CHAPTER FOURTEEN
[ burning ]
Misty is sitting outside of her tent with Addie when Lori comes running down to the camp, screaming her name. "Misty!" Her head turns, and in an instant she is on her feet. Lori stops at the edge of camp, urgency in her eyes, in her voice. "Misty, you have to come now!"
Without question, she follows Lori back to the house. Into the house, and into the bedroom, where Beth is sitting on her bed crying, hand clamped over her wrist. Her wrist, soaked in red. Maggie has already brought her the medical supplies.
She doesn't waste any time. She pulls up the chair and starts stitching up her wrist. The cut isn't deep, thankfully, and she sews it up without difficulty. Once it's closed up, she washes the blood away, and offers Beth a smile.
"It isn't all sorrow, you know," she says. "I thought it was, thought it might be, now. But it's not."
Beth nods, the only indication that she'd heard, and Misty leaves the girl alone in her room. She is met by Maggie in the living room, worry in her eyes. "Is she okay?"
"The cut wasn't deep. She's just fine."
Maggie lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank you." She brushes past Misty to go find her sister in her bedroom.
Misty exhales a long breath, and walks back to camp.
Rick and Shane don't end up leaving Randall where they'd driven him out to. He knows where the farm is, they explain. But they don't know anything else about him. So, the next morning, they wait patiently for Daryl to come back. He's in the barn, with Randall, getting information. Torturing him.
When he returns, his knuckles are red, blood trickling down the back of his hand. "Boy there's got thirty men," he tells the group. "They have heavy artillery and they ain't looking to make friends. They roll through here, our boys are dead. And our women, they're gonna," he pauses, risking a brief glance at Misty. "They're gonna wish they were."
Jesus. Daryl stalks off when he finishes, as he always does. Misty lets out a breath, and follows. She grabs her medical supplies (Hershel had given her some to keep with her, in case of an emergency) and walks down to his camp.
He sits outside his tent, bloody knuckles standing out against the background of browns and grays. When she approaches, he glances up, but doesn't say anything. "I'm here to clean and bandage your hands, and you're gonna let me," she tells him, leaving no room to argue.
And he doesn't. She pulls up another log that sits nearby and sits herself down on it, across from him. She takes out a rag, pours some water over it, and takes his right hand. She cleans the blood off, taking care not to press too hard against his split knuckles. She doesn't talk. Doesn't say a word, even though he expects her to.
He is watching her. Not her hands, as they clean off his, but her face, as it is trained on her work. He watches her face, now that he feels he is safe from her gaze, now that he is certain she won't look up, too invested in her work.
Truth is, she feels his gaze on her and chooses to keep her eyes down on his hands.
She wipes the blood off of his right hand, then takes her roll of bandages and slowly, carefully, wraps his knuckles. When she is finished, she drops his right hand and takes his left to repeat the process.
She doesn't talk. The entire time, she doesn't say a word. It's so unlike her, to not talk, to not even attempt conversation. He hates it.
And all this time, in this palpable, suffocating silence, her hands on his. Her hand cradling his so gently as she dabs at the blood, as she washes away all evidence of what he'd done that morning.
He can't help but watch her. Daryl Dixon has always been observant, and she is his favourite subject. He watches her, the woman who has pushed and pushed her way into his life. The woman who refuses to leave him alone, refuses to give up on him.
He watches her, brows furrowed in concentration, lips parted ever so slightly, and notices that her eyes are hazel, a light green with a medium brown ringed around the pupil. They remind him of the woods, the only place he'd ever felt comfortable.
His skin feels like it's fucking burning, and it is not from the split open skin on his knuckles. Her skin, brushing against his, makes his whole body feel like it's on fire. He wonders when the last time a person had been so close was. He knows that there has never been a time when someone was so gentle. At least without wanting something in return.
And that is why she is infuriating. Infuriating, and confusing. She does things for him, she tries to pull him back in when he pushes away, and she has no ulterior motive. He sees it in those eyes of hers. He just doesn't understand why. Why she would do all this so willingly, and for him, of all people. For others, he understands. But why, why does she care so much when it comes to him?
He has been watching for so long, focusing only on her face and the feeling of her fingers, that he doesn't realize she's almost finished.
She ties off the last bandage, and it's over. She pulls back, pulls away, and he finds his skin suddenly cold. Suddenly, he is painfully aware of how alone, how distant he is from her. From everyone. But that's what he wants. It's better this way. Isn't it?
He doesn't say anything as she stands up and starts to walk away. He can't. He tries, his mouth opening and closing at her retreating form, but no words come out. He has never been good at knowing what to say.
