[ vi. attempted apology ]
october 24th, 2010
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ASTRID LANCASTER KEPT HER heated head down as she trudged toward camp with her bloodied arms folded tightly over her chest. Kicking dirt up as she dragged her feet up the steep hill, she could see Daryl Dixon faintly on the outskirts of her vision, still shouting out for Merle. Even when he finally disappeared from her sight again, heading in the direction of the tent settlement, his loud and obnoxious voice still echoed off the trees.
Annoyance—and then reluctant guilt prodded at Astrid as she thought about Daryl. Truthfully, she had no idea what they were going to tell him regarding the status of his older brother. Hell. They had not even fully decided on even who was going to be the one to say anything at all! From over her shoulder, the men that trailed behind from the clearing were arguing fervidly, their voices clashing with frustration. They were all running out of time to come clean, and Astrid could feel the uncertainty mounting with every step they took closer camp—and to the truth.
"You know," Astrid finally said, slowing her pace so that she had rejoined the men. "Maybe I should just tell him."
Rick Grimes shook his head sternly. "No. This has nothing to do with you," He protested. "Besides," he sent her a wary glance, "you've already pissed him off. We don't need you getting hurt by saying the wrong thing to him." He relented tightly and added, "I'll tell him."
"No," T-Dog argued vehemently, overhearing their conversation as they exited the edge of the clearing's tree line. "It's my fault Merle's still up there."
"Why are we still arguing over this?" Glenn muttered hopelessly. "Someone, just tell him!"
A heavy sigh escaped Astrid's lips as she caught sight of Daryl again. He had returned to the light and was moving back and forth amongst the center of camp, ravaging its contents as he shouted to endless others, demanding answers to his brother's whereabouts. Gradually, his questioning turned to blatant profanities and curses. His behavior was growing more and more erratic until Rick was left with no choice but to intervene. Astrid braced as the sheriff stepped towards Daryl, her mind racing nervously for what was to come.
"Merle isn't here."
Daryl spun sharply at Rick's open confession. Suddenly, his wild movements ceased altogether. Astrid could not breathe, for they were all standing in the eye now. "What're you talking about?" He questioned.
"There was an accident in Atlanta," Rick informed, his voice somehow still steady and calm, even beneath the weight of Daryl's growing, malicious glare.
Suddenly, the anger in the restless man's eyes shifted. Perhaps it was only because of how close Astrid still stood to Rick, but now, the hunter's rigidity bore into her own soul, seemingly accusing her, too, of holding all the answers he desired. "Is he dead?" He demanded of her.
The weight of the question hung in the air, suffocating Astrid. She shrugged helplessly, and her crossed arms automatically unfolded, her hands hurrying to bury themselves deeply in her pockets. "I don't know," She admitted. "I don't think so."
"Either he is, or he isn't!" Daryl snapped back. His frustration quickly boiled over, and he took a threatening step forward, his rage seemingly directed at her—and anyone else who would eventually stand in his path. In a panic, Glenn hurriedly moved to sidestep in front of Astrid, and the jolt of protective movement caused the hunter to freeze, like an animal sensing a trap. As if remembering Rick as the very first instigator, Daryl's attention snapped back to the sheriff, effectively abandoning Astrid and Glenn completely. As the hunter assessed Rick, snarling at him like a would-be victim, Astrid's blood again ran cold at the frightening sight. Daryl Dixon was an otherworldly and violent storm locked in a mere human body, and he was near to unleashing his total destructive force.
"Who the hell are you?" He spat.
"Rick Grimes." The sheriff's voice was neither stern nor cold as he answered Daryl's question. It was simply direct and honest, and clear.
"What happened to my brother? Where'd he go?"
"He was a danger to the group that went into Atlanta," Rick explained further. "So, I handcuffed him to a roof to keep him from hurting someone."
"Hold on. Huh. Let me process this. So . . . So, you're saying . . . that you handcuffed my brother to a roof . . . and left him there?!"
Before anyone could intervene, Daryl lunged at Rick, fists swinging. Panic surged through Astrid at the sudden explosion of ferocity, as it also did Shane who stood nearby, and they instinctively moved to pull the two warring men away from each other, but where Shane managed to pull Rick away with ease, Astrid's own amicable attempt of action had unintended consequences. In the crackling barrage of her strength meeting his, Daryl's elbow struck back into Astrid's abdomen with brutal force. The muscle behind the hit knocked the breath out of her and sent her crumbling to the dirt, gasping for air.
