The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning
Chapter 97: Under the Gun
❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader
❧ Era: Season 11
❧ Pronouns: she/her
❧ Warnings: language, violence, lots of guns, scary situation, injury, basic TWD stuff tbh
❧ Word Count: 5.2k
❧ In This Chapter: It will take some effort to convince Daryl that you're capable of helping at the Commonwealth. Of course, who is he to stand in your way? A deadly trap ensnares you all, and confronting Governor Milton is going to be more challenging than you'd anticipated. Blood will be shed.
❧ A/N: So um ok Tumblr was being weird last night, so when I tried to schedule Chapter 96 to come out at midnight PST, it actually came out three hours earlier than that, so technically THIS is the first post of 2023! Cool! Anywho, um yes I know reader is being stupid look I need her to be stupid ok? Sometimes she can be stupid, as a treat. It would be boring if she was always perfect and made the right decisions. Also Daryl gets to be stupid all the time in the show let her have this. Oh and stream Under the Gun by Sisters of Mercy because a) it's a banger and b) it inspired the vibe of this chapter and some of the lines (but I couldn't fit some of my favorite lines like "you can set the controls for the heart or the knees and the meek will inherit what they damn well please" that line is 🤌🏻)
The crate you carried was heavy, straining your aching back, but you’d risen early that morning to help load up the bus. The plan was to bring as many people as possible back to the Commonwealth, with emphasis on finding the missing children, Eugene and Yumiko, and taking down Pamela, whatever that may entail.
You had a plan of your own. Well, not so much a plan, but a conviction. You hadn’t spoken to Daryl yet this morning, and you knew he’d object, but you were headstrong about one thing: you were going with them.
Perhaps you weren’t in the best physical state to be going, having delivered a baby exactly a week ago. Still, you’d put together an argument in the incredibly likely case that Daryl would refuse to let you come. It didn’t matter what he wanted, though. You wanted to see Pamela get taken down. You wanted to see everything the Miltons and the Commonwealth stood for crumble. You wanted to be a part of it.
Was it stupid? Yes. You were aware.
“Here’s the last of the supplies,” you said, handing the crate to Maggie. She stood at the back of the bus, loading it up. “There’s plenty of ammo, mostly M855’s, or whatever those big guns use.” Your knowledge of guns was reluctant and minimal, and you much preferred your axe, which you’d been so lucky to find tucked away in a crate in one of the houses, along with Robin’s spear and Daryl’s bow. For what you were about to do, though, you’d need guns.
“Thanks,” she huffed, checking the crate before sliding it in. “You talk to Daryl yet?”
Maggie knew, of course, but Daryl didn’t. He assumed you’d be staying to watch Robin and Wes, which, admittedly, sounded like a much better idea than what you had in mind, but there was such a strong urge to see justice restored, to be a part of it, to help make history.
“No,” you said. You turned as you dusted off your jeans, eying Daryl, who sat upon the deck of the town hall. In his arms was baby Westley, bundled up in his blue blanket, with his bear hat poking out. Robin and RJ sat beside him, each peering over his shoulders to look at the baby boy. “I know he’ll be upset.”
“It’s your choice,” she said. “You’re a grown woman. He can’t tell you what to do, you know.”
“I know, it’s just… I hate arguing with him about this kind of stuff. And if I do go, I don’t want him to be worrying about me the whole time, getting distracted.”
“He’ll live with it.”
You made your way to the town hall, where others had also gathered as they prepared to board the bus. Daryl had handed Wes to Robin, who was eager to hold him.
Daryl nodded his head to you, his face a portrait of confusion. “You should be in bed,” he said. “Ain’t you tired?”
“Aren’t you?”
He hadn’t slept in days, of course he was tired. More tired than you, and you’d just given birth. Everyone was tired, but the sooner you got to the Commonwealth, the better.
Chewing his bottom lip, he eyed you suspiciously. “You ain’t goin’,” he said.
Your eyes widened as you scoffed. “Yes, I am. I’m not missing this.”
He moved further from the earshot of others, gently but firmly holding your arm to take you with him. “I need you here.”
“That’s ridiculous,” you said, even though you knew it really was quite reasonable. Still, this is what you wanted. “I want to be part of this. I mean, how else am I supposed to write down what happened in my journal?”
“Woman, you just had a damn baby.” His voice raised, becoming more impassioned. You could see in his eyes that he was scared, that even the idea of something happening to you because your body was weaker than usual made his eyes go cloudy. “How in the hell are you gonna be able to fight?”
