Marching With the Dead (Daryl Dixon FanFiction)

•Chapter 7•

•Chapter 7•

I was woken abruptly by sunshine burning my eyes. I used my fingers to moisten up them to see clearer. I glanced around realizing I was on the roof of the cannibal's building.

Last night was a nightmare. The bad dreams I had only made the hours longer and worse. I couldn't get it out of my head. I had to get out now before anything gets even more hectic.

I collected my things in a fast manner and put the straps of my bag over my shoulders. I let out a heavy sigh before heading for the door. I threw it open and glanced to my left where the hallway led to the stairs. I looked down at the floor to see Daryl leaning against the wall with his hands rested on his knees that were pulled up to his chest. His crossbow lay in the side of him not even loaded.

It only took me one step to make his eyes lazily open. I started to walk faster, but Daryl was quick to catch up with me. "You heard what Merle said. They're gonna kill ya if ya decide to jus' pack up an' leave," he called after me. I ignored him and kept walking trying to track down the front gate.

"Grace, hold up," he said starting to jog to get to my side. I stopped all of a sudden to make him look like a fool since he was a few steps ahead of me. He turned to me with a worried look. "I'm willing to take the risk," I sighed quoting what he said about Merle. He was determined to find him, now, I'm determined to lose him.

I stepped past Daryl who stood in the middle of the hallway. I followed the narrow paths to double doors that led to the front of Terminus. I pushed one open and stepped back into the warm air. Daryl was a few paces behind me trying not to get on my nerves.

"Whoa whoa. Where do you think you're going, missy?" I heard behind me. I was about to turn around and punch Daryl when I realized the question didn't come from him. I glanced over my shoulder to see a man around my age jogging up to us with his hands up like he was being threatened. He had messy brown hair, a little lighter than Daryl's, and green eyes from my point of view.

"I'm getting out of here," I told him with an angry voice. "You just got here. Why do you wanna leave?" he asked with a nervous laugh,"C'mon. We can get you a personal room if it's some private matter."

His hand reached out for my shoulder to turn me around back to the doors. Before his skin made contact with mine, a fist appeared on the side of his cheek. The boy fell to his knees as he grasped his face.

My eyes searched for Daryl. He was staring at the boy he just punched with a lethal look on his face.

Footsteps in the rocks then began to ring in my ears. Arms and hands started to grasp Daryl. The men put his hands behind his back and threw his crossbow to the side.

A leaner looking man grasped my hands and did the same with me."Bring him to the Post," the boy who was punched struggled to say. They pushed us to the Post as they dug their arms into our backs making us walk. What did Daryl get us into? If he would of left me alone I would've been fine.

We trudged past buildings and shacks to the middle of the sanctuary. There was about a ten foot pole standing in the center of an open circular area. A tan dirt was what was beneath our feet and the sun bore on top of us.

Daryl was forced forward towards the pole. They pushed him onto his knees once he stood in front of the structure and shoved his cheek into the wood. They bound his wrists with chains that were nailed to the post and stood back.

The man who was punched came out in the open with what looked like a black leather rope in his hand. A small crowd of residents accumulated behind him to watch the show. The built man still held my hands together as he made a slight chuckle behind me. My heart rate quickened once I realized what was going on. I've seen it happen in movies and it was an old punishment for the slaves. Daryl was going to get lashed for his deeds.