Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Rescue Me

I wasn't a huge fan of school.  It was far too tedious and boring for someone like me who thrived in chaos and disorder.  That being said, I had a particular affinity for biology, particularly as it related to the human body.  I learned that adrenaline was activated by our sympathetic nervous system, making our hearts beat faster and diverting blood to our muscles in preparation for fight or flight.  Millions of years of human instinct boiled down to one amazing chemical reaction that lit your body on fire.

Of course there was a part of the lesson I didn't learn in school.  I didn't know then what I do now.  I was an addicted, and adrenaline was my drug of choice.  I loved it, craved it.  For more than half my life I consumed it like it was my only source of life.  It kept me alive, made me an efficient killer, but like all drugs it came with a price.   

Adrenaline may make you feel invincible, but that feeling faded far too quickly.  The moment your body chemistry leveled out you were left in a dazed stupor, hands shaking, body trembling, and an overwhelming need to sleep for a week. 

It was difficult to piece together the exact details of what happened during my high.  I was left with feelings, images that flashed in my mind like a disjointed movie.  Horrors I couldn't remember but knew to be true because the evidence was stained on my hands and lying at my feet.    

This time was no different.  The adrenaline from the attack that flooded my system like a tsunami had long since faded.  Gone was the feeling that my blood was on fire, leaving in its wake only self-loathing and doubt.  The one thing that hadn't faded was the drumming of my heart.  It was still beating in my chest like a tiger trying to pry its way out of its cage. 

My limbs moved of their own volition, grabbing the outstretched arms of another dead body and dragging the victim to a pile near the fence.  The coldness of their limbs and blood splattered clothes didn't register with me on a human level.  I was disconnected from everything except the steady thump in my chest.   

Everyone was hard at work cleaning up the aftermath of The Saviors attack.  It was the middle of night, but no one wanted to leave the dead scattered on the lawn until morning.  It was gruesome, tedious work in the dark.  In the light of day I doubted many would be able to stomach it.

Wordlessly Daryl bent down and lifted the man's feet, helping me carry him to the pile awaiting burial or cremation.  He didn't say anything, didn't even look at me, but I could practically hear his thoughts shouting in my ear.  He'd been wearing the same troubled expression since I gutted a Savior and refused to finish him off.  Like a child playing with their food I only watched him, ready to inflict suffering on a man I'd already condemned to death for nothing more than my sadistic desires.

With a grunt we tossed the body on the ever-growing pile of Saviors.  Jesus and Carl were nearby discussing what we should do with the remains, but I paid them no mind.  Licking my lips I dropped my hands to my side, refusing to pick at the dried blood caking my fingernails because it felt a little too much like picking at my soul and I couldn't handle that.

My husband exhaled harshly, gnawing on his thumbnail, eyes never straying from me.  I felt Merle watching me too, my brother-in-law growing more concerned with every passing minute, but I had no words to alleviate his concerns.  He should be worried.  Hell, everyone should be downright terrified.  I had no idea how many people I killed tonight.  It could be 10 just as easily as 100, but that wasn't the issue.  It wasn't even the fact I didn't feel a lick of guilt at taking a life they should fear.  What should concern them was the yearning deep in my gut, the overwhelming need to keep going.  For the past hour all I'd thought about was tracking down every Savior and killing them with my bare hands.