Double Crossbow (Daryl Dixon) [The Walking Dead]

Chapter 54 ↣ Why don't we look together?

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it."

— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

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Kathryn

A SHARP COUGH startled me awake. It took a minute for my blurry senses to return and realize that I had been the one who had coughed. I tried to inhale, but my lungs screeched in protest, causing more coughing. The air was wrong: thick and laced with the scent of burning metal and flesh. I placed my arms underneath myself, and pushed up into a sitting position. After pawing at my watering eyes for a moment, I was finally able to orient myself. The sun was low in the west, so it had been hours since I last saw my group. I looked over the courtyard, and counted three trucks ablaze. Closer to me was the tank, also crackling and moaning as flames flicked around it. So Daryl had succeeded then. The only motion around me was the steady dragging steps of walkers. The smoke, while almost suffocating me, did me a favor in masking my scent from them.

I gathered my strength and shimmied my way back into the prison, finding that the movements didn't demand as much energy as they had prior to my inconvenient nap. I landed on the catwalk and swept my eyes across cell block C. It was empty. My heart gave a shutter as I entered my cell. Pieces of were Daryl casually strewn about as if he was about to walk up behind me at any moment. His shirts still folded on the shelf, a knife resting on a sharpening block. I quickly put a stop to my grief before it could spiral. I hadn't lost him. He was the one thing left. Everyone else might very well be gone, but not him. Not until I had undeniable proof. I grabbed my backpack and began packing. Half of it filled up with my things, half of it with Daryl's. I strapped my knife to my thigh and filled up on bolts before finally moving out of that cell for the very last time.

Daryl

We hadn't walked long, and yet my legs protested the movement. Every step the equivalent of twenty. Beth's steps were light to the left of me, hope still keeping her afloat. I didn't call her name as I noticed a shuffle in the leaves. I dropped to one knee and careful brushed aside the foliage, revealing small footsteps.

"It could be Luke's. Or Molly's," Beth said from behind me. "Whoever they are. It means they're alive."

I shut away the creeping voices in my head trying to remind me of their voices calling for Mrs. Dixon and a full laugh in response. "No. This means they were alive four or five hours ago."

"They're alive," Beth snapped before heading in the direction of the footprints.

She was pretty good at following the trail once I pointed it out. We walked a mile or so before she walked past an important marker. I gestured to the deeply scuffed Earth. "They picked up the pace here. Got out in a hurry. Things went bad."

"Wouldn't kill ya to have a little faith," Beth said, a scowl pulling down at her features.

"Yeah, faith," I said, turning away from Beth. "Faith ain't done shit for us. Sure as hell didn't do anything for your father." The second the words hit the air between us, I regretted them. Looking back at her face, it hit me in the gut. She was holding onto that positivity to keep her from falling. Just like I was holding onto my cynicism.

She turned her back on me and started picking the berries along a vine. "They'll be hungry when we find them."

I took out my rag and held it out to her. She was rightfully ignoring me, so I had to tap her arm with the fabric a few times before she accepted my olive branch. She met my eye expectantly, but I decided against words. I instead started following the trail. Time wasn't on our side here, so I'd do things her way for a bit.