He had a point, and you knew that, but your need to see this through eclipsed whatever lingering pain and weakness you felt. Your body was healing well, you were healthy. Daryl had spent nine months making sure you were able to have a successful birth, and you did. It wasn’t traumatic, you were lucky. Twice. Your luck hadn’t run out, either. You were sure of it.
“I can fight if I need to,” you said. “I will fight.”
There were few things in your relationship with Daryl that caused contention. Rare were your fights, your lovers’ quarrels. Daryl had a temper that came out at unexpected times, but he never hurt you, or said anything that shattered your heart beyond repair. The vast majority of the few heated arguments you’d had over the years followed this pattern—Daryl urging you to stay home, safe and sound, and you refusing.
So far, every one of these arguments ended the same: Daryl giving into you.
“I’ve almost lost you too many damn times, (Y/N),” he said. “I ain’t almost losin’ you again, or worse.”
You knew his overprotectiveness came from a place of love, but it could be suffocating. Daryl clinged to you like you were a teddy bear, but that was his way. He was always so loyal, and his love was deep and at times overwhelming. Sometimes, you wondered if he really didn’t want you to leave, or if he was just so used to protesting that it became second nature.
In any case, you were, as Maggie had reminded you, a grown woman. Daryl could argue till he was blue in the face, but the final say was yours.
“I’ve almost lost you so many times, too,” you said. “That’s just how it goes. I can do it. I feel fine… I’m going with you.”
With a deep huff, he squinted his eyes, the morning sun having begun to pierce them. Yours, however, were noticeably wide, like two big doe’s eyes. It was subtle, of course, but you knew what you were doing. It might’ve just been instinct at this point. You could’ve not cared enough to get Daryl’s approval. You could’ve just gotten on that bus with him and not asked at all for his permission, but you didn’t want to fight. You wanted Daryl to be on board with your decision, and if anything got Daryl to cave, it was your wide, pleading eyes.
“You’re gonna be the death a’me one day, woman,” he huffed. “All right, but you gotta promise to stay right by me. No splittin’ up, and don’t strain yourself too much, just for my peace of mind, all right?”
As much as you were reluctant to admit it, you did love when Daryl appeased you, when he showed his soft side by giving into you. He really did love you, and that was always so apparent to you. You’d never known anyone to love you as much as he did.
“Thank you, honey,” you said, wrapping your arms underneath his to hold his shoulder blades as you hugged him. He didn’t stiffen at all anymore, not even in public. He just held you back, his hand tangling in the hand on the back of your head. “I promise I won’t do anything reckless.”
He scoffed, causing you to pull away and look at him in mock offense. “What?” you asked. “You don’t believe me?”
“Not after what I saw last night,” he said. “When ya went lookin’ for the kids. Never seen ya so… scary.”
“I scared you?”
“No, jus’... Saw somethin’ crazy in your eyes.” He thought back to that moment you pushed him away from the door, and he chuckled a little to himself. “Maybe I was a little bit scared of you.”
You lowered your head as you felt the blush begin to bloom in your cheeks, but his hands caressed your jawline to lift your head back up.
“Ain’t a bad thing,” he said. “I kinda liked it… I love my crazy woman.”
You let out a loud snort, and he broke into a wide grin, always amused by your little mannerisms. “Stop it,” you laughed. “I was worried about the kids.”
“I know, I was, too. Just ain’t ever seen ya like that. You’re always so damn sweet.”
“Well, it’s good to know I can still surprise you.” You leaned in to peck his lips, but he didn’t let you pull away, instead pulling you closer to deepen your kiss just a little.
There wasn’t much more time to stand around, though. When the bus was loaded, it was time to head for the Commonwealth.
You said your goodbyes to Robin and Westley, leaving them and the Grimes children in the care of Nabila.
The bus took you to the same train you’d hijacked just the other day. It was rather convenient that one of the Commonwealth prisoners was himself a train conductor before being taken into custody.
Of course, you brought along your journal. Well, the thirteenth or fourteenth volume. You’d gone through so many journals over the years, keeping track of both personal events and the ones that you considered history. The Commonwealth was at least six hours away by train, going at full speed. You’d have plenty of time to catch your future readers up to speed.
