Daryl's Angel: Saviour (Book Two)

Prologue

I try not to think about how I'm going to die. I want to try and enjoy the time I have left, revel in being alive without thinking about how it's all going to end. Even though I believe in an afterlife, somewhere far away and better than here, I don't want to leave. Not yet.

After all, what if I'm wrong? What if there is no heaven?

I focus on the now, the moment I'm in, and the future that lies ahead. I wouldn't blame anyone for thinking I'm too positive. I try to keep my fear locked up, any negativity buried deep inside because after all, if a girl named Hope can't see the silver lining in things, then can anyone?

If I'm being honest, it's getting really hard to find anything silver about this train car.

We huddle in the darkness, fashioning what little gear we can into makeshift weapons—belts, scraps of wood, zippers, shoelaces, whatever we can get our hands on. I don't know what they plan to do with us, but it can't be good, and I don't want to stick around and find out.

As we work, we talk, share what's happened to us after the prison. The strangers share their names and their stories. Abraham Ford, a broad-chested ginger man with a moustache, has the difficult task of bringing Eugene Porter, a mullet-having scientist, to Washington D.C. Apparently, he has a way to cure everything and return the world to normal. The two of them were travelling with Rosita Espinosa, a Hispanic woman with fierce dark eyes and hair to match.

The three of them met up with Glenn after he escaped the prison with the help of Tara Chambler, a woman with short brown hair who was formerly with the Governor. She defected during the prison's final stand, ready to give up on it all before Glenn brought her back.

I'll admit, hearing she was with the Governor made me nervous, but I pushed it away. Glenn and Maggie trust her and that's good enough for me.

"They seemed nice enough, but I was ready to go," Abraham says. "We just got here, but...damn, it was time to go. When I told them about D.C, a wink and a nod from the head asshole in charge, they pulled their guns and it was right back to our regularly scheduled shitstorm."

I'll give him one thing from the first impression I've got; he's got colourful vocabulary. I can't decide whether to cringe or laugh. Maybe I'd find it more amusing if I wasn't scraping my hands raw just trying to turn my belt into a weapon.

There are still members of our group missing: Carol, Tyreese, Beth, to name a few.

"Before they put you in here, you didn't see Tyreese?" Sasha asks.

"No," Michonne answers.

"Good."

Daryl tells Maggie about Beth. "Black car with a white cross painted on it," he says. "I tried to follow it. I tried."

"But she's alive?"

"She's alive."

Outside, radio chatter breaks up what conversations we have. Rick uses Glenn's watch chain to slowly saw through a chunk of wood breaking off a pillar in the corner of the car. It's slow going, the chain creaking as he pulls it back and forth.

Daryl keeps watch, peering out the sliver of space between the door and the outside wall. Voices outside argue with each other above the radio chatter and he frowns.

"Alright, got four of them pricks coming our way," he says.

Rick pulls away from his task as the rest of us get to our feet. My heart pounds and I grip the leather of my belt tight, the edges biting into my palm. The tiny metal prongs sticking out between my fingers seem so weak. Old Dan's collar, still fastened to my wrist, jingles as I give my weapon a test swing.

"Y'all know what to do," Rick says. "Go for their eyes first, then their throats."

We ready ourselves at the door, although I hang back. I haven't felt well for a good few days and the idea of clawing someone's throat out with belt buckles and wood splinters doesn't help my stomach.

"Put your backs to the walls on either side of the car," a voice orders from outside. "Now!"

We stay put, waiting for the door to open, when I hear a thud from the roof above. My head snaps up just as a skylight opens up, bathing us in harsh daylight that makes me squint.

A can drops, hitting the floor with a rattling noise.

"MOVE!" Abraham shouts.

The can explodes and everything turns white, putrid smoke flooding into my mouth, my nose. My head spins, ears ringing, and I cough, stumbling as I try to stay right side up, but the vertigo is too much. I drop, hitting the ground hard as footsteps echo in my head, pounding boots. I try to find Daryl in the mess, even though my limbs are heavy and useless. I try to find him even as my vision starts to go dark around the edges, and then nothing more.