All That's Left (The Walking Dead FanFiction)

Chapter 33

It seems like all I do since I got here is spend time in the infirmary. And that would make sense if I were sick or dying, but I’m neither of those. Now Jonah won’t let me in; and I don’t know what to do anymore. He won’t let me see him and I don’t know what to do.

                The pain that I feel right now is like a knife between my eyes. The blade is slowly making its way to my brain, forcing me to feel everything all at once. And I know when the blade finally reaches my brain is when I’ll feel like I can’t do this anymore.

                When I found Daryl on the floor, partially covered in his own blood, I screamed. I gathered his face in my hands. My fingers swiped the traces of blood from his mouth. The corners of his lips moved, trying to tell me something. He uttered sounds I couldn’t understand.

And then he went unconscious.

Sam’s screams were louder than mine—which I didn’t think was possible. Two men from C-Block carried Daryl to the infirmary while everyone else just watched in horror. I followed close behind them, begging them to be careful. He’s all I have.

Without a word I handed Sam to Carol, and continued following the two men down the dark hallway. A crowd of people formed behind us. I think some of them asked what was wrong and if they could help. The noise became too much and I couldn’t hear anything at all.

The next several hours of my life were a blur: they laid his lifeless body on the cot; blood dripped from his mouth; Levi gave him medication that in the end won’t do much; I sat beside him, holding his hand; and at some point I fell asleep.

When I woke up. I was in my cell; I couldn’t remember how I got here.

Daryl.

I got up too fast. My vision blurred. My feet drummed against the concrete as I ran to the infirmary. I almost knocked into someone and didn’t bother apologizing. Reaching the door, I grabbed the key under the table—

The key wasn’t there.

I banged on the door. “Jonah!” I screamed.

Jonah appeared on the other side of the glass. His dirty blonde was messy, various strands sticking up in every direction. Dark purple moons occupied the space under his eyes. He reminded me of the dead outside.

I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t open the door.

“Macy,” he said loud enough so I could hear him through the glass.

“How is he? Jonah, please open the door.” My words came out rushed.

Daryl’s dead. I could see it in his eyes; that’s why he wouldn’t let me in.

“He’s alive, Macy. He was conscious for a few hours this morning,” he said grimly.

“Let me in so I can see him.”

He hesitated. Ran a hand over his tired face.

“Jonah, why aren’t you letting me in? Open the door!” I shrieked; I didn’t recognize my voice.

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

I blinked twice. Tears ran down my face. “Why’re you doing this?”

“Daryl requested to not see you. And as his doctor I have to respect his wishes.” He tried to hide the emotion behind his eyes. His face gave it all away: he wanted to let me in; he didn’t like seeing me cry.

Shaking my head I said, “I don’t understand. Just open the door, Jonah.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. If you want to discuss your immunity with me we’ll have to do that someplace else.”