Date: April 17, 2021
Time: 1:45 PM
We set out at 8 AM, now we’re nearing the place where the border between West Virginia and Ohio once was. The primary objective of this mission is to return the Commonwealth citizens who were unlawfully imprisoned and sent to the labor camp at Alexandria back home. At that point, it should become clear that Governor Pamela Milton is a corrupt tyrant who must be removed from power.
I must be honest in saying that I don’t know what will happen to Milton, but I don’t think killing her is the best solution. Years ago, I thought Negan should’ve been killed after the Savior War, and I still stand by that, but Milton isn’t like Negan. She is weak on her own, posing little threat. What’s dangerous is her power, her greed, and those things are fueled by her influence over other people. Without that influence, she’s weak. We’ve already gathered support from the Commonwealth Army at Alexandria, and I am willing to bet that once the citizens of Commonwealth realize where their missing loved ones have been taken, they will turn on Milton, too, and there’s strength in numbers.
I am unsure of the future for the Commonwealth, but whatever it is, it must be better than how it is now.
You paused for a moment, no longer able to continue your mostly factual account. Instead, you turned the page to reveal a fresh one. You’d never been too good at separating your personal entries from your historical ones, but in a way, you found it comforting. Perhaps one day someone would read about your life, too.
It’s been a week now since Aaron, Lydia, Elijah, and Jerry left the Commonwealth with the hopes of bringing supplies back to Alexandria. They weren’t there yesterday, when we got there. I am starting to worry. Daryl tried to tell me that it would take much longer for them to get to Alexandria, considering they took a wagon. I know he’s right, he’s always right, and so damn rational sometimes. I almost like it better when he’s irrational, but he keeps me grounded, which is good. My hope is that perhaps they will reach Alexandria while we’re away, and maybe we’ll see them there when we get back.
I know I shouldn’t be here. I should be home, with Robin and Westley. The thing is, I want to be here. I want to be part of this. I haven’t told Daryl, because I know he’d worry, but I do feel tired, and still a bit weak from the birth. I know I will read this back someday and think, “God, you’re such an idiot,” and I (or you) would be right.
I’m an idiot, but at least I’ll get to see Pamela taken down. At least there will be reckoning for the lives she destroyed. That’s why it matters to me.
Daryl told me something funny yesterday. He told me he’d take me on a “vacation” once all this is over. I don’t know where he’s getting that from. We can’t just up and leave the kids, but I have to admit, there is something tempting about the idea. It would be really nice, just the two of us for maybe a week or two. I’ve got no idea where we’d go. Daryl said we could just hop on his bike and drive somewhere. I’d like to go to France, or Italy. I know it’s impossible, but just for the record, it’d be nice to see the Eiffel Tower and all that. Well, if it’s still there and hasn’t fallen apart or anything. I wonder if French walkers are different from American ones. Could that be possible? Perhaps their groans have an accent. I’d like to find out someday, though I know I never will.
By the time the train arrived at the nearest Commonwealth depot, Princess had rigged a radio signal to contact Mercer. She informed you all of the news—Eugene’s trial deemed him guilty, but Mercer and the other Commonwealth soldiers that followed him were keeping him in hiding, safe from Milton’s forces.
Mercer promised to meet Princess and your group at the gate, letting you all in. You had an in. The only problem was, here you sat just outside the gates, waiting. You counted thirty minutes on your watch.
Negan voiced your own concerns: “Hey, we are sittin’ ducks,” he said. “He ain’t comin’ and we can’t wait.”
As much as you hated to agree with Negan, you did. Silently, but you did.
Itching to get inside, you peered through the bush that blocked view of your group from the guards. There were only four, that should’ve been easy to get through, you figured. But if they shot, you knew their bullets were tracked. It would draw attention to any of the other Commonwealth soldiers that weren’t on your side.
“Guys, please,” replied Princess. “Mercer’s gonna show up.”
Daryl kept an eye on you from the side, always keeping you in his sight, as he said he would. “We’re runnin’ out of time,” he said.
“I’m gonna head around,” said Carol. “Try to find another way to slip in.”
“How many are there, (Y/N)?” Maggie asked.
You squinted through the bush, trying to cover any blind spots in case you missed any. “Four.” You made the signal to Connie—four soldiers.
“We could take ‘em,” said Maggie.
You turned back to keep an eye on the guards’ movements. Their guns were drawn, but they were low. They were, unfortunately, doing their job. With what you knew from Daryl about the Commonwealth Army, a lot of them didn’t do their jobs. You really wished these guards were more negligent, solely for your group’s benefit.
