Zedler, M.D. // Daryl Dixon

Chapter One Hundred and Eight: Climax

•one hundred and eight•

Beatrix

The next couple of days pass by quickly, which I am eternally grateful for. The slower things are, the more time I have to set and think about things. The more I think about things, the more depressed I start to feel. It's like I just can't take anymore. Losing Caroline, Merle, Lucas, and now Carl has completely shattered me. I can pretend and distract myself all I want, but at the end of the day, my shell has cracked. I'm broken.

"You all right?" Enid asks, lightly squeezing my shoulder.

"I will be," I give her a sad smile before directing my attention back to the conversation at hand.

"The Saviors did something to their weapons," Daryl pauses for a moment as he looks at Tara, who obviously has been shot with one of their weapons. "Everyone they cut up or shot got sick. Some of them turned."

"What? No," Enid shakes he head in disbelief, reaching down to squeeze my hand.

"Okay," Tara says, taking a deep breath. She thinks she's going to die.

"Hey, you're gonna be fine," I move to sit down beside of her, rubbing her lower back lightly. "I'll stay with her tonight. The rest of you need to go on and get some sleep."

The rest of them nod as they leave the room, even though Daryl seems a little hesitant. I take a seat in the chair sitting in the corner of the room while Tara lays down on the bed. I can tell she's terrified, and I wish there was something more I could do to help her, but there's just not.

After a while, Tara finally falls asleep and her snores fill the room, leaving me to my thoughts. When Daryl and I had first woken up a few hours ago to screaming, I was terrified. I thought the Saviors had come back, but they didn't. Some of our people just turned and started killing each other, as if that was any better. Then to top it off, a kid named Henry let out all of the prisoners we had. The act alone made me question whether or not I really needed to be having children, because if mine were to do something like that, I would probably kill them.

It feels like I'm living a nightmare. I even pinch my skin several times, hard enough to leave bruises on my arms just to see if I'll wake up. Unfortunately, this is real, though. This is my life now. This is my new normal. How in the hell did I end up here?

When morning comes and Tara is still snoring, I'm filled with relief. I walk over to feel her head, and she's fever free, which is a great thing. She starts to wake up with me standing over her, and she jumps when she opens her eyes.

"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," I pull my hand away from her. "I was just checking to see if you have a fever. You don't. I think you're in the clear, Tara. No sickness for you."

"So he shot me with a clean arrow?" She asks, almost like she doesn't want to know the answer.

"I think so, yeah. He had to have shot you because he knew his arrow was clean and he didn't want to get you infected," I reason. I hate to give Dwight any credit at all, but he deserves it here. "He saved your life, Tara."

"Shit," she scoffs, leaning her head back on the pillow. "I wonder what Daryl's gonna think."

"Daryl's not gonna give a shit," I answer. "Daryl wants the bastard dead either way."

"He's starting to rub off on you," she smiles, pushing herself to sit up on the bed. "You talk just like him."

"Oh, God, don't say that," I laugh as I back up to give her some space.

The two of us make our way downstairs and out of the house, trying to find everyone else. My stomach growls, but I have to tell it to shut the hell up. Breakfast is a luxury that we don't get to have anymore, at least not now.