His Wings (D.D. fanfiction)

Chapter 6

A few weeks had slipped away, and I found myself grappling with the challenges of caring for my newfound companion, Hope. Children had never been my strong suit; I'd always struggled with understanding them.

I had put my own search for my family on hold and thought we should focus on our mission; finding Hope's uncle and the group. Although I ran away from them I found myself needing them for companionship, mostly Daryl even though he didn't like me, but I guess that's what happens when you hang out with a man you once loved.

Surprisingly, Hope remained as resilient and optimistic as ever. She clung to the belief that there was still hope for us to reunite with her family and my group. I wished I could share in her unwavering faith. She'd often reach for my hand or stay close whenever fear gripped her, and I found myself reciprocating. I struggled to conceal my own anxiety, but I suspected she could sense it, as we had to make a hasty escape or find hiding spots whenever we encountered walkers

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Exhaustion weighed us down as we aimlessly roamed, Hope riding on my back, her tiny arms wrapped around my neck. She played with a strand of my wavy hair, her warm breath on the nape of my neck a comforting presence.

"Maybe we'll find some people who can help us," I murmured, trudging across a vast field. A glimmer of hope sparked within me at the prospect of discovering others—our people.

Hope's weight pressed against me, and her breathing grew steady as she drifted into slumber. The farmhouse came into view, and with each weary step, she became heavier. My attention was drawn to a flimsy shack nearby, and I halted abruptly, eyeing it with caution. It sounded like there was someone inside. Before I could react, a man emerged from the shack, shotgun in hand. Deep furrows etched his forehead, his thin lips a taut line, and anger stiffened his jaw.

"Stop!" I froze as he glanced at Hope on my back.

"Who the hell are you?" His voice crackled with tension.

"Why are you holding Hope?" His tone snapped, and I instinctively drew her closer to me, prompting a soft moan from her as she slept.

"Why have you got Hope?" He insisted, taking a step toward us. I took a cautious step back, keeping my gaze locked with his, his dark soot-colored eyes meeting mine.

"Get on the ground," he ordered, and reluctantly, I complied, fearing for Hope's safety.

"Let go of the girl!" he commanded, and I gently set her down, her slumber undisturbed. He cleared his throat, tears welling in his eyes as he looked at Hope. His gaze turned to fury when he turned his attention to me, gripping the shotgun's stock and delivering a harsh blow to my head.

I awoke, my vision filled with the sight of a wooden ceiling. I surveyed my surroundings. I was in the dimly lit, wooden shack from earlier.

My hands tried to instinctively reach for my throbbing head but they were being constricted by something. I peered over my shoulder and saw that they were tied to a beam behind me.

Oh, no.

The memories flooded back—how the man had knocked me out and taken Hope. He must have stashed me here after the attack.

I had to find Hope; she had to be safe. I attempted to stand up but realized my legs were tied too. Panic surged as I began to scream. Someone had to come to my rescue. Someone had to help me save Hope.

"Help! Help!" My voice echoed through the small space, eyes darting around the wooden walls in search of an escape route. Suddenly, the shed's door flung open, and a man entered. I flinched and turned away as I heard his heavy boots approaching.