Knife Edge [Daryl Dixon]

Chapter Thirteen - The Anvil (1/3)

You must be master and win,
or serve and lose,
grieve or triumph,
be the anvil or the hammer.
Goethe

'They're comin',' Petros shouted, when he burst through the front door of the station. 'They're just off the 85, but they're headin' this way.' 

There was an edge of excitement in his voice and Palmer, who was watching Clive grimace as he struggled to his feet for the first time since the doc fixed him up, felt a corresponding rush, 'How far are they?'

Petros ran a hand through his thick curly hair as he joined them behind what had been the police station's front desk, 'Hard to say. The speed they were goin', the speed we were goin', two hours, maybe more.' 

'Fuck, that doesn't give us much time,' Clive panted, sweat beading on his brow when he tried to put more weight on his leg. The men he brought with him from the school, Andy and Kyle, hovered nearby ready to catch him if he lost balance, but his leg held and Clive stood straighter. 

When he did, Palmer could see more of the beating he took in the ambush. His face was bruised and swollen down one side, and there was a cut across his ear that wouldn't stop bleeding. But on the whole, Palmer figured he looked pretty good for a man that was in a car crash, and a firefight in the last twenty-four hours.

Still, Palmer resented that as hurt as Clive was, he immediately started giving orders as soon as he arrived the evening before. Initially sending men to beef up the security on the fence, and then a team to check what was actually happening at the school. 

It was his base and he should be the one to take charge, but he had been on the back foot ever since the car sped through the gate with Clive in the back seat, bleeding and in pain. Telling them they were ambushed. That the school was likely being attacked as they spoke. 

He had to get Petros to calm down so he could work out what was going on. While he understood he was barely out of his teens and that he raced down the road with bad guys nipping at his heels, he didn't trust the excited gleam in his eyes, 'Are you sure it's them?'  

'It's them right enough,' Petros nodded, blinking quickly the way he did when he was worked up. 'Firetruck up front, everythin' covered in hillbilly armor.'  

Damn, Palmer closed his eyes and pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. It certainly sounded like them. 

Palmer was a Savior but he left the Sanctuary long before they encountered the sheriff. 

At first, he thought the Saviors were smart by taking over an area and getting everyone to work for them, but then the cracks started to show. If ever a man needed the rule if you take it all, you kill them all, it was Negan. Group after group rebelled, and while they were all been beaten back, instead of reviewing his strategy, Negan doubled down. So Palmer had split. 

Ending up here. 

Clive snuffled, tentatively pressing his busted nose, 'Did you get to the school?'

Petros nodded, 'It's gone,' that tinge of excitement crept in again. 'We didn't get in but we didn't need to...' 

'And my men?' Clive interrupted. His voice was hard, his eyes harder still. Palmer willed Petros to be careful. 

'Place was wide open,' Petros blinked, nervously now that he caught Clive's tone. 'There were bodies piled up inside the fence.'

There was a stunned silence, which was broken when Clive yelled, 'Goddam it!' Then he stepped back on shaky legs, repeating more quietly as if shouting took the last that he had, 'Goddam it.'