Skeletons - 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝐷𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 40 - 𝑷𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔

Peace was disrupted so easily. One breath, one word, one step. But what was peace? Did the definition change depending on the situation? Or was it simply the absence of anything? The forest was once peaceful. Their lives were... at some times peaceful. It had been a long time since Iris felt peaceful.

Her heard thundered as they ran through the woods. The walkers didn't stop. They didn't slow. They were always moving. So they were always moving too. They were out of bullets, Daryl had to step to get every bolt he fired from the crossbow. They spoke little. Daryl was a man of few words regardless, but the three of them didn't need words when they needed to tell one another to run. They didn't need words when they needed to tell one another to drop to the ground and wait the swarm out in the tall grass.

Their chests rose and fell with heavy breath, tight grips on their weapons, on their will. Daryl had passed into survival mode, every thought, every notion revolving around keeping themselves alive for the foreseeable future. Though what future they could see was clouded and short. Beth was quiet, unable to grieve. Iris was still struggling to recover from the illness. Adrenaline could only get you so far. Reckless expenditure of energy was not an ideal way to heal. She was more exhausted every day.

When the herd passed, Daryl made a fire at the tree line, the three of them surrounding it with their knees hugged to their chests.

"We should do something." Beth said softly. They didn't reply. "We should do something." Daryl looked up at her in question.

"Do what?" Iris asked, stifling a yawn.

"We aren't the only survivors." Beth stated surely. "We can't be. Rick, Michonne, they could be out here. Maggie and Glenn could have made it out of A block." Daryl looked back down at the fire. "They could've."

"Beth—" Iris started slowly.

"No. They could have survived. I'm sure of it." She repeated. She looked to Daryl, shooting to her feet. "You're a tracker. You can track. Come on, the sun will be up soon. If we head out now, we can—" She stopped suddenly when they made no effort to move. "Fine! If you won't track, I will." She stomped over, grabbed Daryl's hunting knife from where he'd stabbed it into the ground and walked off into the woods.

Iris looked over to Daryl, who was still staring into the fire. Beth might have been a little naïve at times, but she wasn't stupid. She wouldn't really run off by herself. But she also knew that Daryl and Iris would never let her go off by herself. Damn. The two of them stood up, Daryl stomping out the fire while Iris grabbed their weapons.

They easily caught up to Beth, who happened to be waiting for them in the forest. They made good time by sunrise, Daryl keeping his eyes glued to the ground for tracks while Iris kept her head up. He paused after about an hour of walking, finding a particularly deep boot-print in the mud. He blew the leaves out of the way.

"Could be Luke's. Or Molly's." Beth suggested, peering over his shoulder. "Whoever they are, it means they're alive." Iris raised an eyebrow.

"No. This means they were alive four or five hours ago." Daryl replied lowly. Beth scoffed, storming away.

"They're alive." She assured, brushing past Iris to waltz off alone in a random direction.

"This way." Iris called, pointing and correcting her direction. Daryl shook his head as he stood up, the two of them trailing after her like two grouchy parents following their kid at an amusement park. Beth found a trail of footprints down a mud path, following it directly and screwing up all the prints. Iris sighed.

"They picked up the pace right here." Daryl murmured, pointing down at a few half eaten grapes on the ground. Some of them were squished. "Got out in a hurry. Things went bad."