Cult » Daryl Dixon

sixty two

sixty two.

Each time I tried to open my eyes, my vision was clouded with small dots of bright light. The sight made me dizzy. I couldn't remember what happened after Daryl was shot. All I remember was my vision going black and then trying to wake up, but my head was pounding too much to open my eyes fully. I could tell we were being transported in the back of some vehicle but I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. I could feel myself being shaken awake now.

"Aften," Daryl mumbled tiredly. He was almost inaudible. I gazed up at him. His face was the palest I've ever seen it. He was wrapped in a blanket, the right side of his body drenched in blood. I felt myself become weak again, leaning into him. He held me in his arms, his blood leaking onto my clothes and staining them red. My head weakly flopped back onto his wounded arm, even more blood covering my face. I closed my eyes. Glenn sat the farthest away from us, shaking uncontrollably and quietly sobbing into his arm. Michonne sat near us in silence, only the tiniest bit of sweat covering her skin. I struggled to open my eyes again.

"Daryl," I whispered. He placed his hand on this side of my face, rubbing his thumb against my cheek. "What happened?

"It's okay, baby, I got you," he said to me as everything faded to black again. I was blinded by the headlights of a car when I came to, tight hands on my arms.

"We've got people to meet," someone said with excitement as I was yanked out of the back of a van and shoved down onto my knees. I barely had time to process what was even going on. I could see everyone lined up on either side of me: Rick, Carl, Sasha, Maggie, Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, Aaron, Glenn, Michonne, Daryl, and tons of other guys I didn't recognize at all surrounding us and closing us in. They clutched large weapons in their hands, staring at us almost with smirks on their face like they were excited with what was about to happen. I don't know what they wanted with us, but I wanted to go home. I wanted this to be over. God only knows how much I wished this was all just a dream.

"How sweet. The whole band's back together," some guy with a receding hairline grinned at us. "Let's meet the man, shall we?" He knocked on the door of an RV. It swung open and a tall, lanky man came down the steps.

"Pissing our pants yet," he asked us, flashing a smile. He sauntered over to us; he was dressed in a black leather jacket with a red scarf underneath it and light gray pants. He sighed, holding a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire over his shoulder. I eyed it fearfully. I'd never seen anything like that. "Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close... gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon," he slightly chuckled. What the hell was he talking about? Bastard was just reveling in taunting us, making us sit here and wonder what the hell he was gonna do to us. "Which one of you pricks is the leader?"

"This one." The guy with the receding hairline pointed at Rick. The man with the bat sauntered over to Rick, staring him down.

"Hi. You're Rick, right?" He tilted his head to the side, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm Negan and I do not appreciate you killing my men!" A chill ran down my spine. We were all gonna pay for Rick's mistakes and for what? Why? What happened? What did he even do? "Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people." Holy shit, how many fucking people did Rick kill? "Not fucking cool. You have no fucking idea how not fucking cool that shit is, but I think you're gonna be up to speed here shortly. Oh, you are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes. Fuck yeah you are!" Negan held back a chuckle while he watched Rick tremble with fear, weakness.