They were so attentive, in fact, that they must’ve heard someone’s whispers, or perhaps a movement. They began to approach the bush.
“Those guards go missing,” said Rosita, “clock’s ticking on us.”
“Hey,” you said, still in a whisper, but noticeably a lot more urgently.
“Hold on a minute,” said the foremost guard. “Did you hear that?”
The others held still, quiet. If your heart was beating any faster, you swore it might’ve become audible.
You kept your hand on your axe, just in case. There was a perfect space between the armor plates, just at the base of the neck. You could drive the tip of your axe through it quite quickly, without having to draw your gun. A silent kill was always better.
Mentally, you prepared yourself to strike, to take a man’s life, something you had always been uneasy with, but the voice that came from one of the guard’s radios saved you the trouble of the inevitable moral dilemma.
“Sector D, gather all available units,” the grainy voice said, “and report to the east gate immediately. Mercer needs bodies to deal with an incoming swarm.”
A herd was the last thing on Earth you needed, but at this moment, it was, dare you say, incredibly convenient. At the very least, the Commonwealth’s walls were well-fortified, and their army was equipped to deal with the possibility of a herd getting close. There was no way it would get inside.
The guard spoke into his radio, “Sir, does that include tunnel H?”
“Yes,” the now slightly exasperated voice responded. “That includes tunnel H.”
“So are we supposed to just… abandon our post?”
Please.
“Goddamnit, soldier, it’s locked!” the voice replied harshly now. “We’ve got it covered on this end. Stop wasting time, move!”
Oh, God, you thought. That sounds serious. You exchanged a look with Daryl, but he didn’t look worried. He nodded to you, his face a resolute sculpture of heroism. Well, to you, anyway. He made you strong with just one look. You’d be able to last a while longer before you’d need that reassurance again.
“All right, let’s move!” said the soldier. “You heard it, move!”
Your eyes diligently followed the four guards’ moves, and when they boarded a jeep, starting the engine, you breathed a sigh of relief. The vehicle drove away, out of your line of vision, and you turned to face the rest of the group, nodding as you said: “I think we’re good.”
“You sure?” asked Daryl.
You turned back to confirm. “Yes,” you said firmly. “We need to move now.”
Tunnel H was the destination. Daryl knew it ran underneath the city, and it would lead you to the center. If the radio communication was anything to go by, the tunnel wasn’t guarded. Luck was on your side.
Maggie led the way in, the others following. Daryl stood guard, vigilantly looking out for any hostiles. You kept your word, staying with him, but when you began to make your way into the dark corridor, he pulled you aside, his hand holding yours.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Always together, right?”
“Always,” you agreed.
Tunnel H was more like a sewer, with dripping pipes and soaked floors and a foul stench permeating in the air. Quite literally, you were seeing the dark, festering underbelly of the Commonwealth.
Guns drawn, you traveled deeper, until you reached a ladder attached to the wall of the tunnel, with the letter 2 printed on it. According to the plan, that was the closest entrance to Union Station, where Pamela was more than likely to be.
Indeed, it took you there.
You came out from the underground in a maintenance room, then filed slowly, cautiously, one by one into the station.
The Commonwealth citizens moved first, eager to make their stand against Milton. They were led by Tyler Davis, the young man who’d been the first to stand against Pamela. He’d been sent to Alexandria not long after Daryl’s encounter with him at the Halloween Masquerade.
You came through next, but it was quiet, empty. It didn’t feel right, but Tyler and other Commonwealth citizens were already in the center of the station, above which were balconies that wrapped around the perimeter, looking down to the first floor.
“Somethin’ ain’t right,” Daryl said behind you. You could feel it, too, so you kept your gun drawn.
Daryl studied his surroundings, and his suspicions were confirmed. Padlocked chains were laced around the handles of the doors that led to the outside. Your eyes followed his, and a sinkhole formed in your stomach.
“Come on guys,” Tyler called out to your group. “We’re almost there.”
Daryl only had a moment to register the trap, but it was too late. “Get down!” he bellowed, instinctively grabbing your wrist and pulling you with him as he scrambled into one of the alcoves of the corridor.
All the while, a rain of gunshots came from the second floor balconies above the station. You caught a glimpse of Tyler and some of the others meeting their fate, pulverized by bullets. The men shooting in the balconies weren’t armored. They were in plain clothes, not unlike the men who jumped and kidnapped you. You figured they must’ve been agents for Pamela, loyal to her and only her, not the people of the Commonwealth.
