Instincts (Daryl Dixon FF)

e i g h t t e e n

[Season 4, Too far gone]

No P.o.V

She is a wolf. Underneath her shining red gum sharp white teeth are glistening dangerously. Her snout and chaps are scrunched up, deep growls rumbling through her proud chest. And her eyes. Her blue eyes are flashing in pure silver anger as she stands with spread legs infront of her pack.

The Governor had bowed down, holding his injured shoulder tightly. Blood was pouring out from between his fingers, his face being pulled into an grimace of pain, making him look even more unattractive. Margo fired another shot towards him. The bullet seemed to fly straight at his head but then hit into the tank only centimeters next to him. With a 'clonk' the projectile bounced of in an almost ridiculous way, getting lost somewhere between their feet. The Governor twitched, knees giving in even further. His hand glided towards the tank as he used it to lead himself behind it and taker cover from the women who was shooting him. Well, and all the other people which were trying to get him killed. Margo tried foccusing on his moving body which was sneaking through the grass. The shrieking of bullets clocked her ears and so did the shouts and screams from the people behind her. She wanted to kill him so badly. She wanted to shoot his body until he was just dirty pieces of meat on his people. Her finger was slowly moving along the trigger as he moved around in her scope. As if she had a magic shield around her, the projectiles which were being exchanged between the groups didn't hit her.

But they hit somebody else.

"Ahh!", Rick shouted in pain. His hand clutched the wound on his thigh, fingertips cramping into his own flesh. He slumped helplessly over the field, aiming to the old turned over bus behind him. His injured leg was instantly weak and he could only drag it behind him in the ankle high grass. Margo saw it all happening in the corner of her left eye. She dropped the weapon down from her shoulder and held it with her right hand. It dangeled against her tense leg, letting her fingers cramp in a desperate reflex. She wanted to shoot this people so bad but Rick and looking after him was more important. Way more important. In a last attempt she fired against the fence whilst starting to run over to the bus. Two people near the metal went down with her shots and a short wave of victory flooded through her veins. She still had it down pat. As her gaze shifted to the leader, she saw him crawling on the ground. He had stumbled with his limp and now trying to save himself behind the vehicle. The heel of his shoe was dragging through the light brown mud, piling it up underneath his pantleg. Margo crouched, ducking from the shots as her feet carried her towards him in a fast and determined pace. She knew the grass was rustling underneath her feet but all she could sense were the loud bangs. I might go deaf, she thought. Followed by a, I don't even fucking care anymore. Hershel was dead and her heart felt like it had been shaken to its core, cracks forming in its surface. Her arms rowed heavily by her side and her lungs filled deeply with air. When she reached the bus she used her speed to drag Rick behind it. Her arm slung itself around his chest, pushing him back so he fell onto his behind. His weight bent her knees and she felt it strike into her biceps but Margo continued to push and hieved him into shelter.

"Are you okay?", she hurried, her intake of air quieting her voice and bloating her lungs. Her eyes flickered down to the gash in his skin, the fabric of his beige pants was ripped and painted with dark red blood. She could see some of his bright skin, looking out of the hole in tattered pieces between the liquid.

"Yeah, yeah, 's just a graze", he answered. He pushed his hands against the ground, shuffling to lean his back against the cold metal car top of the bus. His cramped hand had let go of his own thigh and digged into the front pocket of his trousers, splattering the rim with blood. With his other one he went to pull his revolver out of its halter and shook out its magazin in a smooth motion. Margo looked at his face. Little pearls were slowly picking up speed as they ran down his temples, falling apart wenn they reached the stubble of his dark grey beard. A deep wrinkle had formed between his brows as he furrowed them in concentration and kept looking down to where his fingers were digging around in the pocket. He was breathing fastly, his chest kept expanding underneath the plain shirt and his nostrils flared rhythmically in a way she almost found it calming. He pulled out a few bullets in his palm and Margos gaze snapped back to the injury on this leg. She dropped fully down onto her knees and into the grass. Her loose jeans started to stretch over her knees, its cloth shifting over her tight muscles. The machine gun got thrown next to her onto the ground, leaving it carelessly between the blades. She dipped down her chin to her chest, fingertips clutching at the hem of her shirt which was slightly too big and pooled up on her lap. She grabbed it tightly and with a harsh tug, she ripped a stripe of fabric from the edge. Rick had started to fill in the bullets into his magazin, it didn't look as easy as normally, his finger seemed to shake and as a result miss the hole to put in the projectile. The bandage which was dangeling around and blocking his view didn't help the process. Margo took the piece of her shirt and wrapped it around his leg, just above were the wound was still bleeding heavily. She skillfully knotted it, trying to keep it not to tight and not to loose, just right to stop the bleeding but letting the rest still getting supplied with blood.