GONE WEST - daryl dixon

seven. sore loser

"YOU HAVE TWO options," Maisie repeated for what seemed like the fifth time. She had been in the small shed with Randall for hours, asking him the same questions over and over which he didn't answer at all. She had been nothing but patient with him but he gives her scared looks and head shakes.

"You either tell me the information I need, or I let Daryl come in here and beat the shit out of you until you talk." Maisie says as she leans forward, "Because if I give Daryl the go he'll cut your fingers off. Hell, maybe even your leg."

"I told you I barely knew those guys," Randall finally speaks. He's spoken maybe three times in the whole thirty minutes of Maisie being in there.

"You haven't told me a single damn thing." Maisie scoffs, leaning back in her wooden chair, and crossing her arms, "Where is your group? How many of 'em are there?"

No response.

Maisie gives the kid a look and shrugs before standing from her chair, giving him a hard punch to his face, and then sitting back down. "How many people are in your group?" She repeated louder and slower, she needed him to speak.

Nothing.

She nods, standing from the chair, and opening the door for Daryl. He passes his crossbow to Maisie and without hesitation, sends a punch to Randall's face, giving him no time to even realize Daryl has entered the shed.

Maisie didn't know how long it's been since that happened. Randall was bleeding out of both sides of his nostrils, his mouth was dripping with blood, and his cheeks were completely swollen. Maisie had been sitting on the wooden chair, watching as Daryl beat the living hell out of Randall when he didn't answer her questions.

"I told you-" Randall tries.

"You ain't told her shit!" Daryl shouts, picking the boy up by his shirt collar and throwing him against the wall.

"I barely knew those guys. I met 'em on the road."

"How many of 'em are there?" Maisie once again questioned the kid, her voice loud while she stood beside Daryl. She was getting impatient with him, he wouldn't say a single thing.

When Randall remained silent, Daryl glanced at Maisie, who was waiting for Randall to speak. When he didn't reply, Maisie gave a nod which caused Daryl to swiftly draw his knife and stare at Randall with a glare.

"Uh, no, no, no. Come on, man." Randall begs, but he has enough chances to answer Maisie's questions. The boy yelped whenever Daryl stabs his knife into the wood beside Randall's leg. Maisie didn't take her eyes away from Randall's terrified eyes.

"How many?" Maisie shouts, arms crossed while Reaper sticks his nose through the gap of the door and opens it, sitting beside Maisie.

"Uh, 30. 30. 30 guys." Randall answers quickly, not giving Maisie a second to finish her sentence. She nods, happy with his answer.

"Where?"

"Uh..." The boy hesitates so Daryl rips off the bandage Hershel had put on him hours before and throws it to the side, "I don't know. I swear. We were never anyplace more than a night."

Daryl lowers his knife onto Randall's wound before speaking, "Scoutin'? Plannin'? on stayin' local?"

"I- I don't know. They- they left me behind." Randall looks at Maisie for help when Daryl's knife and slightly touches his wound, but Maisie shrugs. He should've picked the easy choice.

"Did you ever pick off a scab?" Daryl asks.

"Come on, man! I'm- I'm trying to cooperate." Randall says, his brows furrowed as he looks at Maisie for help one last time.