When the dead roam - (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 32 - I got faith in ya

The small town of Alexandria was once a quant little cul-de-sac, hiding at the edge of Washington, Virginia. It's streets were never littered and buildings were never defiled. Families would sit on their front porch, beer in hand, with a picnic lay out on the deck as they blissfully watched the days go by. Children would play on the road, kicking footballs and laughing whilst the family dog ran amongst them. A single police man would patrol the streets, watching and waiting for some kind of disturbance.

But nothing ever happened in Old Alexandria. Nothing.

Now? Now the families were screaming. Locking their doors to all who dare approach and defending themselves when needs must. Sure, the vast majority has never had the misfortune of dealing with 'walkers' but survivors, Lou thought, were worse than the undead. It was a whole other world out there. And people change.

She fought hard to keep the leaking blood in her system, applying pressure to the wound and grimacing as the crimson liquid escaped through the cracks in between her fingers. Her gun was still missing and there was no way she could shoot an arrow. Now doubt about it. She was screwed.

"Why does it always have to be the arm?" she grumbled as she veered off to the left and made a run for the building ahead. She wasn't sure how much blood she had lost, but her fading vision was enough to ensure it was too much.

It took a total of three seconds to make it to the large doors and a further two to pry it open with her bloody fingers, but it wasn't until she was safely inside that she allowed herself to focus on the bullet lodged in her forearm. The adrenaline had aided her well so far but all she had left now was a severely pissed off attitude and an uncontrollable agony that shot through her bicep.

"God. Hello?" she daren't shout too loud "Nicole? Nicole are you here?"

"Lou? Christ what happened?" her brother asked, rather stupidly, as he rounded the dark corner. She grunted in reply, her eyes slowly falling to the floor as her lids began to close. "Lou? Fuck. Help! Denise?"

Shawn placed an arm around her torso and another under her knees, lifted her from the floor and raced towards a small, dimly lit room containing medical supplies. A stocky brunette stood in the far corner, frantically sorting through shelves of mis-matched pill bottles. Each old label had been re-written in black ink  semi-organized in alphabetical order.

"Denise? You gotta help her" he begged, carefully placing his seemingly fragile sister on a cold metal operating table. "Please"

If she could see herself now, Shawn knew, she would be completely embarrassed. Nobody should ever think of her as weak, she was as tough as they come. But lying there, unconscious and covered in her own blood, Louise looked positively delicate.

And she would've hated it. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

There had been nothing but silence across the radio transceiver that hung over Daryl's shoulder, much unlike the roaring bike beneath his leather covered figure. His grip on the handles had significantly tightened as he found himself constantly glancing at the plastic box next to his face. The pit in his stomach was growing.

The horde maintained their distance behind him. Just has he continued to keep a safe meter apart from Abraham's bright red car. "Hey! We gone five miles out yet?" he yelled over the combined rumbling of their engines as he tilted towards the left.

Abraham leaned slightly out of the drivers window, adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and took a quick glance at his dashboard. "Give or take some yardage. You got a reason for askin'?"

"Next intersection we're gonna spin 'round and go back!"

"The plan is to go fifteen more" Sasha shouted from the passenger seat, moving closer to the ginger and getting a better view of the hunter.

"Yeah, ima change that" Daryl replied, adjusting his grip on the throttle and slowing down slightly to match their speed "Fives gonna 'ave to work"

The red head sighed and rubbed his temple with a free hand. "The magic number's twenty. That's the mission. That's makin' sure they're munching on infirm raccoons the rest of their undead lives instead of us!"

With a sigh Daryl looked back at the hundreds of walking dead behind them as Sasha spoke again. "You wanna go we can't stop you. But without you they could stop us"

He paused for the longest moment, reviing his engine to fill the awkward silence. A large sigh escaped his mouth and he took one final look at his two friends before he took of down the road. 

 "Nah. I got faith in ya"