Survive | Daryl Dixon ¹

𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢. 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Astrid stared at Glenn, eyes wide in a cocktail of terror and disbelief, while someone beyond their line of sight gasped. "What the hell was that? I swear someone pushed that door shut on me," The voice quivered, revealing a vulnerability beneath the bravado. Then, a demand pierced the night, a plea wrapped in caution. "Yo! Is someone in there? If someone's in there, we don't want any trouble. We're just looking for our friends. If something happened to them, just tell us."

"Dude, there's no one in there," Someone snickered. Astrid guessed there were at least three men standing right outside the door.

Astrid's gaze darted to Rick. The sheriff knelt at the brink of revelation, a whisper away from revealing their presence to an unknown peril. Their eyes locked, a silent exchange that spoke volumes, and in that fleeting connection, Astrid pleaded with all her might. Her head shook furiously as if to physically defy the unraveling of their concealed sanctuary. But Rick only nodded his head in return, seemingly damning them all.

Rick's voice thundered forth, "They drew on us!" His declaration echoed like a battle cry, the weight of the truth carrying through the violent night. The outside voices seemed to falter, their audibility diminished by the force of his words. "Dave and Tony are dead. Your friends drew on us! They gave us no choice! I'm sure we've all lost enough people, done things we wish we didn't have to, but it's like that now, you know that!"

In the wake of his insistence, a resounding silence descended, an eerie pause as reality hung suspended. But chaos quickly found them again. In retaliation for their fallen friends, gunshots pierced the air once more. Shards of glass rained down on Astrid and the others like crystalline rain, but amid the maelstrom, the sheriff rose with unwavering determination and shoved his own gun through the now-broken window, firing back.

Struggling to her feet amidst the tumult, Astrid's voice rang out with fervent urgency, a resurgence against the tide of danger. "Let's go!"

Behind her, Rick held the line, providing cover fire. "We all know this is not going to end well!" He yelled, all the while Astrid, Glenn, and Hershel made for the back of the building. "There's nothing in it for any of us! Just back off and no one else needs to get hurt!" His voice boomed like a warning.

With a vice-like grip on her arm, Glenn pulled Astrid towards the back door, their path a swift descent into the bowels of uncertainty. Down a dimly lit flight of stairs into the depths of the bar's basement, the promise of safety remained tantalizingly distant. Her gun held aloft like a beacon of protection, Astrid's senses were on high alert, prepared for any threat that dared to manifest in the shadows.

A lone door across the basement, leading to the back alley, was a portal to salvation. But the doorknob's sudden ominous turn triggered an instinctual response that transcended conscious thought. Astrid's finger squeezed the trigger, and round after round erupted from her weapon, tearing through the door with raw intensity. The stranger's presence on the other side dissolved amidst the gunfire, a fleeting specter vanquished by the sheer force of Astrid's own will to stay alive.

As the smoke cleared, leaving only the lingering scent of gunpowder and the echoing resonance of her actions, a voice cut through the aftermath from the floor above. "Glenn! Astrid!" Rick called fearfully.

"We're alright!" Astrid responded breathlessly. "It was just one of them!"

With Glenn at her side, Astrid moved towards the door once more. Yet, before they could exit, a new presence materialized behind them. Hershel. As Glenn jumped in surprise, Astrid's own response was marked by a steely calm, a veneer of fearlessness cultivated from the night's events.

Hershel's gaze held a weight of purpose as he addressed Glenn, "Rick wants you to try for the car."

Glenn froze. "Try?" He gulped.