Walk with Me (A Daryl Dixon Fanfic)

Chapter 8: JUDGE, JURY, EXECUTIONER (PART 1)

WALK WITH ME

A WALKING DEAD Fanfiction

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Previously: Rick brought a young, wounded guy named Randall to the farm. Beth recovered but tried to commit suicide. Rick and Shane took Randall away to cut him loose. Emyli played tag with Beth and others. Daryl thought Emyli was bitten by a walker and came to her rescue—but Emyli trembled on Daryl's harsh handling of the situation.

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Chapter 8: JUDGE, JURY, EXECUTIONER (PART 1)

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Daryl paced back and forth in front of the young, wounded prisoner.

Rick and Shane went back with Randall still at the back of the Tucson; they failed to cut him loose. Now Daryl had to interrogate the boy as if they had not confirmed yet that he was a threat.

Daryl punched Randall who cried, whimpered in pain. He was definitely angry, but not necessarily with this guy. Daryl was angry with himself; for what happened with the silly, little girl yesterday and for even caring. He punched the kid again, this time, making sure his face touched the ground. Daryl punched him again, and again, and again; each punch fiercer than the previous one.

"I told you..." Randall pleaded with his bloody face.

"You told me shit!" Daryl took him by the collar and bumped him on the wall.

He continued to ask Randall questions. The questions barely came close to the number of punches and kicks, but he did ask him some and he got some answers. Daryl had to threaten him with a knife. He had to put the knife near, very near, to Randall's wounded leg, too near and too sharp for comfort. Thirty men with heavy artillery, that was what Randall confessed. Daryl kicked his wound and the kid screamed. He was about to just punch him some more and leave...when Randall made a very wrong move of sharing a story about his former group.

"These...these people took me in," he panted. "Not just guys, a whole group of 'em. Men, women—kids, too, just like you, people!" Daryl stepped back, eying Randall. "We go out, scavenge...just the men. One night we found this little campsite. A man and his two daughters...teenagers, you know? Real young...real cute...."

Daryl's back was on Randall but with the kid's words and tone, he had an idea where the story was going. He slowly turned to look at him with nothing but hatred in his eyes. Randall stopped talking and fidgeted under Daryl's glare, realizing too late that running his mouth had equaled to digging his grave. He opened his mouth again, knowing he was doomed whether he continued the story or not.

"Their daddy had to watch while these guys..." he said looking down, "they.... And they didn't kill him afterwards! They just...they just made him watch...."

The image that flashed before Daryl's eyes was not that of a father watching helplessly as his two daughters were violated; what Daryl saw was a scared, little girl...trying hard not to cry, trying hard not to make any sound so her younger sister would not hear while their father abused her—tearing her clothes apart and giving her the rod.

Randall was lying face-down on the floor, unmoving. The red light that blinded Daryl to fury was now gone. Both his fists were bloody. He looked down at the kid, most probably dead. He stood up and shook his head, slapped his own cheeks. He had never been this angry. And for what? For a silly, little girl who saved his life.

Daryl checked Randall's pulse; the kid was still alive. He went out of the barn to tell the group what he learned.

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"Are you alright?" Dale approached Emyli, sitting inside of the RV. The rest of the group were outside, awaiting Daryl from his interrogation with Randall.