Unbreakable threads

Chapter Twenty-five: Daryl gets hurt

Below, Shane paced back and forth near the RV, his hands clenched into fists, muttering to himself in a tone too low for anyone else to understand. His face was set in a scowl, his expression clouded with frustration and something darker, an edge that seemed to grow sharper every time he glanced back toward the farmhouse. His gaze would linger on the windows, then flicker toward the woods, as if he were weighing options, lost in a storm of conflicting emotions.

Occasionally, he'd stop and glance up at Andrea, his jaw tight as if wanting to say something, but instead, he resumed his pacing, shoulders tense. Whatever was eating at him seemed to deepen by the minute, the frustration bubbling up as he muttered about wasted time, the risks they were taking, and the choices Rick kept making.

Andrea, watching his restless movement from her perch, felt her own unease growing. She kept her eyes trained on the horizon but couldn't ignore the tension radiating from Shane. The others sensed it too, exchanging uneasy glances as they went about their tasks. In the quiet lull, the farm felt like a powder keg, everyone waiting to see who would strike the match first.

Suddenly Shane squinted, looking across at the open field ahead of him. his gaze locked on a figure moving unsteadily through the field. The staggering gait, the disheveled clothes—it looked like a walker. Without a second thought, he took off running, intent on taking it down before it got any closer. Alyssa caught sight of him sprinting across the field, and her stomach twisted with concern as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

Rick, who had just stepped out of the farmhouse, noticed Shane's sudden movement and immediately followed, breaking into a run as he tried to catch up. They moved quickly, adrenaline spiking as they closed the distance.

But before they could reach the figure, a gunshot cracked through the air, echoing across the quiet farmland. Andrea, perched on top of the RV, had fired, eager to prove her vigilance and protect the group.

Shane and Rick skidded to a halt, glancing toward the figure as it stumbled and collapsed to one knee, clutching the side of its head. That's when the truth hit them like a punch to the gut—it wasn't a walker. It was Daryl.

"Daryl!" Rick shouted, horror spreading across his face as he and Shane rushed forward, dread twisting in his stomach. As they reached him, they could see a graze along the side of Daryl's head where Andrea's bullet had struck, blood trickling down his temple. He looked disoriented, his eyes half-closed from the pain, his face pale and covered in dirt, blood staining his side from his wound.

Daryl looked up at them, grimacing as he tried to steady himself, his hand pressed to his head. "Guess I look worse than I thought," he muttered, a weak, bitter smirk crossing his face.

Shane's face twisted with guilt and frustration, but Rick immediately dropped to one knee beside Daryl, concern etched deep in his features. "Hang on, Daryl," he said, steadying him. "We didn't know... Andrea thought..."

Daryl waved him off, his voice rough. "Ain't the first time someone's thought I looked like somethin' to put down." But the effort to keep his usual tough demeanor was weak; the blood loss and exhaustion had clearly taken a toll.

Alyssa had reached the edge of the field, watching in shock as the scene unfolded. She felt a pang of worry as she took in Daryl's condition, the bandage around his side soaked with fresh blood, his head now bleeding from Andrea's bullet graze. She wanted to run to him, but something held her back, her emotions swirling in a mix of relief, anger, and guilt.

Andrea, realizing her mistake, climbed down from the RV, her face pale as she approached cautiously. "I—I thought you were..." she stammered, words failing her as she took in the scene.

Rick shot her a hard look but held back any anger, focusing instead on Daryl, who was clearly struggling. "Let's get him inside," Rick said, slipping an arm under Daryl's shoulders. Shane helped support him on the other side, the three of them moving carefully toward the farmhouse.

Alyssa followed closely, her heart pounding as she watched Daryl, concern etched on her face. Daryl met her gaze briefly, his eyes unreadable, and then looked away, gritting his teeth as he focused on each step.

Back at the farmhouse, Hershel took over, directing Rick and Shane to lay Daryl down in a spare room so he could treat him. As everyone gathered anxiously outside, Andrea stood off to the side, guilt written across her face as she struggled to process her mistake. Alyssa looked between Andrea and the others, the tension and unspoken emotions hanging thick in the air.

The group waited in uneasy silence as Hershel tended to Daryl, each of them grappling with the events of the day, the weight of mistakes and misunderstandings settling over them.

Hershel worked with steady hands, cleaning and dressing the wound on Daryl's side, his tone stern as he muttered, "That horse you took out? Her name's Nervous Nelly for a reason." He gave Daryl a hard look. "You shouldn't take without asking. I could've given you a better horse, one that wouldn't throw you first sign of trouble. I know you're determined to find that girl, but if you keep getting yourself hurt, you won't be any use to her."

Daryl grimaced but didn't argue, knowing Hershel was right. The pain from his side and the graze on his head was enough to keep him silent, though the shame and frustration in his eyes were unmistakable.

Meanwhile, Alyssa paced the room, her heart pounding with guilt and anger. She felt terrible about the argument she'd had with Daryl that morning, the harsh words she'd thrown at him. She could see now just how hard he'd been pushing himself, the toll it was taking. But instead of apologizing or finding a way to make things right, her frustration found a new target.

"Are you kidding me, Andrea?" she spat, whirling around. "You could've killed him! You didn't even bother to look close enough before you shot. What the hell were you thinking, you dumb bimbo?"

Andrea's face went white, her mouth opening in shock, but no words came out. The whole room went silent, everyone's eyes shifting to Alyssa with a mix of surprise and concern.

Rick's face hardened, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. He took a step toward Alyssa, his voice firm. "That's enough, Alyssa."

Alyssa's anger simmered, but Rick's stern tone cut through it, grounding her for a moment. She looked at her father, seeing the disappointment in his gaze, and felt her own emotions knot up, a mix of shame and regret. She hadn't meant for it to come out like that, hadn't meant to throw all her frustration at Andrea, but the stress of everything—the argument with Daryl, his injuries, the close call—had all boiled over.

Andrea, still shaken, took a step back, her own face clouding with guilt and embarrassment as she muttered, "I... I'm sorry. I thought..." Her voice trailed off, and she quickly turned away, retreating outside before anyone could say more.

Alyssa swallowed, the silence in the room heavy. She felt the weight of her father's gaze, but it was Daryl's eyes she couldn't bring herself to meet. Her outburst hadn't changed anything; it hadn't erased the worry, the hurt, or the guilt.