In The End | Daryl Dixon

Chapter 73: darkness

I had lost track of time, sitting there with Carl's hand in mine. His skin felt impossibly cold, and every part of me wanted to shake him, to tell him it wasn't time yet. I sniffled, dragging the back of my hand across my cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears, but it did nothing.

The sheet trembled in my hands as I pulled it over him, tucking him in as gently as though it could protect him, even now. My chest ached, my arms burned from carrying him, and still I forced myself to stand.

I lifted him and carried him toward the grave Michonne and Rick had been digging. Each step was heavier than the last—not because of his weight, but because of what he represented. The boy I had known when I first met him, small and full of curiosity and laughter, had grown into someone brave, someone kind, someone who deserved more than this world could ever give. And now... he was gone.

I crouched beside the half-dug grave and lowered him to the ground. Every motion felt unbearably final. I blinked, trying to hold back tears, but they came anyway, blurring my vision. My chest tightened until it felt impossible to breathe.

None of us had words. The world had grown too cruel for words.

Rick was the first to move, tossing dirt into the grave. The thuds sounded hollow and endless. And that's when it really sank in—Carl was gone. A young boy who had laughed at my stupid jokes, who had trusted me with his fears and his dreams. Never again.

I pressed my hands to the earth, letting the sobs shake me from the inside out. "I'm so sorry, Carl," I whispered, the words breaking like glass. "I'm so sorry."

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I packed without thinking about what I was taking, only that I needed to keep moving. My hands worked through the room on their own, pulling things from drawers, from shelves, from wherever they landed, and pushing them into the bag until there wasn't much space left. It didn't feel like I was choosing anything. It felt like I was just clearing pieces away.

The room barely looked like ours anymore.

What was left of it felt... used. Like something that had already been left behind.

I slowed for a moment, my eyes settling on the doorway. The hallway beyond it was quiet, empty, but my mind filled it in anyway. I could almost hear the dull, steady bounce of a tennis ball against the wall, over and over, like it used to echo through the house without anyone stopping it.

I didn't let myself stay there long.

A knock came at the door, soft but enough to pull me out of it.

"Hey. We've got to go."

Michonne's voice carried in, even, controlled. I turned toward her and gave a small nod before she finished speaking, like the words had already been said between all of us.

I closed the bag and pulled it over my shoulder. The weight settled in, familiar but distant, like it belonged to someone else.

There wasn't anything left to check.

I stepped outside and shut the door behind me, not looking back as it clicked into place. The sound didn't linger the way I expected it to. It just ended, like everything else had.

The yard was still. The walls, the houses, the streets—it all looked the same, but it didn't feel like it. It felt thinner somehow, like whatever held it together had already slipped away.

Rick and Michonne were already moving toward the van. They didn't slow down, didn't hesitate. There wasn't anything here for them to hesitate over.

I followed, but my pace didn't match theirs. Each step dragged just slightly, not enough to stop me, but enough to feel it.