In The End | Daryl Dixon

Chapter 69: An Old Friend

"Last floor," Rick panted, his voice ragged as he braced himself against the wall.

I grabbed Daryl's hand as he hauled me up through the elevator shaft, metal scraping and echoing beneath us. My boots hit solid ground and I staggered forward into the hallway, the lights overhead flickering weakly, casting long, broken shadows. Somewhere nearby, a second corridor branched off, disappearing into darkness.

"The guns gotta be up here," I murmured, my voice barely louder than my breathing.

"He said they'd be here," Daryl replied, chest heaving as he scanned ahead, crossbow already coming up.

"Everything else he passed you is checkin' out," Rick said, lowering his rifle just enough to think. Sweat streaked down his face, carving lines through the grime.

"Yeah, well, that guy's a piece of shit," I muttered, swiping the sweat from my forehead and smearing dirt across my skin.

Rick's jaw tightened. "If those guns get to the Sanctuary, they can tear through those walkers. Clear us an exit." He shifted his grip on the rifle, already moving. "We'll go faster if we split up. I find the M2s. You find 'em. We use 'em. Hit the courtyard—right then and there."

The air felt thick, heavy with the distant groans of walkers below and the hum of the failing building.

"End this quick," Daryl said, not looking back as he jogged down the hallway, boots echoing as he disappeared into the dark.

I followed not too far behind him. Daryl split off to the right, disappearing down the adjoining corridor, while I continued straight down the long hallway. The building felt hollow and wrong—too quiet. I checked room after room as I went, some doors hanging open, others shut tight, each one a gamble.

When I peered into the next room, I froze.

A shadow moved beneath the far door.

My grip tightened on the rifle as I slipped fully inside, careful and slow. The air was stale, dust clinging to my lungs. I raised the rifle, sight fixed on the door, every nerve on edge.

I reached for the handle—

The door burst open.

A man barreled into me, slamming me to the ground. My rifle flew from my hands, skidding across the floor just as his weight crashed down on my chest. Before I could react, his hands were already wrapped around my throat, squeezing hard.

I gasped, vision blurring, and clawed at his wrists. Panic surged—but i managed to cut through it. I jammed my thumb into his eye socket.

He screamed, recoiling in agony, his grip loosening just enough. I swung, my fist connecting with the side of his head. He staggered off me, crashing sideways.

I lunged for my rifle—

Hands locked around my ankle, yanking me back. I twisted and kicked hard, my boot slamming into his stomach. He flew backward into a desk with a sharp crack of breaking wood.

I scrambled to my feet, snatched up the rifle, and aimed it at him before he could recover. My chest heaved, lungs burning.

"Where are the M2s?" I demanded.

He chuckled weakly, blood running from the corner of his mouth. "Go to hell."

A grim smile tugged at my lips. "Gladly."

I pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed through the room as he went limp against the desk, sliding lifelessly to the floor.

"See you there, asshole," I muttered, already turning toward the door.

There was only one room left.

The door was cracked open just enough for warm light to spill into the hallway. It stopped me short. I raised my gun and pushed the door open slowly.