The group became split several ways, with some taking cover underneath the stairs, others scrambling underneath benches and archways. Across the corridor from you and Daryl was Maggie, tucked away in the opposite alcove. You took stock of where the others went, making mental notes to not lose anybody in the chaos.
In the span of just thirty seconds, the once quiet, empty station became a battlefield, with the enemy firing rounds of .50 caliber bullets in merciless succession. Glass shattered, screams erupted from those who had been hit, or were still clinging to life. You swore you even heard the men shooting at you cheering for each other, encouraging one another to “take them out.”
In times like these, whatever reservations you had for firing back were squandered. They were trying to kill your people, and doing it with glee. Your position wasn’t ideal for shooting back, but the guards were mobile, with little coverage on the balcony. They had the advantage of being above you, but you had the cover.
You shot at one man, attempting to make his way down the stairs. Another shot went through a man’s torso, while Daryl’s went through a head. His aim was always better.
You aimed to shoot another one of Milton’s cronies, but the trigger was stuck, and you remembered now one of the reasons you hated guns so much. “Shit,” you murmured, then raised your voice to say, “My gun’s jammed!”
Happiness is a loaded weapon.
Daryl only pushed you back behind him, then shot again. “I got it!”
You felt powerless now. All you had was your axe and a few knives, and you wished that, somewhere along the way, you’d learned to use a bow. Daryl had offered, but you found it somehow cliche that you’d learn the same weapon as your husband. Go figure.
In the meantime, you’d keep a sharp eye out behind Daryl, looking out for any windows, but there were none. At least, not from this angle. It was absolute bedlam, a circus of blood and bullets. Time seemed to move so fast—explosive bolts, ten thousand volts, a million miles an hour.
You weren’t just under the gun, you were under at least twenty of them, cold, silver pipes spitting hot molten metal, all for an idiot, chosen to hold the highest card, wielding a power much too immense for any living human being to have.
That’s when you saw her, the governor herself. Eyes wide, you were transfixed on her, her shocked face. How could she have any shock? She didn’t deserve to feel such a thing. She’d created her own reality, built on the backs of people who had been made to believe that this was how things were, that things were worse outside the walls.
She made the ultimate mistake when she tried to take your home away. She should’ve known better, after what she knew about your people. She underestimated Alexandria, and that would be her fatal mistake.
When you thought of all the damage she caused, the lives she’d ruined, your hatred rose like bile in the back of your throat. You could taste it on your tongue when she kneeled down beside the guard Daryl had just shot, and picked up his rifle.
Your lips agape in confusion, you exchanged a look with Maggie across the corridor. She looked for a moment, taking a deep breath before stepping out from the alcove, her body almost fully unprotected as she shot up at the balcony.
Volleying between Pamela and Maggie, you noticed that the governor had her sights on her, your friend. Your best friend. She’d always been your best friend, and you weren’t about to lose her. You’d lost too many friends.
Your inner voice was muted, everything was, except the beating of your heart. Something, maybe pure stupidity, or maybe heroism, or something in between, propelled your body forward, sliding across the floor, into the line of fire. Your gun now dropped, you pushed Maggie back behind the wall, with the intention to get yourself there, too.
Intentions were always nice, in theory.
Your ears popped open when one single gunshot seemed to resound above all the rest. You didn’t feel pain at that moment. You only saw blackness, and heard a faint, bellowing, pleading cry that echoed through the station, lulling you into some kind of unconsciousness.
“No!”
He launched himself across the tile floor, his scream having silenced the barrage of gunfire. Your head in his hands, he murmured under his breath, “No, no, no, no, no…”
It all came back again, flooding back.
“Wake up, (Y/N),” he said, his hands gently shaking you to no avail. “Wake up!” he roared.
Maggie looked on in shock, her eyes wide and her lips agape. Carol emerged from underneath the stairs where she’d hidden, seeing what happened, Daryl knelt by your bleeding body.
“We gotta go!” he cried out, his voice faltering, but still strong.
Machine fire broke out as Carol took the opportunity of the confusion to shoot at the remaining goons. Negan and Maggie joined to fire up at the balcony, forming a human barricade around you.
He begged, pleaded, for you to wake up, to tell him what he needed to do, to be alive. You were breathing, but barely. There was blood beginning to show beneath you, but he frantically looked to find the source to no success.
