Lost | Daryl Dixon

29 - Judge, Jury, Executioner

First Person POV

My leg dragged on the ground repeatedly as the sun had lowered in the sky. I sat, watching down the road; my heart beating regularly enough in my chest to warrant my worry. I could see the scuffs forming on my shoes, and dirt beginning to form a small dip on the ground.

"You not coming inside?" Carol called from the doorway; I could hear the scraping and quiet murmurs of everyone, minus Andrea, eating inside. Well, and minus Rick and Shane as I sat waiting for them to return. I jumped, not expecting anyone to join me.

I'd stationed myself here in assurance that if Beth tried anything if left alone for even a second, changing her mind and going for the window, I'd be outside to yell or see her trying to run off. But the truth of it is, when the dust settled from that, and I'd comforted Maggie enough for her to not cry every few minutes, I realised it had been hours since Rick and Shane had been there, and now I sat less in honour of my post, and more to be the first one to see my brother back.

I didn't share this fear to Lori or near Carl, because what if something had happened? Did the group find them, or did Randall hurt one? Or what if Shane hurt Rick? I didn't want them worried as well, as with the state of my anxiety, I could only handle my own emotions for that moment. Especially now I'd been sat on the step playing these scenarios out in my mind for a few hours; waiting for the return that should have been ages ago.

I knew I'd have to go inside, eventually. Hershel was still with Beth in her room, every so often I heard a sob from the window above me or a 'sorry'. But he would need to rest, and Maggie, or Patricia, or Lori or I would have to keep watch, and after Andrea's stunt earlier, I wouldn't blame Maggie for not trusting Lori or I immediately afterwards.

I folded my arms in front of me, hearing Carol slowly walk over and join me, sitting to my right as I kept facing the road. She stared at me, still a moment, before she placed her arm over my shoulder, rubbing my left bicep in a small comfort. "They'll be fine," Her voice was soft and full of maternal love, which made my heart ache a touch more. She shouldn't be sat reassuring me right now - she should be sat inside eating dinner with her little girl. I nodded slowly, turning and looking at her as the clouds slowly drifted overhead, making the world seem later than it was. "Maybe they scavenged for supplies?" She suggested.

"My guts telling me something is wrong," I confessed to her, turning my knees towards her as she looked at me with a touch of concern. "It's this... Nagging, that something's gone wrong. And I just keep inventing these reasons they're not back yet. Imagining it. It's all I do now, imagine the dead."

I pulled my knees up to my chest. Her eyes stayed rested on me. I didn't blink often. There was a third sight now.

Sophia, as a zombie.

Tony, grabbing his gun.

Beth, cutting her wrists.

My stomach felt sick, and tight. I knew I wouldn't be able to stomach food right now, it would come back up. I was thankful enough I had eaten the chicken sandwich earlier or I'd have gone a day without.

I played with a stray thread on Maggie's grey top - I ended up loving it. Whilst it was a touch clingy, it was perfect for the conditions of the farm; good coverage but not too hot. Comfortable but not like silk. Easy to curl under my belt and holster, easier still to tie my cargo trousers or jeans overtop. The only thing I didn't like is when I looked in the reflection of glass, I looked like a survivor.

Maybe that's a weird thought to have. Maybe I'm going crazy - it certainly wouldn't be the first time. But looking like one of those action girls in a game Glenn would play made me sad. Before the fall, I looked anything but; nurse scrubs on all week, and the comfortable pjs on when back at the apartment. Then on my days off, my dresses would be on, heels, made up and curled hair. It was a sign of pride that I could always be done up on my days off. Looking back now the thought of the effort I would put on every morning just to look good on Shane's arm is tiring. Nowadays, make-up is forgotten, hair is unbrushed and thrown back, and clothes are whatever is best for the days tasks.