Panacea - {Daryl Dixon Fanfiction}

Day 82- Executioner

They found him in town. His leg had been impaled, but that was the least of the boy Randall's problems. With so much going on around the farm, Shane and Rick at each others throats, Lori not making things better being pregnant, and Dale desperately trying to maintain order, beating the pulp out of this little shit made Daryl feel better.

"...about thirty or so...." Randall groaned. "I...I don't know, I'm trying to cooperate."

"Like shit." Daryl pulled out his knife, and rammed it under the scab across the boys leg, causing him to sweat.

"Okay okay, thirty guys! But there's men, women and-and children. Just like you people."

"They tried to take over this farm. You just went along for the ride, huh?"

"Look we'd go out and scavenge. Just the men. Well, we came across this campsite; a man and his two daughters. Teenagers, real young...and real cute.."

Daryl gritted his teeth. He didn't like where this was going.

"And they made him watch while..." Sensing he was saying to much Randall jumped ahead, "And they didn't even kill him afterwards! They just made him watch...and those two girls...but I swear I didn't do nothing! I ain't like that-"

Daryl kicked him in the stomach, not allowing him to finish. He punched him, and kicked him, and was ready to bashed his skull in. He thought of something horrid like that happening to his girl, and he suddenly found the strength to pummel ten more men. He settled with stomping Randall's bad leg, and watched him squirm until he finally black out from the pain.

* * *

Daryl was told that Rick was preparing to execute him. He wouldn't stick around to see. Not because he didn't want to see the little basterd strangle from the noose, but because the group was beginning to crumble as ideas and beliefs clashed. Daryl kept his two sense out of it, and let them make the decisions. If it got bad enough, he could always split.

When he was done beating the living day lights out of the kid, he took off through the woods, crossbow slung over his shoulder. He still caught his own dinner, trying to avoid awkward meals with the rest of the party.

He had never been so tired of squirrel meat.

But aside from hunting and avoiding the rest of the pack, he looked for ways to leave clues for Gabry, if she's ever come across them. With men like Randall had described out in the prowl, he was now more than ever desperate to find her. He had it settled in his mind that he would rather find her as one of those walkers than in the hands of one of those men.

"Remember when you took me hunting?"

He knew he was going mad, but he remembered. She had held the very crossbow he did now, and he'd given her a thorough safety lesson on artillery. He hoped that maybe those lessons would come in use.

"Remember how you held me?"

Was he doing this to himself? He could still recall the feel of her against his chest, the feel of her hair against his chin.

"I remember, baby." He muttered to himself to silence the voice within.

A shadow suddenly emerged from the woods, hands and teeth ready to snatch and rip, and without hesitation Daryl lifted his crossbow and shot the creature through the head. He put his boot on its throat and tugged the bolt free from its skull.