfort of this unexpected reunion.

The question, seemingly innocuous, carried a heavier weight than the mere words suggested, echoing in the still air between you and Daryl. "Why'd ya sound so surprised?" His voice, rough around the edges from too many days out in the open, betrayed a hint of genuine curiosity mingled with something else—perhaps a shadow of the isolation that had become all too common in this new world order.

You found yourself momentarily caught in the gravity of his inquiry, reflecting on the stark reality that had become your existence. The notion of survival had morphed into a daily gamble, where every sunrise witnessed was a silent victory against the odds. Your mind flickered through the faces of those you had once known, now nothing more than whispers of the past, taken by the relentless tide of chaos that had swept over the world. You shrugged off the heaviness of these reflections with a forced grin, opting for levity in your response. "Maybe your survival skills just weren't as impressive to me as you thought." The words danced between you, a playful jest aimed to lighten the mood, though the undercurrent of shared hardships was impossible to fully disguise.

His scoff, devoid of any real annoyance, instead carried a note of amusement—a brief, shared acknowledgment of the absurdity of critiquing survival tactics when every day alive was a testament to resilience. "You' been here this whole time?" His question, simple yet laden with unspoken implications, prompted a nod from you, along with a fleeting sense of vulnerability as you admitted, "In the area, yeah." The admission felt strangely intimate, a confession of your rootedness amidst the turmoil, and you quickly diverted the conversation to more practical matters. "Are you searching for meds again?"