21; CIVILISATION ISN'T DEAD (season two, episode eleven)
Ups! Gambar ini tidak mengikuti Pedoman Konten kami. Untuk melanjutkan publikasi, hapuslah gambar ini atau unggah gambar lain.
RANDALL HAD RETURNED, not off of his own accord but by Rick's. Apparently, it had come to light that Randall went to school with Maggie and knew of the Greene family, so naturally, the assumption that he'd know where to find the farm was quickly formed.
He wasn't the only thing brought back by Rick and Shane — the insufferable animosity between the two men had encompassed the farm once more. Rick's eye was rung with a dark bruise and a minor slash had sliced through his stubble but Shane was worse off. His entire face was splashed with cuts and each one was surrounded by a foul yellowish tint.
It was clear to anyone the two men had fought and whilst it had been implied that it was over Randall, Freya knew exactly what it had been over — or rather who it had been over; her mother, the baby inside of her and Carl.
Freya figured she wasn't a contender for his undying love anymore. Thank god.
The group were congregated around a dim fire, Freya holding her hands out over its crackling flames in an attempt to combat the augury of winter that had infiltrated the morning air.
"So, what you gonna do?" Lori questioned Rick, crouched at Freya's feet, pouring coffee into a mug. "I think we'd all feel better if we knew the plan."
Andrea stepped forward, eyeballing the leader suspiciously. "Is there a plan?"
"We gonna keep him here?" Glenn queried.
Rick's eyes swivelled to the side, catching Shane's who stood beside him. They'd rarely agreed on anything since their impromptu reunion almost two weeks earlier, but today — determining Randall's ultimate status— they were on the same side. "We'll know soon enough."
A twig snapped behind them and concurrently, their heads whipped round in alarm.
But their worry was for nought — it was just Daryl; their chosen interrogator. He'd spent all morning in the barn with Randall, and the blood coating his knuckles attested to that fact. He was willing to cross the blurred line between right and wrong, do whatever it took to ensure the group's safety. . . Honestly, he was displaying far better leadership qualities than Shane ever had.
"Boy there's got a gang," Daryl informed them, crossbow slung over his shoulder as he came to a halt. "Thirty men. Got heavy artillery and they ain't lookin' to make friends. They roll through here, our boys are dead and our women. . . they're gonna wish they were."
Carol's eyes zoned in on the swollen, bloody knuckles blanched around his crossbow. "What did you do?"
Daryl's eyes drifted over the congealed blood clinging to his skin with an unsettling air of nonchalance. "Had a little chat."
