Sneaky

Chapter 85

Mind running, chest squeezing, throat lynching off my breath, I dropped beside Dale; Eyes locked on the cannonball sized hole torn in his stomach.

The crimson life giving liquid from inside us all, gradually turning his white shirt the color of the wine we all laughed over at the CDC mere weeks ago.

I can hear Daryl calling for help but it's muted. Like I'm underwater and the cold nipping at my skin from the night only aids in making me numb as I watched the heat from Dale's organs clashing with it; creating pillows of steam, resembling a candle that's just gone out.

My vision blurred as I knelt down, raindrops splattering my hand except there's no rain.

My chest feeling like it's trying to pull itself apart, I took Dale's hand, as his gasps for breath gurgled through his throat.

He jerked with every breath. His diaphragm moving unnaturally doing it's best to get air to his lungs without the aid of muscle and skin.

Dale's warm brown eyes filled with unimaginable pain, fixed on mine for only a moment. His hand trying and failing to maintain a grip on mine for more than a few moments at a time.

"Hang in there, buddy" Daryl knelt on one knee on Dale's other side. I can hear the desperation in his voice. Even if he doesn't admit it, he respects Dale —all of us do.

I'm not a doctor, but even I know, there's nothing we can do. It would take a fully functioning emergency room and a team of surgeons within the next few minutes for even a remote chance of survival. And even if we had access to all of that and by some miracle he survived, it still wouldn't matter.

My eyes drew behind Daryl to the unmoving corpse. A split in the center of it's forehead going all the way up to the top of it's skull. It's hands stained red, the color of the cloth Dale & Jim always wiped their hands on after fixing up the RV or working on the cars.

He's infected.

I put my hand on Dale's forehead, holding his hand closer to my chest; trying to give any sort of comfort possible, anything. Even if it's only taking the pain from 100 to 99.

He's already getting colder, but his forehead is burning.

Footsteps and drew nearer as I looked at Daryl over Dale. His eyes drew to mine, a broken chaotic desperation held within normally steady blue.

He knows too. It's too late.

"Oh my god. Oh god." Rick dropped next to me and a moment later the entire group was swarming around us. Like oil poured into a pan, not enough to cover the center but enough to create a ring.

I moved out of his way, around Dale's head as Rick took the old man's tortured face; trying to get him to focus. "All right, just listen to my voice. Listen to me, all right? Just listen to me."

Dale moaned in anguish, and I set my other hand on his shoulder, squeezing. My mind ripping itself apart for anything I can do but even though I know there isn't anything to be done, I can't stop searching.

"Ok, hold on now —Get Hershel!" Rick screamed at no one in particular. Panicked voices and parroting shouts coming in return.

My hands are shaking but not as much as my shoulders as I try to keep the tears out of my vision. My lungs compensating for the lack of breathing by trying to hyperventilate, but I won't let it.

Andrea dropped beside Rick and I let go of Dale's hand so she could hold onto him; reassurances spilling from her trembling lips. The same expression she held when she sat beside Amy, twisting tear stained features. An expression I regret to have seen more than once.