But she is. She stops, pauses, just for a moment, and says, "you deserve better, you know. Than to just be the guy they send to torture people. You're more valuable than that. You're worth more than that."
Then she's gone, heading back to the camp, leaving her words to echo in his mind.
You're worth more than that.
He doesn't remember the last time anyone had thought he was worth anything.
You deserve better.
You're more valuable than that.
You're worth more than that.
And with those few words, she has torn his world apart.
She knew he would come. She just also knows she isn't ready to see the disappointment on his face. He finds her mid-afternoon folding hers and Addie's laundry.
Dale walks up to her with that kind face of his, and looks her dead in the eyes. "Good afternoon," he greets, and she sees how certain he is that this will be his first yes vote, the first person on his side.
"Hey, Dale." Don't be disappointed in me, she thinks. Please.
"Can I ask where you stand on the Randall issue?"
Please don't. "Dale, I. . ." she trails off, shaking her head.
"You're on their side." Ah, and there's the disappointment. "Misty, you're a doctor."
Yes, a doctor. A do-no-harm, anti-death penalty, doctor. But she isn't that, not anymore. Nobody gets to be anything anymore. "Was. I was a doctor, Dale. Now all I am is someone trying to survive, to protect her family, and I cannot, will not, have him around my daughter. Around Carl, Glenn, everybody else. I can't."
"So you want to execute him just in case?"
"The world is different now, Dale," she tells him. "I wish it wasn't. And if you'd asked me before all this, I would've supported you in a heartbeat. But this isn't before. This is now. This is survival."
No Hippocratic Oath to violate anymore.
"You won't even consider it?"
"I have. Since yesterday. I have gone over every option, every choice we have, and none of them are good. We can't be sure, and we need to be. Killing him is sure." She offers him a sad smile, one which he does not return. "I'm sorry, Dale. I really am."
"Yeah, me too."
The group gathers at sundown to discuss Randall's fate. Misty stands beside Glenn, with Addie at her side. Her daughter, she has decided, is old enough to hear. Daryl stands just feet away, eyes still avoiding hers. "So how do we do this?" Glenn begins when they're all gathered. "Just take a vote?"
"Does it have to be unanimous?" Andrea offers.
"How about majority rules?" Lori offers.
"Well let's just, let's just see where everybody stands, then we can talk through the options," Rick tells them.
"Well, where I sit, there's only one way to move forward." Shane. It makes her a little uneasy that she agrees with him.
"Killing him. Right?" Dale says, outraged. "I mean, why even bother to even take a vote? It's clear which way the wind's blowing."
"Well if people believe we should spare him, I wanna know," Rick replies.
"Well I can tell you it's a small group. Maybe just. . . me and Glenn."
Glenn looks up at Dale, guilt on his face. He'd told Misty which way he was going to vote earlier, and it had shocked her. "Look, I- I think you're pretty much right about everything, all the time, but this. . ."
"They've got you scared!"
"He's not one of us! And we've- we've lost too many people already." Misty puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"How about you? Do you agree with this?" Dale asks, looking at Maggie.
"Couldn't we continue keeping him prisoner?" She replies with, looking around the room.
"Just another mouth to feed," Daryl answers, adding his voice to the conversation.
"It may be a lean winter," Hershel speaks.
"We could ration better," Lori offers.
"He could be an asset," Dale says, continuing his bid. "Give him a chance to prove himself."
"Put him to work," Glenn continues Dale's thought.
"We're not letting him walk around," Rick tells them.
"We could put an escort on him," Maggie says.
"Who wants to volunteer for that duty?" Shane interjects, entirely not on board for any solution that keeps the boy alive.
"I will," Dale responds.
"I don't think any of us should be walking around with this guy," Rick says.
"He's right, I wouldn't feel safe unless he was tied up," Lori agrees.
"We can't exactly put chains around his ankles, sentence him to hard labour," Andrea says.
"Look, say we let him join us, right?" Shane begins. "Maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice. We let our guard down and maybe he runs off, brings back his 30 men."
"So the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime that he may never even attempt?" Dale asks. "If we do this, we're saying there's no hope. Rule of law is dead, there is no civilization."
"Oh my god." Misty rolls her eyes at Shane from across the room.
"Could you drive him farther out? Leave him?" Hershel asks.
"You barely came back this time," Lori dismisses the idea. "There are walkers, you could break down, you could get lost."
"Or get ambushed," Daryl adds.
