Outlive | Daryl Dixon ²

𝐱𝐱𝐱. 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐩

"Grady Memorial, maybe?" Astrid suggested, her memory reaching back into the past. "It sounds familiar. I think I was meant to do my fieldwork there when I was in school."

"Grady, the white crosses," He interpreted. "It might be where they're holin' up."

"That's great, but right now we need to go," She urged impatiently, brushing past Daryl and heading towards the exit. "Let's go, Daryl!"

Astrid tumbled out of the van's rear, her boots slamming onto the pavement. In one fluid motion, she yanked her gun from her waistband, but her heart sank as she checked the ammunition, realizing she had only four bullets. With at least two dozen walkers closing in on her, the odds were stacked greatly against her. Still, she raised her gun, knowing she had nothing left to lose. She squeezed the trigger, the gunshot punctuating the air as two walkers crumpled to the ground with a single bullet.

Daryl landed at her side a moment later. Her silent protector. He drove his knife into two walkers, their skulls pierced before he moved closer to Astrid again. She continued to fire over his shoulder, each shot sending a walker sprawling, but the bullets ran dry so quickly, rendering her gun useless. She reached for her knife next, but before she could grasp it, she was shoved backward.

"Back in the van!" Daryl roared.

Strong hands gripped Astrid's waist, and she was hoisted upward without any say in the matter. Daryl began pulling himself up into the van after her, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, granting him the necessary boost. The weight of his body pressed fully against hers, teetering now, and in the frantic struggle, Astrid was sent tumbling backward, her body careening until it crashed into the driver and passenger's seats.

Groaning and disoriented, she gazed upward, her eyes darting to the double doors of the van that Daryl had somehow managed to close. Yet even as the doors shielded them from the ravenous horde, the walkers still pounded on the metal, trying to find another way in.

Climbing to her unsteady knees, Astrid inched her way back toward the passenger's seat, her mind racing. "Is there anything we can use?"

"Nothin' but what we got," Daryl replied from somewhere behind her. Then, as if summoned, he materialized, sliding into the driver's seat beside her. Astrid's head spun as she beheld the precarious vista through the front windshield, revealing the hard concrete several stories below. Nausea clawed at her, threatening to overwhelm her. "All right." Daryl's hand found his seatbelt, and he snapped it into place with a click. "Buckle up," He ordered."

Astrid complied with his command, even as her hands fumbled with the seatbelt. She pressed herself back against the seat, her entire body quivering. The van groaned and creaked madly, its chassis straining under the sudden weight of both the living and the dead.

Daryl leaned forward and placed both hands on the dashboard. Without a second thought, Astrid's own hand shot forward, finding his, and their fingers intertwined. His palm radiated warmth against her fingers, and she held onto it with all her might.

Astrid's lower lip trembled, and a tidal wave of terror threatened to consume her, choking her words in her throat. "D-Daryl," She stammered. "Daryl, I—"

"Don't," He interrupted her sharply. "Don't say anythin' you wouldn't if we weren't like this."

Yet, in the face of imminent oblivion, there were countless thoughts unsaid that hung between them. If this fall marked their final moments, Astrid could not bear for her last words to Daryl to be tainted by hostility. Because he was not just a person. He was her entire world. She feared losing him, feared the finality of death that might tear them apart forever. But most of all, she feared he might never know the depths of her love for the life they had shared.