The Devils Eyes •Daryl Dixon•

T H I R T Y : D I S A G R E E

"Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step." 

                                                        ~Martin Luther King Jr. 

"Ye see that one right there?" Daryl grunts, pointing out into the field, his finger ending in the direction of a muerto.

It was the next day, Rick and the others returned from the run. Sophia mentioned they came across another survivor, but they left him behind. We couldn't afford to bring anyone else into the group.

"What about it?" I ask, a smile creeping on my lips.

"Fucker looks like a experiment between the beast and Bigfoot gone wrong, or something like that," I snort, looking out at the muerto, examining it. It was decayed, and I was surprised that it could still move, still intact. It was a guy, with a faint bite mark on his arm.

"I'm surprised I made it this far," I scoff, and grab the chain link fence in front of me, tightening my grip on it.

"What do ye mean?" he asks.

"I'm surprised I survived in general," I shrug. "I thought I would die within in the first five seconds."

"That ain't possible," he shakes his head, aiming the rifle at a muerto, keeping his finger over the trigger. "Yer a fighter, it's what separates ye from everyone else."

"I'm not a fighter," I shake my head. "I just don't back down."

"I wonder how different it would be if ye weren't here, if ye had left that night," he sighs.

I shrug. "Maybe I would've found Lee by now. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I did leave," I look over to his face, his face had fallen.

"Ye've considered leavin?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

"No," I quickly say, shaking my head. "I just wonder what if I had decided to leave, how different things would've been."

"Oh," he relaxes, turning his attention back to the field.

"You said ye didn't like this group either, why didn't you leave?" I ask, looking over at him.

"What?" he continues peering his eye through the peer hole of the rifle.

"When you made that deal with me, you told me you didn't like this group either. But why didn't you leave?"

He pulls from the fence and looks at me. "I didn't leave because-"

The sound of a faint engine approaching cut him off and we both spun in the direction of the sound, aiming our guns at it. I moved over, getting a better angle just in case I had to take some action.

"Car approaching," I whispered, clicking the walkie talkie. Rick had found a set yesterday.

The walkie remains silent and I continue aiming the gun towards the front gate. As the car rounds past the clutter of trees, I recognize it to be the car we gave to Andrea a couple days ago.

I growl, aiming the gun at her through the windshield as she pulls in the prison gates. I can just pull this trigger, and then she'll be gone like that.

But I can't kill anyone in vain. Just then, something blocks the front and I pull back, meeting Daryl's eyes as his hand covers the barrel.

"It ain't worth it," he shakes his head.

I scowl, pulling the gun back. "I could have shot your damn hand off," I lay it against my shoulder.

He shrugged. "Better than ye killing 'er," he turns and we begin heading to the courtyard, where Merle pulls the gate open, allowing Andrea to pull in.