Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 40: So Much it Hurts

I don't know how long it is before I wake, but I can't see when I do. There's a faint light shining through something, but it's blurred, and I realize that there must be a bag or something over my head. It's hot, stifling, and my heart spikes.

"Oh god," I breathe.

"Hope?"

I look towards the noise, the voice. "Daryl?"

My hands are tied behind my back and when I try to move, I meet resistance. More tears spring to my eyes and I try in vain to blink them away.

"Daryl, god, I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"Should've left," he mumbles. "Should've—"

"I couldn't."

"You should've."

I wish I could reach him, hold him, cling to him and kiss him and tell him we'll be fine, but god, I'm terrified. I have no idea where we are or what they'll do to us and I don't want this to be the end for us.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

No answer. There's a clanging noise, the creaking of hinges, and suddenly there's a rough hand grabbing me. The resistance at my back leaves but my hands stay tied, and the person drags me forward.

"Both of you, get him," he snaps. "That one's a fighter."

I can hear grunting, struggling, and I suck in a breath as I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Of course Daryl wouldn't sit back and let them do whatever. What did he do after I got knocked down?

"Move," the person holding me hisses, and there's a hard shove between my shoulder blades that starts me walking. I feel something nudge the small of my back and I just know it's a gun.

I have no choice. I move. I can hear dirt crunching beneath my shoes, Daryl grunting, and firelight appears through my face covering up ahead. It flickers, big and bright, and I want so badly to dig my heels in and stop going to wherever this is.

"It was you," someone calls in the distance, a man's echoing voice. "You lied, betrayed us all!"

I hear the mutterings of a crowd, unintelligible sounds of disapproval. The man's voice gets louder.

"These are some of the terrorists," he says. My stomach twists. "And look...Merle's own brother."

There are gasps. The person holding me is steadfast and then, all too quickly, the sack comes off in a quick tug and I'm briefly blinded. I blink, looking around, and Daryl stands a few feet away from me. His shirt has been torn open, chest partially bared, sleeves hanging haphazardly off of him, blood smeared from a cut on his cheek.

He stares at Merle. Merle stares at him. Merle looks about the way I remember him from the rooftop except for the metal cap on his right arm covering where his hand used to be.

There's a crowd gathered around us in an arena-style bleacher set up, the seats full of men, women, and children alike. As I look over their faces, filled with hate, I find one person who looks nothing but stunned: Andrea, clean, fresh-faced and, more importantly, alive. She stares at me with wide, shocked eyes, and I can do nothing but gawk at her in return. First Merle, now her?

"What should we do with them, huh?"

I finally look at the man before me, the one who must be the Governor who Michonne spoke of. He has a five o'clock shadow and a gauze eyepatch over his right eye—a fresh wound, whatever it was, judging by the blood—and slightly dishevelled brown hair.

"Kill them!" a few voices shout, then others join in. "Kill them!"

"What? What do you want?"

"KILL THEM! KILL THEM!"