Pain coursed through her body, but she refused to let it consume her. Ignoring the dozens of worried eyes that watched her from afar, Astrid's gaze went to Glenn who had rushed to her side once more. As she pushed up onto her knees, he secured an arm around her upper back and helped her return to her feet. "You okay?" He asked through a trembling breath.
Astrid's voice strained as she answered not to Glenn, but retorted to Daryl, her sarcasm a shield against the ache she felt throbbing against her ribs. "Never been better," She snapped coldly. As Daryl's emotionless gaze met hers, she could see the turmoil in his eyes. Repercussions had immediately set in, a climax reached. Anguish and guilt battled inwardly against Daryl's hardened exterior. But there was no time for reconciliation—not that Astrid would ever want it.
Elsewhere, T-Dog had finally stepped forward in the dusty circle, taking responsibility for the mishap, his voice filled with regret for the situation as a whole. "Don't blame them," He pleaded of the spitfire redneck. "It's my fault. I dropped the key."
Daryl recoiled once more, the prior fight likely already forgotten in his short-sighted mind. "And you didn't pick it up?" He growled.
T-Dog's expression dipped with shame. "I dropped it down a drain,"
"Just tell me this, then. Is he alive?" The painful question slipped from Daryl's curled lips. His voice had dropped as the seconds evaporated, and he now spoke quietly. Not humanely—but still nearly in a whisper. It was the only sign Astrid could see of his fiery rage turning to molten grief.
"I chained the door to the roof up real tight so that no walkers could get through," T-Dog assured with a firm nod. "He's alive."
Daryl paused where he had been pacing—prowling, more like it—and stared at T-Dog head-on, silently contemplating the man's words. The entire world seemed to freeze on its axis, watching, weighing the unpredictability of Daryl's silent wrath. Then the anger cracked. Steam escaped, but it did not sting.
Instead, the revelation that Merle was still alive hung in the air, igniting a newfound spark of hope within his younger brother. With such resolve now solidified, Daryl swung his crossbow back into position on his back. "Well, then let's go get him!" He declared. He waited for no one and walked off toward the line of vehicles at the edge of camp. Several eyes followed his tirade, but the rest of the group, Astrid included, ultimately remained rooted in place near the shadow of the RV. Hands rested on their hips and breaths remained held, exuding a collective hesitation.
Eventually, when it was clear that whatever that scene had been with the unpredictable Daryl Dixon was now over, Astrid made her way to the remnants of the last night's campfire, a place of solace amidst the hostility that still echoed. Unbeknownst to her, Rick followed closely behind, their shared willpower pushing them toward a similar fate.
"You coming?" He called out to her.
Astrid turned to see that Rick had his revolver drawn. She did not need clarification to know what he truly asked of her. With a slight nod, she swiftly regathered her belongings from Glenn's tent, her movements fueled by unwavering loyalty to a cause. She had to act, to face the unknown, for the sake of a life hanging in the balance. As she hurriedly returned to the center of camp nearly ten minutes later, her focus on buckling her machete to her belt faltered beneath the sound of an argument unfolding between Rick and Shane.
As she approached the two men, Shane glowered down at her. "Why're you doing this?" He asked, disapproval evident in his tone.
Undeterred by his skepticism, Astrid moved over to Rick's side of the argument, her gaze unyielding as she addressed Shane. "I can take care of myself," She declared, voice steady and resolute. After all, this was a chance for Astrid to prove herself, to show that she was willing to go to any length for a group, for a single individual, no matter the cost.
Shane's expression hardened, his doubts evident. "You don't even know him." He looked between her and Rick and scoffed in disbelief. "Just tell me why—why would you risk your life for a douchebag like Merle Dixon?" He demanded.
From across the entire camp, Daryl emerged from the large white van and pointed an accusatory finger at Shane. "Hey! Watch your choice of words!" He snapped, his voice filled with a fierce protectiveness.
Shane smirked smugly. "Oh, I did," He replied arrogantly. "Douchebag is what I meant." He rubbed openly at his stubbled chin, a stress tick Astrid guessed, before returning his gaze to her and Rick once more. "Merle Dixon . . . Man, that guy wouldn't give you a drink if you were dying of thirst."
