Home Is Your Heartbeat ('Home Is' Book Two - Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 12 - In The End (Linkin Park)

DARYL

We were all set to go.

Had spent most of the day making weapons out of anything we could find. Used belts, buckles and even the zippers off jackets.

Rick was still busily sawing off some spikes of wood. Using a piece of chain that he'd found in a corner of the box car.

Getting ourselves ready for the return of those pricks. Now, it's simply a matter of....when.

"Four of em. Comin up the side"  I peer out the tiny gap in the rail car door.

The plan is to storm them as they enter through the door. Good plan, wrong entry point. Because that's when we hear noises coming from the roof....and a panel slides back.

A flashbang goes off, and I know no more for a while.

*

Wake to find my hands and feet bound with ties, a gag digging into my mouth. They dragged me through the warehouse. Threw my dazed butt next to Rick, who was already kneelin and bent over a trough.

On his other side was Bob. To my left, they'd propped up a groggy Glenn. Then four other men, all of em strangers.

Two Terminus guys come up behind us. Both of them wore protective gear....bloodied up aprons and visors.

In the distance we spotted others, standing at large tables. There are bodies lyin on them, being sawn up. Can hear the sounds of ribcages cracking and splitting.

Only they ain't animal carcasses....but those of men and women.

Recently dead humans....not Walkers!

Hearing another noise of bone shattering, my head spins itself towards the other end of the trough.

The taller guy had swung his baseball bat, and it'd connected solidly with the back of the young blond guy's skull. Then the other prick grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back and slit his throat.

We're cattle....nuthin but cattle. And we're being slaughtered.

Blood runs down the trough to the drain, right under my nose. Can smell its metallic tang.

Like the others, I'm squirmin like hell now. Trying frantically to loosen the ties, but they're thick and tight.

Can only remember being this terrified a few times in my life. Far too many of those in the last few weeks.

That smooth-talkin little prick, Gareth? Came wanderin out and interrupted the butchers. Asked them for kill tallies like he was some kinda number cruncher.

Then he started questioning Rick....askin what we'd buried outside and where exactly. He threatened Bob if Rick didn't start fessin up.

Dunno why he thought that tactic would do any good? Seeing as they're gonna kill us all anyway.

The slaughter was just about to start up again, with the bat being readied to take out Glenn. His wild, petrified eyes latched onto mine.

And I'm not gonna fuckin turn away. Ain't gonna let him go like this....all alone.

That's when one muthafucker of an explosion goes off. Shakin the whole building and knockin everyone to the ground.

Rick managed to escape first. Took them Terminus bastards out with the sharpened sliver of wood that he'd hidden in his boot. Freed the rest of us, and we scattered. Gatherin up whatever we could to defend ourselves.

The place is a goddamned abattoir! Huge containers of boned-out body parts are everywhere. And the glimpse of a sausage maker stops me in my tracks.

"Jeezus! This gives new meaning to 'Finger lickin good',  huh Daryl?"  Bob's hysterical whimper came from behind me, when the realisation hit him as well.