Who's Darcy-Ann Dixon? 》Rick Grimes

Chapter 2-Bet the Guns Are So Important Now, Hmm?

The tears have stopped falling, but I can feel my breathing is heavy, and I am pretty sure I am going to be sick any second. Well, not sick sick, but the feeling that you get in your stomach when something went terribly wrong, or the feeling that you felt you were going to be sick but knew you weren't actually going to be.

I watch as Daryl puts his crossbow up to T-Dog's temple, yet I just can't bring myself to move. But then Rick puts his gun up to Daryl's head. In return I put my crossbow to his, and it is all just a mess. This is his fault anyway! He is the one who left Merle up here in the first place. He pays me a glance out of peripheral vision and his gun slightly wavers in his grip, but other than that, he pays me no mind.

"I won't hesitate. I don't care if every walker in the city hears it," Rick threatens. Prick.

"Nor will I," I say back. Daryl lowers his crossbow, in return Rick and I's weapons are lowered.

"Got a dew rag or somethin'?" Daryl asks. His voice is slightly thick, like he's holding back another sob, or had just cried, which in all fairness he has.

He walks over to the hand, breathing slightly heavier now, and crouches, picking the hand up.

"I guess the uh, the saw blade was too dull for the handcuff. Ain't that a bitch." I roll my eyes at how quick Daryl went back to being Daryl. But I guess a hand is better then death, and Daryl probably sees it the same way I do.

He picks the now wrapped up hand and walks over to Glenn's backpack putting the hand in. Glenn makes a slightly sour-pouty face.

"Sorry, bud," I snort.

"He must have used a tourniquet—maybe his belt. Be much more blood if he didn't," Daryl states, getting right down to business. He starts to take the lead, following the blood. Rick motions with his hand to follow, and I take the back, no longer in the mood to play leader.

"Sorry about your brother," Glenn whispers to me.

"It's whatever... I guess he got what was coming for him. And, for the record. No you're not." I say, offering a small smile, which he returns. After all, I may not like too many people in that camp, but this isn't Glenn's fault. And, he is one of the tolerables.

T-dog starts to grab the bag of tools that was left behind when my brother was.

Daryl aims his crossbow ahead of him going in another open door, back into the building.

"Merle? You in here?" He shouts down the staircase.

We follow him down the staircase.

"Merle!"

"We're not alone here," Rick reminds him.

"Screw that," Daryl dismisses. "He could be bleeding out. You said so yourself."

Way to throw his words back in his face Daryl. Real nice.

We walk into the next room, where a gas oven is lit. Blood is splattered on the ground. Rick picks up a flat-iron and observes it.

"What's that burnt stuff?" Glenn questions. Oh the poor innocent boy.

"Skin," I cut in. "He cauterized the stump, closed it up. It stops the bleeding."

"Told you he was tough," Daryl says quietly in a slightly I-was-right-haha tone, offering me a small smirk. "Ain't nobody can kill Merle but Merle."

"Maybe, but I could rip him one real well. You've seen it," I tease back.

"Don't take that on faith. He's lost a lot of blood." Rick states.