Last One Standing ~ TWD Daryl Dixon

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Jo

How had I not heard him? The man with the crossbow's gaze was intense and his crossbow steady as he pointed it at my forehead. He didn't look like he could move as silently as he must have in order to sneak up on us. I readjusted my grip on the golf club. He was too far away for me to hit but if I flung the club I could get it caught up in his crossbow. It would give me a chance.

Thirty seconds later the sheriff appeared around the side of the tree and a second man, who looked military, came from the right. Both trained their guns on me. So much for that plan.

A ghost of a smile crossed behind the eyes of the man with the crossbow. I had a strange feeling he knew exactly what I had been planning. He was a hunter and I had fallen right into his trap. His eyes hardened then and I swallowed.

I stepped back keeping myself between them and my family. I kept the golf club raised, looking between all the men, and waiting for one of them to make a move.

The sheriff looked from me, down to the two people on the ground behind me. His eyes immediately changed from wary to something that may have been compassion. "Why don't you put down the weapon," the sheriff said in a soothing voice.

I could feel my muscles quivering from too much adrenaline and the weight of the golf club. I hadn't eaten a meal in days and my strength was suffering.

"We don't have anything for you to take," I snapped through gritted teeth. I crouched a little, tightening the muscles as I prepared to defend us. "Just leave us alone." I snarled. I tried to sound intimidating but felt like I was coming up horrifically short in the face of these men.

I let my eyes run from the man with the crossbow to the military man. Both of their hands were steady on their weapons. These men were just like the ones from the group who attacked us. They were experienced killers. They would have to be to keep that large of a mixed family group alive.

"Look-" the sheriff said taking a cautious step towards me.

I swung so I was facing him, my breath coming out in short, tightly controlled pants. We were in serious trouble, but I would not show fear. My eyes narrowed and fixed on him. I let all the fear and anguish hone themselves into an intense rage that I glared out at these men.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the sheriff said, raising his hands as though I was the one with the gun.

I risked another glance at the other two. My mind was tripping over itself as I tried desperately to figure out how I could get us out of this situation. I had played years of fastpitch when I was a teenager and though it was now over a decade ago I could swing the golf club as fast and as hard as any bat.

"We aren't going to hurt you," the sheriff was speaking in the low soothing tones usually reserved for wild animals and crazy people. I wondered if he thought I was crazy. We had certainly come across plenty of people who cracked.

"Then leave!" I snapped, my shoulders heaving with the effort it took to form coherent sentences while facing a threat. My heart felt like it was going to fly out of my chest; it was beating so hard I could hear it echoing in my ears. It was disorienting.

I sucked in a deep breath and held it. Stop, reset. I exhaled and felt better, more focused.

"Guys," the sheriff said, breaking eye contact with me. He waved one of the hands he had over his head. "They are putting their weapons downs." He assured me.