𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. LV - 《the sea that drowned the woods》

oOo

The annoyance at Glenn's ill-timed interruption quickly faded when her lust-drunk brain finally registered his whispered word. The whole room went oddly silent save for her golden bow's call for war. It was like the world turned into shades of black and white, and the only color shone from the foot of the bed, calling to Diana with urgency, almost begging to be picked up, to be used, to fulfill its purpose; a siren's call.

"How many?" Daryl asked Glenn, standing with a soldier's attention, marching up to him.

Glenn's grimace and beaded forehead spoke volumes. "Too many."

"That ain't a number, Glenn."

"Over a hundred? I don't know, man, it's all hands on deck out there!"

"Shit..." Daryl looked back at Diana, something akin to fear and determination in his eyes. She stared back, daring him to say anything that went against their previous discussion. She knew she won when he sighed and walked back to her. "I'll have your back." His hand cupped the back of her neck, and his lips pressed against hers in a rushed, longing kiss.

Before Diana could chase after his mouth, he was out the door, past a stunned Glenn. She avoided his gaze by clearing her throat and gathering her bow, which responded to her touch with morbid glee. Her fluttering heart was soon stamped upon by the weight of impending slaughter.

She and Glenn walked side by side as he told her of the march of the herd appearing over the horizon, from amidst the forest like a dark mass of skittering fog. The image he painted in her mind was nothing compared to the sight of it. Diana emerged onto the unlit porch, where their quickly gathered troops devised some strategy to ensure their survival.

She heard Rick demand that all their vehicles be readied and their supplies and belongings loaded for a speedy getaway. She heard him plead to Hershel that they join them, that there was no way their disadvantageous number could make a dent on the undead. Hershel firmly refused; his family's farmhouse had stood through the worst in history, he would not abandon his home so quickly.

Diana heard all of that, but their words turned to buzzing in her ears as she watched the black wave cresting over the hill, creeping up on their shore. A vice tightened around her heart. An urgent thought flooded her mind.

Where were Alice and Felix?

She was taken back to the night of their parents' untimely demise. The echo of screechy groans, the stomping feet, the desperate cries of the living, the blasting firearms; she could hear them all.

She needed to find her parents and her siblings. Where were they?

Diana took the steps down the porch, bumping past faceless figures whose shouting voices were placated and indecipherable. Her breathing was ragged, and her heartbeat rang in her ears. Where were they?

Someone grabbed her by the arm as she stalked along the front of the farmhouse, seeing something peeking from beyond the corner. She shook the hand off, hard, and took off running. She knew something was wrong. They were gone, but they couldn't be.

The walkers grew louder in her head, and the ringing of gunshots made her drop the bow to cover her ears, but it wouldn't stop. Nothing made it stop. Her feet took her to the two prone figures, disfigured and mangled, blood seeping steadily from the gashes on their broken bodies, feeding the soil, familiar eyes staring at her, milky and lifeless.

"No," Diana whimpered, her legs giving out from under her like water. Not again. Too late yet again. She shoved the heels of her hands against her eyes until she saw stars and swirls and felt the hot tears silently trail down her cheeks. Someone wrapped an arm around her shoulders, startling her.