"They're right, we should not put our own people at risk," Glenn says.
"If you. . . go through with it," Patricia speaks up. "How would you do it? Would he suffer?"
"We could hang him, right? Just snap his neck?" Shane says.
"I thought about that," Rick replies. "Shooting may be more humane."
"What about the body? Do we bury him-" T-Dog starts, only to be interrupted by Dale.
"Hold on, hold on! You're talking about this like it's already decided!"
"Been talkin' all day, goin' around in circles. You just wanna go around in circles again?" Daryl asks.
"This is a young man's life! And it is worth more than a five minute conversation! Is this what it's come to? We kill someone because we can't decide what else to do with him? You saved him! And now look at us. He's been tortured. He's gonna be executed. How are we any better than those people that we're so afraid of?"
"We aren't," Misty finally speaks after a long silence. "We aren't any better, and maybe we don't get to be. Maybe nobody gets to have the moral highground anymore. We all just have to do what we have to to survive."
Another long silence follows her words, as everyone soaks up the weight of them. And then, Shane breaks it. "We all know what needs to be done."
But Rick shakes his head. "No, Dale is right. We can't leave any stone unturned here. We have a responsibility-"
He is interrupted by Andrea. "So what's the other solution?"
And Lori interrupts her: "Let Rick finish."
"We haven't come up with a single viable option yet. I wish we could, but-" She is interrupted again by Dale.
"So let's work on it!"
"Stop it!" Carol speaks suddenly from where she stands by the door. "Just stop it! I'm sick of everybody arguing and fighting. I didn't ask for this. You can't ask us to decide something like this. Please decide, either of you, both of you. But leave me out."
"Not speaking out, or killing him yourself. There's no difference."
"All right, that's enough," Rick interjects. "Anybody who wants the floor before we make the final decision has the chance."
There is silence, until Dale speaks again. "You once said that we don't kill the living," he says to Rick.
"Well, that was before the living tried to kill us."
"But don't you see? If we do this, the people that we were, the world that we knew is dead. And this new world is ugly. It's harsh. It's- it's survival of the fittest. And that's a world I don't wanna live in, and I don't- and I don't believe that any of you do. I can't. Please. Let's just do what's right. Isn't there anybody else who's gonna stand with me?"
Silence. Until, "he's right," Andrea says, suddenly. "We should try to find another way."
"We have to," Addie suddenly speaks, drawing every eye. But she is only looking up, looking at Misty. "We have to. We can't do this. We can't kill him."
And though Misty does not agree, she respects her opinion, and is glad, even, because it means that Addie, like Dale, still has a little hope left.
"Anybody else?" Rick asks, and this time, the long silence is final.
"Are you all gonna watch, too?" Dale says, tears in his eyes. And Misty wishes she could join him, she does. But she can't. She just can't. "No, you'll go hide your heads in your tents and try to forget that we're slaughtering a human being. Woah," he exhales, shaking his head. "I won't be a party to it."
He walks away, but stops beside Daryl right before he leaves and puts a hand on his shoulder. "This group is broken."
Night falls, and the camp waits to hear the gunshot. Rick, Shane, and Daryl have taken Randall to the barn to be executed, and here they wait, stomachs turning, for it to be over.
But the shot doesn't come. And it doesn't come. And it doesn't come. And then Rick is coming back to camp, shaking his head, telling them, "we're keeping him in custody, for now."
Andrea smiles, stands, and says, "I'm gonna find Dale."
Minutes later, they hear the screams. Everybody grabs the nearest weapon, and runs toward it. Daryl is there first, calling them over. "Over here! Help!"
Rick gets there, falls to his knees, and begins shouting her name. "Misty! Misty! Misty, we need Misty!"
But she is only steps behind. She arrives, and tears gather in her eyes. On the ground is Dale, his stomach ripped open, guts pouring out.
"What can we do?" Rick asks her. "Can we move him?"
"He won't make the trip," she tells him.
"We have to do the operation here." He springs into actions, immediately starting to barking orders.
But it's no use. She can't operate on this, not here, not even before. It's beyond repair. "Rick," she tries interrupting him. "Rick. Rick!" Finally, he looks at her, and she shakes her head.
Tears roll down her cheeks. Everyone is crying, sobbing, Rick too. "He's suffering," Andrea says. "Do something!"
Rick takes his gun, and points it at Dale's head. But he can't. He can't. Daryl sets his hand on Rick's, on the one holding the gun, and gently takes the gun from him. Daryl points it at Dale's head, and says, "sorry, brother."
The gun fires.