Daryl was growing increasingly more uncomfortable in his damp, cold cell. He had gotten used to the scarce lighting and the repetitive footsteps that echoed across the floors outside but he still longed for the day he could escape - for the day he could see her.
Although his tough outer shell would never let him admit it, she occupied his every thought. Every sentence he strung together in his mind ended with her and each time his cell door was opened, he desperately wished to see her on the other side, breaking him free and hauling him back to the safety of Alexandria...but Louise never showed. There wasn't a doubt in his kind that she was trying - that she was fighting to get him back but his patience was starting to run thin.
This time however, he was certain she she wasn't there. The sound of ruffled papers outside of his door made him look up, eyes narrowed and glued into place. Quick, rapid breathing accompanied the noise as a small, creased, yellow piece of paper was pushed under his door and towards him. It took Daryl a few seconds to react but he reached his hand out and slid it across the ground before he brought the paper to his face. Even in the dim lights it was easy to read.
'GO NOW'
On the back of the sheet was a single match and the keys to his own motorbike. Whoever was outside unlocked the door but kept it closed, disguising it as secure for anyone who passed the tiny room but giving him the chance to run. Daryl stumbled to his feet and pushed it open a little, peering out either side of the heavy metal before closing it behind him and taking off quietly down the hallway.
He scaled the walls, ensuring to stay pressed against them as he moved. His bare feet barely made a noise on the concrete and the breaths that left him were already shallow and short from the anxiety coursing through his veins.
The possibility of running into his 'saviour' was oddly lower than being recaptured, so he persisted to keep quiet, only making small yet hasty movements. Every corner was taken with caution. That was until a loud shattering of glass echoed a few meters in front of him.
He froze in place for the briefest of moments before flight instincts kicked in and he barged into the room on his right, failing to the check the interior and pressing his back against the door. Daryl wasn't sure if his look was finally turning or if it was just a happy coincidence but he was relieved to find the room completely devoid of another human. Somewhat-clean clothes lay scattered across the floor and the small couch that sat in the center of the room. Empty cans of food accompanied the fabric and the tiniest television he had ever saw sat on the cluttered coffee table - though he wouldn't fool himself into thinking it actually worked.
Quickly, he grabbed the shirt closest to him and tugged it over his head, slipped into a dark grey pair of sweatpants and shoved his bare feet into a pair of sneakers that were slightly too small. Still, he was glad to be out of the hideous 'A' tracksuit that had been forced upon him by Dwight. The next thing he set his sight on was the half eaten jar of crunchy peanut butter that had been hidden underneath his newly worn shirt. Without a second thought, he unscrewed the lid and dug a spoon into the cold food before bringing it to his lips. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was until the butter touched his tongue; his stomach started to rumble loudly and he found himself scramming the last of the jar in record time.
Daryl sat there for the longest while before all of his fear of getting caught was replaced by the determination to get out of there. He grumbled to himself, cursing the fact that he had been so dormant for such a long time. Never in his life had he been so ashamed; he always prided himself of his ability to be strong and yet as much as he refused to back down, he had also given into the fact that he probably wouldn't escape. So, the archer pulled himself together, kicked over the lamp beside the couch, grabbed the first weapon he could find and exited the gross room.
He sprinted down the hallway, all sense of caution muted partly and pushed down the handle of the door at the end. The long iron pipe in his hand felt oddly comforting and as he stepped out into the courtyard, he readied himself to use it without the slightest bit of hesitation. A long row of bikes stud at the end of the yard, lined up neatly against the wired fences. He took off towards the first on the left - the one that he had spent months fixing back in Alexandria - and bend down besides it as he searched his pockets for the key.
"What the hell?" Fat Joey asked, rounding the corner as he stuffed a sandwich into his mouth. The second he noticed the weapon, his hands flew up and the food dropped to the concrete below. "Whoa...whoa..."
Nobody could've blamed him for being scared. The dangerous look in Daryl's eyes matched that of a wild animal hunting his prey; he was fueled with hatred and distain and nothing was going to stop him from escaping this time.
"It's cool...I swear...buddy, you can walk right out that back gate there" he stuttered, pointing towards the break in the fences before placing the same hand on his chest. "I won't say anything to anybody...I'm supposed to be there right now but...listen, I'm just tryin' to get by...just like you"
The archer moved closer towards him, one step after the other more menacing and determined.
"Please-"
The dull thud of metal on bone echoed and the Savior dropped, trying to huddle himself together as Daryl connected the weapon with his body over and over again. He wasn't sure if it was the fear or pure anger but he couldn't stop. Every time he pulled away, he raised the pipe above his head and brought it down again until he was certain Fat Joey wasn't going to get up...and even then he carried on. He delivered hit after hit until someone else arrived.
"Daryl..." a soft, oddly calming voice whispered. Jesus looked towards his friend, watching him pant frantically as blood splatted up his already dirty clothes. "Daryl"
Daryl looked up, alarmed at another persons presence. When he noticed who it was he visible calmed before his eyes drifted to the gun in the dead man's waistband and he bent to pick it up.
"It ain't just about gettin' by 'ere... It's about gettin' it all" his hoarse voice said. "Let's go, I got the keys"
The two climbed onto the bike - both full of mixed feelings - and drove out of The Sanctuary.
أنت تقرأ
When the dead roam - (Daryl Dixon)
أدب الهواةNot a single cell in her body was scared. Nobody should be scared of death anymore; it's inevitable. Each direction you took still ended with a dead body. Another loved one to bury and mourn. In the end, death is the only certain aspect of life.
