Double Crossbow (Daryl Dixon) [The Walking Dead]

Chapter 22 ↣ What do we do with him?

"Bring me your suffering.
The rattle roar of broken bones.
Bring me the riot in your heart.
Angry, wild and raw.
Bring it all.
I am not afraid of the dark."

— Mia Hollow

↣ ↢

Daryl

EVERYTHING SEEMED TO stop as I saw the look that crossed Kathryn's face. Glenn had said that name, and it was as if all of Kathryn's walls had come crashing down. A look of...I didn't even know. Terror? Hopelessness? Both? It didn't need a label. All I knew was that it was as much emotion as I'd ever seen her show. I also knew the signs of a panic attack.

She stalked away, and my first instinct was to go after her. I hesitated, though. Perhaps it wasn't my place to keep stepping into her life like this. However, she was my...friend, and I couldn't leave her to deal with whatever just occurred by herself. With a quick glance around the group, I saw they were as clueless as ever to what had just occurred, so I went after her once more.

It didn't take long for me to find myself walking through the woods, following almost nonexistent prints. I suddenly heard a string of words in...French?

"Fils de pute. Je me suis fait niquer la gueule."

I stopped as the prints did. Looking around, I didn't see Kathryn. It then struck me. I cast my gaze upwards and bingo. Kathryn had perfectly balanced herself curled up in a ball on tree branch.

"Kathryn," I called out. She visibly jumped, and I thought that was the first time I'd ever snuck up on her. Something must've been wrong. She lifted her head from her arms, and looked down at me. "What the hell are you doing?"

She swallowed hard before saying, "Sitting in a tree. What the hell are you doing?"

Crossing my arms across my chest, I said, "Cut the shit."

"I don't know what shit you're talking about. Is it metaphorical?"

"Kathryn," I said lowly, in no mood for her sarcasm.

I saw her shoulders sag. "Look, it's nothing."

"I'd say a panic attack ain't nothing."

"It wasn't—" she stopped mid-sentence as I raised an eyebrow. "Il est un salaud," she growled.

My heart skipped. I had no idea what that meant, but, damn. I quickly shook that thought away. "I don't speak French."

"Exactly."

"Who is that guy?" I asked.

"Ask Rick," she snapped.

"I'm asking you. You know him, don't ya?"

Kathryn jumped from the branch, landing gracefully as ever. She walked up to me. "I knew him," she said, her voice grave. I swallowed hard. "In hell. That's where he should still be." She then brushed by me leaving nothing but my heart racing and the faint smell of rain.

Kathryn

I was leaning up against the farthest wall in Hershel's dining room. Daryl was to my right, despite my aimed glares when he came to stand by me.

"We couldn't just leave him behind," Rick said. "He would've bled out, if he lived that long." Aww, poor baby.

"It's gotten bad in town," Glenn added.

"What do we do with him?" Andrea asked. Ooh, ooh, pick me! I have plenty of ideas.

Before anyone could say anything else, Hershel walked in. "I repaired his calf muscle as best I can, but he'll probably have nerve damage. Won't be on his feet for at least a week."