Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 32: Weak

The way back is laden with panic as we maneuver our makeshift gurney and Hershel through the halls. Rick shouts directions and Daryl and T-Dog take down any walkers we pass.

I hear footsteps coming after us and Rick stops us just long enough to look back. The prisoners have followed us, confused and maybe slightly afraid, but Rick ignores them and urges us to keep moving.

Daryl unlocks the first door leading into our cell block.

"Oh, god, he's losing too much blood," Maggie says. My shirt has been thoroughly soaked through.

"OPEN THE DOOR! IT'S HERSHEL!" Rick shouts. "CARL!"

Carl's already at the door, unlocking it as fast as he can.

"Carol, get my kit!" I shout as she appears beside him. She nods and runs off.

It's chaos; Rick explains what happened to a panicked Beth, Carol returns with my kit, the others move Hershel into the nearest empty cell. I pull out the transfusion kit as Carol and Lori work to press more towels and sheets to the stump.

"I need bandages!" Carol says as she examines the wound.

"We used everything we had!" Glenn says.

"Then get more! Anything!"

I keep working on the kit, settling myself down on the nearest stool, tapping the inside of my elbow to try and get a good look at the vein. I tried to find more transfusion supplies over the winter and I'm sure this isn't sanitary, but we'll count our lucky stars that only O-neg has ever been in this thing.

I insert the needle into my arm, wincing a bit, and blood starts flowing into the bag.

"Carol," I say.

"We need to keep his leg elevated. Get pillows!"

Thank God for Carol. I think I'd lose my mind trying to handle this alone.

"He's already bled through the sheets," Maggie says.

"We can burn the wound to clot the blood. I can start a fire," Glenn says.

"No, the shock could kill him," I retort. "It won't stop the arteries from bleeding."

Lori returns with more sheets, more supplies, and Carol keeps working. I wait, holding the needle in my vein.

"We need to keep it dressed and let it heal on its own," Carol says. "Hope, the blood?"

"Almost there," I say. I wish it took seconds, but I'll need more than a few minutes and all I can do is pray that Hershel will live that long.

There's some shouting from outside and Beth jumps. "What was that?" she asks.

"Prisoners. Survivors," Rick explains. "It's alright. Everybody stay put."

He disappears. The arguing keeps echoing, then quiets down after a minute or two. I keep waiting, watching my blood collect in the transfusion bag. Lori and Carol keep working to staunch the bleeding.

"It has to stop sometime, right?" Carol asks.

"It's slowed down a lot already," Lori says.

The bag's pretty much full, so I slip the needle from my arm and press my hand to the tiny blossom of blood on my arm. Carol takes it from me and starts setting Hershel up, and I try to stand. Immediately, a wave of vertigo hits me and I stumble. Beth catches me, eyes wide.

"You okay?" she whispers.

I sit back down, slightly nauseous. "Fine," I say. I take long breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth. "Don't suppose we've got any juice?"