my tears ricochet

Chapter Ninety Five

Daryl hated every second he was still alive. His instinct was to flee the room with the maps and planning, to avoid the fact that he was a monster to himself. Anger felt like a dagger pressed against his heart and every time it beat, it cut itself against it.

Negan wanted a tracker and Daryl was somehow rising up in this new world. His value was escalating. Daryl's hands killed people so Negan could sit and do no harm and now his mind was unraveling a game trail beyond any forest, beyond what Merle had patiently taught him.

"They ain't driving," he muttered. "Goes in and out of the woods. That'll slow 'em down."

Glenn's life mattered. He saw the outlines of elevation and wondered how far the person was planning on moving. Their warpath had slowed down but the signs of movement were monitored hourly. Negan's scouts were constantly reporting details of fresh tracks or recently killed walkers.

"Why the hell aren't they driving?" Simon frowned. His face looked oddly stoic as he looked between Daryl and the selection of paperwork.

Daryl said nothing. He was trying to pinpoint a ghost, not rationalize their specific intentions.

"They're pushing beyond our lines," Dwight drew a boundary with a green pen. Daryl frowned when he saw the exact scale of Negan's territory. "Looks like they're trying to vacate. To hell with them."

"Bad manners to leave without greeting the host. Guess we'll have to correct them of their etiquette."

Daryl wanted to light the map on fire. Whoever was running wild across the stretch of land had done enough to hurt Negan. He didn't want to lead them into their final fall.

But Glenn's life was at stake.

"Land thins out up here," Daryl relented. He tried looking at the lines and details like it was merely a snare for a rabbit. "Higher you go, less space to run. Catch 'em if you send cars around the valley to set up across the bridge."

Dwight hummed. "Send another half out like a comb, keep the prick moving forward. It'll make them leave the area and take off for good."

"We'll need to set out sentries. Keep anyone from slipping down the gorge."

Run, he thought. Run fast enough to escape the net.

Daryl moved his hand towards the green pen lying on the table. "Use the bridge."

He could imagine how the hours played out before the clearing, the careful calculations and staging that went into herding his people along the roads. Negan liked playing with intimidation. His theatre was preformed with blood and bone, exacting a specific price from anyone who crossed him.

Abraham had paid that price. Rosita had paid it by consequence. Daryl was just trying to keep the chain from stretching out any further.

Ivy, he thought idly, would have liked roaming the upper wedge of land. Hiking up the steeper ridges wouldn't have bothered her and she probably would have taken easily to the challenge of it. Scaling buildings meant nothing to her. Portions of rock slabs jutting up out of the ground might have been interesting in contrast, the landscape broken with slopes and rivers. Someone would have to remind her to avoid breaking her neck from falling because she would be laughing up at it all like a game.

His daughter had stashed a rifle on a rooftop as a failsafe. She had figured out the best lookouts in Alexandria. A bit of forged landscape would be nothing to her mind.

Daryl forced away the thought of her. It was easier to exist if he didn't remember his failures, the way anger had soured between them. He wanted to undo what was carved straight into the bone and Ivy was in the process of leaving every single dream he had of her.