Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 37 - Heads Up

Nelly

"Nelly, hey," I hear Rosita's voice call from behind as I make my way back to the house. I sigh heavily, not bothering to stop. I've just finished my watch shift, and I'm exhausted.

But Rosita doesn't take the hint. Her footsteps fall in beside me, and she keeps pace as we walk. "I'm gonna give a machete lesson later today, by the grass near the water," she says, her voice carrying a kind of steady resolve. "Teach these people how to fight back. In case the walls give."

I glance at her, just a small flicker of my eyes, before focusing straight ahead. I don't stop, my body moving out of habit more than anything. Rosita notices my silence, and I feel her watching me, waiting for some sort of response, but I keep walking. What does she want from me?

She keeps going, her voice picking up some momentum. "I saw you yesterday—how you fought those guys with just your swords. You saved this place, Nelly."

I stop in my tracks, turning just enough so she's facing me. My hand rests on my hip, not because I'm relaxed, but because I'm tired. I stare at her, waiting for her to get to the point, my patience wearing thin.

There's determination in her eyes, a spark that I recognize. She's not gonna give up easily. "Help me teach them," she says, her tone steady but urgent.

My jaw clenches as I avert my gaze, scanning the houses around us. The faint growls of walkers echo in the distance, a constant reminder of what's out there, of what these people aren't prepared for. They think the walkers are the worst of it, but they have no idea. Walkers are nothing compared to what's really out there—compared to what I've seen, to what's left me covered in scars, inside and out.

I feel the weight of Rosita's request settling on my shoulders. I'm not the kind of person who teaches, who talks people through their fear or holds their hand as they learn to swing a weapon. I fight because it's all I know how to do, because it's what keeps me alive. But to show others? To try and guide them through this? I shake the thought off. I'm not cut out for that. 

Rosita studies my face, waiting for an answer, but I keep my mouth shut. Finally, she lets out a breath, seeing I'm not going to say anything. Her voice softens a bit as she offers a small smile. "Just think about it," she says, patting my arm lightly before turning and walking away.

I stand there for a moment, watching her retreat. I suck in a long, deep breath, trying to ground myself, but all I can think about are the fights, the blood, the brutality that's waiting beyond those walls. What good is teaching them how to hold a machete when they're not ready for the real monsters? I don't trust myself to handle people who are still so blind to the truth.

Shaking my head, I push the thoughts aside and head toward the house. I need food. I need rest. I need to stop thinking about all of this.

...

I sit at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the bowl of cereal in front of me. The spoon moves mechanically from bowl to mouth, each bite a hollow gesture. I don't taste anything, don't feel the cold milk or the crunch. 

My mind is elsewhere, caught in a storm of worry and dark thoughts that have no clear direction. It's been a day since Daryl and Glenn left on that run, and there's been no word. The leader of the W's is still out there somewhere, possibly after Daryl or Glenn. And outside, we're surrounded by walkers. The house is suffocatingly quiet. The kind of silence that presses against your chest, leaving you with nothing but your own heartbeat and the memories you can't outrun.