𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. XXVII - 《would you eat your own foot?》

oOo

Diana's eyes remained on the amputated hand with a strange morbid fascination. She knew it would be frowned upon to act upon that fascination. She was barely holding on to the restraint that prevented her from literally crouching next to the appendage and poking and prodding it like a science experiment.

She remembered herself and the situation and put her empathy suit back on.

Merle must've been a special kind of desperate to resort to this.

She could imagine it; walkers at the door, squeezing their grasping limbs through the gap, snarling and groaning, with their wild eyes and rotten teeth and all that insatiable hunger.

It was the kind of a would-you-eat-your-own-foot-if-you-were-starving-on-a-deserted-island situation. And Merle had done it, he'd eaten his foot.

Forcing her mind towards some semblance of helpful rationality, Diana tried to analyze the state of matters. The handcuff was still dripping blood, and she was not a forensics expert, but judging by the hand itself it looked like the dismemberment had happened very recently.

Once again, basic observation, that was the most she could do. That in count, depending on his state of mind and how rapid the rate of exsanguination, he couldn't have walked far just as much as he could be out of the city by now. You never knew with Merle.

Daryl was as devastated as he was enraged. Before Diana could blink, he had his crossbow pointed at T-Dog's face, right between his eyes. His chest was heaving and boy, it might be overused, but if looks could kill...

T-Dog remained stiff in place, his brow tense as his gaze never strayed from Daryl. Diana admired his composure in such a situation, and she thought Daryl was overreacting. After all, T-Dog did make up for his mistake. It wasn't his fault Merle hadn't stayed put.

She was paralyzed, mouth agape but nothing coming out of it.

The gun Rick pointed at Daryl's temple made her blood run cold and a chill ran down her spine. That was enough to jar her back into motion.

"I won't hesitate," Rick said, his voice hard, "I don't care if every walker in the city hears it."

Daryl was a perfect statue, but Diana saw the tiny waver in his aim. She didn't like what Daryl was doing and she couldn't defend his actions, but she absolutely hated what Rick was strongly implying. And he knew that she did, his glance her way proved it.

Slowly, so as to not alarm anyone, Diana approached them. Rick's eyes were on her with a calm urgency. She swallowed dryly and said to Daryl, "This isn't gonna solve anything, Daryl." When his gaze flickered to hers, she added, "Merle's alive, let's focus on that."

She could see his chin quiver and the corner of his lips tug down forcefully as he suppressed his grief. Diana laid a comforting and disarming hand on her friend's shoulder. "Let's go find him," she whispered with finality.

Daryl lowered his crossbow little by little and then completely. Diana smiled at him and swiped the back of her hand over his cheek affectionately. "Now let's stop threatening each other and behave like adults for once, everyone down for that?" She gave both Daryl and Rick a pointed look, feeling strangely like a scolding mother.

Rick holstered his pistol and gave her a look she couldn't decipher. "Yeah, I'm 'down for that'," he mimicked with a tilt of his head.

Daryl said nothing. Diana pulled on his wrist to tear his attention away from the souvenir his brother had left. She could see his anger grow by the second the longer he looked at it. She pulled again, his pulse racing on her fingertips, and his gaze met hers. She squeezed his hand lightly and raised a single brow.