A Broken World

Sixty

Yn

The town was eerily quiet when we stepped out of the truck. Too quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t belong in a world like this. It set my nerves on edge.

Daryl took the lead with Glenn, moving cautiously through the street, his crossbow raised and ready. I followed just behind, scanning the windows of the abandoned storefronts. We were looking for food, ammo—anything we could use.

“Check the pharmacy first,” Rick whispered. “We need medical supplies more than anything.”

We moved quickly, breaking off into small groups to cover more ground. Glenn and Maggie went for the grocery store. Rick and Michonne headed toward the gun shop. That left me and Daryl to sweep the buildings further down.

The two of us moved in sync, clearing the first building without much trouble. It had already been picked clean—nothing but dust and broken shelves left behind.

“Figures,” I muttered, adjusting the strap of my knife holster.

Daryl grunted in agreement, peering out the shattered window. “We’ll check the next one.”

We barely made it halfway across the street when the sound hit me like a punch to the gut—low, guttural moans, growing louder by the second.

Shit.

Daryl tensed beside me, his grip tightening around his crossbow. “We got company.”

I followed his gaze toward the end of the street, where a mass of walkers shambled into view. Dozens of them. More than we could handle.

“How the hell—” I started, but Daryl cut me off.

“Ain’t got time for that. Move.”

We turned and bolted just as the first walkers spotted us.

I could hear them behind us, the sickening sound of dead feet scraping against pavement, groans growing louder. My pulse pounded in my ears as we sprinted past a line of abandoned cars, searching desperately for cover.

“There!” Daryl shouted, pointing to the school up ahead.

It was the closest building to us, and we didn’t have time to be picky.

Daryl reached the doors first, shoving them open. I followed close behind, barely making it inside before he slammed them shut.

“That won’t hold ‘em long,” I panted.

Daryl didn’t answer—he just grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the hallway. The school was dark, the only light filtering through cracked and grime-covered windows. Desks were overturned, old school supplies scattered across the floor.

“In here,” Daryl said, yanking open a janitor’s closet.

We barely made it inside before the first wave of walkers slammed against the doors of the school. Their moans echoed through the empty halls, rattling my bones.

Daryl shoved a metal shelf in front of the door, wedging it against the wall. The door swung inward, which meant the walkers wouldn’t be able to push their way in.

For now, at least.

The space was tight, the air thick with dust and old cleaning supplies. My back pressed against the wall, my chest rising and falling as I tried to steady my breathing. Daryl stood just inches from me, his shoulders tense, listening.

“You good?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. You?”

His jaw clenched, but he gave a short nod. “We wait it out.”

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus. We’d been in worse situations before. We’d make it out of this one, too.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

Hours passed. At least, it felt like hours. My legs were cramping from standing so long, my back pressed against the cold metal shelves. Daryl was next to me, his body tense, head tilted slightly as he listened to the walkers still roaming outside.

The air was thick, heavy with sweat and dust. I shifted slightly, rolling my neck to ease the stiffness, but the small movement had me brushing against Daryl again.

Too close.

Not that we had much of a choice.

I let out a slow breath, trying to push away the exhaustion creeping in. “Think they’ll clear out soon?”

Daryl huffed, crossing his arms. “Doubt it.”

Silence fell between us again. It wasn’t like we needed to talk—we were used to long stretches of quiet, especially during runs—but in this tiny closet, with no distractions, the tension between us was damn near suffocating.

I stole a glance at him. He looked tired, his jaw set, his brows drawn. There was something else, though—something in the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists.

He was thinking too much.

I swallowed hard. "You okay?"

His eyes flicked to mine, unreadable. "Yeah."

I narrowed my eyes. "You sure? ‘Cause you’re looking like you wanna punch something.”

He scoffed but didn’t argue. “Ain’t the time for it.”

“And when is the time, huh?” I shot back, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "You always just push shit down and act like it don’t matter—like none of it touches you. But it does, Daryl. It does, and you damn well know it.”

His head snapped toward me, blue eyes burning. “You done?”

“Not even close.”

I should’ve stopped. Should’ve let it go. But I couldn’t.

“Every time I try to talk to you, you shut me out. I’m sick of it, Daryl. You don’t get to act like you’re the only one carrying this weight.”

His jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you?” I challenged. “‘Cause it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it.”

For a second, I thought he was going to turn away, shut down like he always did. But instead, he took a step closer.

Too close.

The heat between us was electric, charged with something neither of us wanted to name.

"You don’t get it," he said, voice low, rough.

“Then make me get it.”

His breath hitched, just slightly. His fingers twitched like he wanted to do something, but he held himself back. I could see it in his eyes—the war he was fighting inside himself.

The air between us tightened, thick and heavy, and I swore if we didn’t break the tension soon, I was going to—

Daryl moved first.

One second, I was glaring up at him, and the next, his hands were on my face, rough and warm, his calloused fingers digging into my skin just enough to ground me.

And then—

His lips crashed against mine.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate, like he was trying to silence every word, every damn thing I had been throwing at him.

And maybe that was exactly what he was doing.

My hands fisted in his vest, pulling him closer even as my brain screamed at me to slow down, to think—

But I didn’t want to think.

I just wanted him.

His fingers curled into my hair, his body pressing against mine, and for the first time in a long time, the weight between us didn’t feel so unbearable.

We weren’t running.

We weren’t fighting.

We were just here.

Together.