More gunfire, more blood. A million thoughts raced, and yet there was nothing, blankness. All he knew was you needed help, and in his panic, he cried out again, this time more in anger than in fear. “We gotta go!”
He lifted his head to turn, trying to locate some exit or something that could help. The answers had to be somewhere.
His gaze fell upon Ezekiel across the station, himself hidden behind a broken glass partition. He peered over the top, looking in horrified confusion at your near-lifeless body, strewn on the cold, bloody tile.
Daryl didn’t meet his eyes, he only spotted the fire extinguisher just behind him, strapped to the wall. “Throw it!” he bellowed, pointing to the device.
He procured the auxiliary handgun he’d haphazardly tucked in the waistband of his jeans, an occasional habit you often scolded him for, half-joking that he was likely to accidentally “shoot his dick off.” It would come in handy now.
Ezekiel flung the extinguisher into the air, though not without slight confusion at Daryl’s orders. It made sense when Daryl raised his gun, narrowing his eyes to point, aim, and shoot at the flying canister. The shot was enveloped by a plume of grey that soon shrouded the whole station, a kind of smoke bomb.
The rest was a blur, quite literally.
Daryl knew he could carry you, if just from the sheer panic and need to get you help. He tucked both arms underneath you, one at your shoulder blades, the other under your knees. With a great expenditure of strength, every last bit of it in him, he hoisted you up. The air was thick with smoke, gunshots still raining from somewhere, but he was invisible.
His own vision, though, was compromised, and frantically he turned in each and every direction to find a way out, until a voice called to him. It was Maggie, or maybe Carol, or maybe Diane, he couldn’t quite tell, it didn’t matter. “Daryl! This way!”
Emerging from the smoke, they came out into the open air, into Union Square. They veered off into an alley, with Ezekiel leading the way. Something about a clinic, that’s all Daryl heard. That’s all he needed to know.
He tried so hard to keep you stable in his arms, but it was hard. He struggled to keep you up, your body weighing him down. Still, he didn’t let you fall.
“The clinic’s not far now!” Ezekiel called out, pointing in the direction. In that same direction, a large military jeep had approached, blocking the way through. The group staggered momentarily, until Ezekiel called out again, leading them down another path that jutted from the alley. “This way!” This way!”
This time, a black van. No way around, no shortcuts. “Fall back,” Ezekiel said.
It became clear when Daryl looked back, when they all looked back. Troopers were at the other end of the alley, but they weren’t shooting, they weren’t concerned with your group. They instead placed Commonwealth branded partitions, and chain link fences.
“They’re not following us!” Carol said.
And then he heard it. He didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to believe it, but it was hard not to know just what it was.
Magna must’ve heard it, too. “Wait! What is that?”
Snarling, wheezing, rattling, growling.
That’s when they started flooding the alleyway, and they all realized where they were: the slums. This was where the poor lived, the lower classes. They were driving the herd into the home of the Commonwealth’s poor, where once you lived. It was evil, and it had Pamela Milton written all over it.
“They’re penning us in!” shouted Ezekiel.
They weren’t just walking, though. They were climbing.
“What the fuck?” said Negan, watching the lone walker rise about the rest, climbing upon the abandoned cart as it approached.
Daryl saw it, too. He didn’t care. He took a glance down at you, still unconscious, still barely breathing.
Somewhere in the chaos, Eugene and Max had found your group, and Luke and Jules emerged from the herd, barrelling towards them. None of that registered to Daryl, though, who quickly jumped back into action.
“Move! Move!”
They rounded another corner, where more walkers were flooding in. Carol was observant, though. “Cat ‘em off!” she cried. “We got that alley! Clear a path!”
The labyrinthian alleyways they ran through seemed to dead end after dead end, with the dead literally blocking the end. Carol guided Daryl as he carried you, taking out walkers with the others to clear a path.
He squeezed through, between the corner of a wall and the impending herd. He sidestepped, narrowly escaping the clutches of a walker, whose rotten hand came much too close to grabbing you.
For a moment then, your eyes seemed to flutter open, just for a brief moment. He kept moving, losing his breath but never giving out. He looked down at you, a small burst of relief, but you looked so weak.
Still, you recognized him, how could you not? In the haze of your stupor, you mumbled his name. Looking back, you saw past his arm—a stampede of walkers tripping over each other, flooding into the alley, but not following you.
That was the last thing you’d see for several minutes, during which you swore you heard him say, “I’m here.”
~
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