The Darkest Storm

Punching in a Dream

Darcy wakes with a jump and the shivering feeling of a cold sweat that drips from her hairline. She bolts upright in her sleeping bag, breathing sharp and fast. Brushing her loose chestnut waves back from her face where it is stuck with the clammy sweat, she swallows hard, playing the nightmare back in her mind over and over again.

Frowning in disbelief, her eyes scan to the soft light trickling in through the mosquito-proof holes of the tents window. These dreams that have been through her mind ever since the start of the apocalypse were now back again, after so long.

The dreams aren't anything special or groundbreaking. Darcy wasn't one to hack into her thoughts and decipher each and every little thing, because what did it matter anyway? Besides, walkers in every which way direction trying to tear her apart with their grimy disgusting hands isn't really a dream: it's real life.

But, needless to say, that doesn't mean that her carefully eyeing the man sleeping across the way in the same tent doesn't raise some suspicion of what chaotic and comical nonsense her mind perked up today.

Darcy blows out a huge breath of air and closes her eyes, taking herself through the dream once more.

Darcy stood in the sun, the wind blowing her hair lightly as the dirt, which now became a part of her flawless features covered spots of her face. She was tired, and her eyes scanned her surroundings – in seconds the field had shifted towards darkness and death, the bodies of the lost encircled her as they lay quietly for the time being.

Darcy held her bow as she watched in silence, not even the wind made a sound or a cricket could be heard. Completely still, her hazel eyes viewed them one by one as the bodies got up and stared straight back at her.

It was up until this point the dream had been seen before. Darcy would usually see herself try and flee, only being caught by one of the walkers in a failed attempt to escape. Only this time, a hand enclosed around hers pulling her to safety and into a friend's company. As they ran together, distant screams began to filter through Darcy's mind. The more she concentrated, the louder they became until she finally jolted awake.

Darcy once again glances over at Daryl who sleeps soundly with his back facing her direction. It was him who pulled her to safety, and she watches him with confusion before standing up and exiting the tent to get away even if for a moment.

Stepping into the morning light, Darcy squints and brings an unsteady hand up to shield her eyes. A quiet voice makes her turn her head, seeing Carol standing near the edge of the cliff with her arms crossed and overlooking the view.

"You're up early." She says.

"Couldn't sleep." Darcy mumbles.

"Me either." Carol shrugs. "It seems to be happening more and more now. Especially with Ed gone."

"I'm sorry." Darcy says sincerely, taking in the expression on the broken woman's face.

Carol laughs slightly, trying to make light of the unpleasant situation. "You think I would get more sleep now that I have one monster out of my life." She rubs her nose. "Just have to deal with the dead ones now."

A silent minute passes. "How's your daughter doing?" Darcy's voice is just above a whisper. "Sophia, right?"

Carol sighs, nods, and turns towards the view. "Coping. Just like the rest of us."

Darcy kicks the toe of her boot into the dry dirt beneath her shoes. "It's a stupid question."

Carol shakes her head. "No, no it's not." She smiles sweetly. "And thank you, you're the first to ask. Everyone just assumes she's fine, that we're better –" Carol stops herself, thinking. "We are in a way. We're...better. Just like how Daryl's better with Merle gone –"