Rebel Yell (Daryl Dixon Fanfiction)

Chapter 17

Daryl barely makes it down the road two miles before he has to pull over on the side of the road. Apparently the glass got him much worse than he first figured. Blood is everywhere. It's dripping down into his seat and onto the floorboard. The pools of blood collecting around him along with the sharp stinging pain along the left side of his body and hands lets him know how wrong his assumption was.

His head swims as he sits there in his truck. At this rate, there's no way he would be able to make it home... or even the hospital. Daryl reaches around to his back pocket with his right arm and pulls out his wallet. He grimaces at the blood seeping into the bottom of it and opens it. He pulls out the card and throws his wallet down onto the bench beside him. He pulls out his phone and concentrates hard through his fussy vision and types the number on the card.

"Hello?"

"Hey, um... Doc...?"

"Who is this?"

Daryl swallows audibly, loud enough for the person on the other end to hear. "It's uh, Daryl... Dixon."

"What is it, son?" Hershel asks, his voice filled with concern.

Daryl looks down at his side, soggy with his blood, and swallows again. His mouth feels like it's filled with cotton.

"I need some help with some stitches, man. I'm bleedin' pretty bad." His voice comes out more ragged than he would have liked, but he's suddenly finding it hard to get enough oxygen even though he's breathing in as deep as he can.

"Where are you now?" Hershel asks quickly.

"I'm parked in mah truck...." he pauses to catch his breath, "on the side a' Cecile Road about fifteen miles west a' -" Daryl chokes for a second and swallows, "Butler Hill."

"That's not far from my farm; do you think you can drive?"

Daryl shakes his head in an attempt to clear his vision, "I think so..." He rasps, "I'm facing Butler Hill. Which way?"

"It's the other direction, but my driveway is about five miles from your spot. Just look for the big green mailbox that says Greene, with an 'e' at the end, at the end of a dirt road."

Daryl nods his head even though Hershel can't see him and starts his truck.

"Stay on the line, son. I'd be terrible for you to wreck on your way to my place and me not know."

Daryl grunts and puts his phone on speaker phone and sets it down beside his leg. He makes a u-turn and head back the way he just came, concentrating hard on keeping his truck on the road.

There are a few times he almost lets his truck run off into the ditch, but he corrects himself in the nick of time. He speeds past Tommy's house, gritting his teeth, and almost runs off the road again when he hits a sharp turn. Daryl curses to himself through all the excitement, which results in Hershel asking if he's alright, who just grunts in confirmation. He really shouldn't be driving, though. He can't even see straight. Eventually he sees the green mailbox and he begins to feel the motivation to keep himself going kick back up, and almost smiles to himself.

"Ahrigh'," he breaths out, "I'm drivin' down ya driveway."

"Good... Almost there."

His motivation fades, though, when the dirt road keeps stretching on for what seems like miles and his condition only continues to deteriorate.

"Why the hell ya driveway gotta be so fuckin' long, huh?" He huffs out, breathing harder in an attempt to keep his nausea at bay, but he's failing. His vision clouds over with the production of tears as his insides begin to churn violently with an intense heat overcoming his insides, making him himself break out into a cold sweat.