Daryl's Angel: Saviour (Book Two)

Chapter 25: Same Tracks, Wrong Side of the Street

I hear Rick's voice echoing as Michonne and I run back towards the fight. He's on his knees, gun in hand, Pete half-conscious on the road beside him. I don't even have time to question how he got a gun when Olivia keeps tight watch over the armoury. So long as he hasn't pulled that trigger, there's a chance to stop this before it gets even worse.

I'm just glad Michonne didn't need an explanation. She took one look at my face, heard me say Rick's name, and she ran.

"Your way of doing things is done!" Rick shouts. Deanna, Reg, and Spencer have arrived. Glenn, Nicholas, and Elliot, too. "Things don't get better because you want them to. Starting right now, we have to live in the real world. We have to control who lives here."

Deanna's voice is as cold as her expression. "That's never been more clear to me than it is right now."

"Me? Me? You—" Rick laughs. Blood runs down his face, coats his hair. "You, you mean me? Your way is gonna destroy this place. It's gonna get people killed. It's already gotten people killed. And I'm not gonna stand by and just let it happen! If you don't fight, you die. I'm not gonna stand by—"

Michonne knocks Rick over the back of the head as hard as she can, using her arm like a baseball bat, and Rick hits the pavement like a sack of bricks. I arrive shortly after Michonne, breathing hard, a serious stitch growing in my side, and nausea hitting me almost as hard as Michonne just hit Rick.

Deanna stares at Rick and Pete for a moment as Michonne shakes out her fist and picks up Rick's fallen pistol.

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While Deanna works on damage control, getting everyone calmed down, we separate Rick and Pete, and separate Pete from Jessie. Deanna orders that Rick be kept in one of the houses that was still under reno when the world went down, leaving it looking rather barren and jail-like.

Rosita follows Elliot and me back to the infirmary, offering to fix Pete up while Elliot makes sure that Jessie is okay. We agree that it's best, and I'm grateful she's willing to help. It leaves me free to help Rick.

I meet Michonne in Rick's temporary cell, an empty white room with a single twin mattress on the ground. I set to work cleaning away the blood from his hair and face, then taping up the cuts on his cheek, jaw, the bridge of his nose, his forehead and around his eye.

Michonne keeps watch the whole time from a plastic folding chair in the corner. Rick stays sound asleep. I check his pupils and nothing seems amiss at a glance, but I'll keep an eye out for a concussion.

"What happened?" Michonne asks. "Did you see?"

I shake my head. "He said he was going to talk to Jessie. Pete's been hitting her. Next thing I know, they're going through a window," I say. I exhale. "I...god, I riled Pete up. I made him mad, and that probably didn't help—"

"He was already violent. Nothing you said would make it worse," she says. I purse my lips. "How's he looking?"

I stare at Rick's beat-up face, bruised and already swelling in some spots. There are a few bruises on his throat from how hard Pete was gripping him. His knuckles are split and battered. And yet...

"He's looked worse," I say. He's been covered in far more blood than what I just cleaned off of him. I think of Joe and his torn throat as I stand up. "He must've noticed what was going on. It didn't even click with me until today."

"You've been focused elsewhere," she says, leaning back, arms folded over her chest.

"You staying here?" I ask as I gather my kit.

"Standing guard, if anyone asks."

"I'll check back tomorrow morning if he hasn't woken up. You know where to find me."