Survive | Daryl Dixon ¹

𝐱𝐯𝐢. 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛

"What are H.I.T.'s?" Astrid demanded. Nearby, Daryl still paced the room. He was waiting—waiting for another opportunity to strike at the doctor who had seemingly damned them all.

"Vi, define," Jenner ordered sharply.

"H.I.T.s—" Vi's computerized voice responded. "High-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives which consist of a two-stage aerosol ignition that produces a blast wave of significantly greater power and duration than any other known explosive except nuclear. The vacuum-pressure effect ignites oxygen between five-thousand and six-thousand degrees and is useful when the greatest loss of life and damage to structures is desired."

Astrid felt sick. Jenner really had damned them all. In less than twenty-five minutes, the CDC would implode. Astrid would die trapped, her body engulfed in a fiery inferno. In a firebomb.

"It sets the air on fire . . ." Jenner's chilling words hung in the air. Astrid's stomach churned, and she took a deep, desperate gasp of breath, trying to process the horror that awaited them. Jenner's demeanor was sickening, almost pleased with the impending catastrophe. "No pain," He murmured. "An end to sorrow . . . grief . . . regret. Everything. It ends it all."

The doctor's calloused words were like daggers to Astrid's soul. "You're a murderer if you do this, Jenner!" She yelled. "You can't just lock us in here against our will!"

Somewhere behind her, the desperate sounds of Daryl and Shane beating at the doors echoed the urgency of their plight. They were all trapped like animals in a cage.

"I did not force anyone's hand," Jenner coldly reminded her. "You should've left well enough alone. It would've been so much easier."

"Easier for who?" Lori snarled.

"All of you!" Jenner insisted. "You know what's out there—a short, brutal life and an agonizing death . . . You—your sister—" He had turned his attention to Andrea now, who was huddled on the floor, her expression unreadable. "What was her name?"

"Amy," Andrea's answer was barely a whisper, a ghost passing beyond her lips.

"Amy," Jenner repeated the name softly. "You know what this does, Andrea. You've seen it." He turned to Astrid, his gaze piercing into her. "And you have to. Would you rather be torn apart by teeth than by this?" He gestured to the deadly countdown on the screen. His beady eyes then shifted to Rick, who had reapproached from the ramp, his face cold. "Is that really what you would want for your own wife and son, as well?" He pressed.

The doctor's words were a taunt, a twisted manipulation that Rick would have no part of. "I don't want this!" He snarled.

"Rick," Shane called. He, too, had pulled away from the sealed door, defeated and breathless. "We can't make a dent."

"Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher," Jenner revealed.

"Well, your head ain't!" Daryl snapped back. He charged at Jenner again—this time with an ax—but Rick and Glenn managed to restrain him, swiftly holding the hunter back even as he attempted to kick out his feet at the doctor. Meanwhile, T-Dog ripped the ax from Daryl's hands and threw it to the hard ground. Astrid winced as the weapon clattered with a resounding thud.

"You do want this, Rick!" Jenner proclaimed, trying again once the futile attempt at violence was dissipated. "Last night, you said you knew it was just a matter of time before everybody you loved was dead."

What?

Astrid felt disturbed at the revelation that Rick Grimes had spoken those words—the acceptance of their imminent demise. Had he truly given up hope for his family? For their entire group—including Astrid? Did the sheriff really only see her as another dead girl, just another casualty of their would-be tragic journey?