Last One Standing ~ TWD Daryl Dixon

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Hey guys, so the last three days have been record breaking for views and votes for LOS. Each day better than the next. So to celebrate I kicked it in the butt and got out a new chapter! 

I hope you guys like it, please vote/comment as you go! I love hearing from you!!! You guys are the best. Thank you so so much for all the support!

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Jo

I don't know what exactly woke me. I rolled over in the dark and the spot next to me was still empty and cold. I blinked awake, glancing over at the clock. It was almost three in the morning and Daryl still wasn't back yet. I scrubbed a hand over my eyes. Trying to decide what good it would do for me to get up and worry. He and Rick were together. Something probably did not go as planned, not an uncommon occurrence, but they were no doubt on their way back.

I rolled over, trying to go back to sleep, but something was nagging on me. It took me a minute to remember that something had woken me. I sat up, frowning. Then I heard it again. Whisper silent movement upstairs. Only Daryl could be that quiet and he didn't have to, not at home. While being silent would seem courteous, when you lived in a house with Rick, Michonne, Carol, Carl and I it was better to make your presence known rather than catch one of us by surprise.

I heard the nearly silent movement again, it was on the stairs, heading up. I rolled out of bed, now wide awake. I snagged two throwing knives off the night stand and moved towards the door. I opened it quietly. The basement was dark and still.

I swallowed, forcing my breath to come slow and even. My heart was pounding in anticipation but I needed to keep the rest of my body under control so I could use my senses to their best advantage. I moved up the stairs and exhaled a silent thank you that the basement door was left slightly ajar. It swung open silently and I stepped into the kitchen.

My bare feet hardly made a sound on the polished wood floors. I shivered. It was cooler up here and I was only dressed in a thin tank top and sleep shorts.

A slight draft raised goosebumps on my skin and I turned to see the curtains in the dining room wafting gently in the night breeze. The window was low, the lowest set on the main floor, and wide open.

Adrenaline surged through me and I adjusted my grip on my knives. I quickly and silently cleared the main floor, checking very room and closet. I closed the window and latched it. They had gone upstairs. Carol was out on watch so it would only be Michonne and the kids. There was no room for mistakes.

I heard a whisper of movement on the carpet upstairs and I moved quickly to the stairs. I stopped, hidden in shadow at the bottom of the stairs and frowned.

A stranger was sitting on the stairs, a picture off the wall in his hands. He was thirty-ish with a fighters build. He wore a stocking cap and a long black leather duster. He did not look like he was here to make friends.

There was no way for me to get the drop on him. He would see me the second I stepped out of the shadows to get a clear shot. I twirled the throwing knife in my hand, wishing I had all my knives. I took a deep breath, pulled my arm back and stepped out. Just as I released the knife he looked right at me. He swung the picture around to block the knife. The glass shattered loudly and the knife landed uselessly on the stairs.

He moved almost silently, rushing me down the stairs before I could throw the next one. I had it up when he reached me. He swung his fists, connecting with my forearm and knocking the knife down. I gasped as pain radiated up my arm and my hand went numb. The knife clattered on the wood floor and I heard it skitter away with the force of his blow.