No matter the threat, Astrid would not be swayed. "I don't care, Shane," She stated firmly. "We can't leave him behind. How would you feel if you were trapped in that city?" Her green eyes blazed with stubborn conviction as she held her ground. "He's a living person. We can't abandon him. He may as well be the worst man on the planet for all I've heard, but we still have to save him. I have to save him. I have to do that because I refuse to leave people behind."
Rick nodded in agreement. "She's right. We can't leave him," He insisted. "No one deserves to die like that."
"So what, then?" Lori's incredulous voice cut through the air from behind their tensed trio, and they all turned to face Rick's furious wife. "You, Astrid, and Daryl?" She listed off, her shock palpable as she sat with Carl at the foot of the RV. "That's it?"
Rick glanced knowingly at Astrid, the latter already guessing how he might better respond to his wife before he even actually said it. "Glenn can come," He announced boldly. The sheriff's gaze shifted to the young man who had returned to the skeleton of his former vehicle. "You said you know your way around the city, right? In and out, simple. You can lead us exactly where we need to go."
Glenn hesitated at the newfound spotlight. With the pressure suddenly thrust upon him, he fumbled with his baseball cap as he slipped it back onto his head. "There isn't anything simple about this situation," He muttered.
"I know it isn't right for me to ask, but we'd all feel a lot better with you there. I know Astrid and I would," He insisted, his words carrying a sense of urgency. Astrid nodded her agreement, her eyes fixed on Glenn, silently pleading for his support.
After a moment of contemplation, Glenn sighed, his decision made. He nodded, signifying that he would join them, despite the dangers that lay ahead. Astrid felt a mix of gratitude and trepidation for her new friend, knowing that their rescue group had gained an extremely valuable ally despite how much he feared the unknown risks that came with it.
"You're risking four lives, Rick," Shane pointed out. His frustration had not faded in the slightest. "You really going to be responsible for that if any of these people don't come back?"
"Five lives," T-Dog corrected, stepping forward as a volunteer all his own.
"Great," Daryl groaned loudly. "Just my luck."
No one acknowledged the rude hunter as Rick and Shane continued their fresh and ongoing argument. Suddenly, amidst their brother-like bickering, the mention of abandoned guns caught Astrid's attention. Apparently, Merle was not the only valuable item left to the wrath of Atlanta. As Rick retold the experience of losing an entire weaponry bag to an undead horde, Shane questioned the ammunition, seeking to rationalize the risks they were taking. "How much?"
"Seven-hundred rounds," Rick answered. "You see? We need this."
Before Shane could dare to respond, Lori rose from the RV steps and stormed forward, her desperation evident as she fought to prevent her family from severing all over again. "We don't care about the guns. We don't care about Merle," She said sharply. "This isn't worth any of your lives! We need you all here at camp. Things are getting dangerous. There was a walker in camp this morning!"
Behind both of his parents, Carl tearfully begged, "Dad, I don't want you to go!" The sound of his cry nearly broke Astrid's heart. A boy so young did not deserve to see his family so quickly shattered again.
With their little boy creating a new scene, the conversation between the husband and wife soon shifted, turning more personal. As Rick pulled Lori and Carl aside to continue discussing their family matters privately, the others who had originally gathered dispersed. Shane promptly returned to the RV, Glenn to his sports car, and Astrid—well, she stayed put. She was unsure how long she lingered there near the dead campfire before she realized that she was no longer alone in her scattered peace. Daryl Dixon now stood beside her, an unexpected—and, perhaps, a bit of an awkward—presence.
Astrid automatically glared at him.
"What is it?" She grumbled.
"I didn't mean to hit you, you know." Daryl's delayed words surprised her, an unanticipated admission. However, within that regret, an unyielding defiance and deeply rooted anger still overpowered his sentiment. "Should've just stayed out of it," He finished.
Astrid frowned deeply, grateful that the seemingly permanent expression on her hardened face had been able to guard her prior shock. She tilted her head up to study the man who towered over her. What the hell was he playing at?
"Is that supposed to be your way of apologizing?" She finally asked.
Daryl's response was a nonchalant shrug. He took a step away from her. "Not really," He answered. "Suppose it could be, though."
"You couldn't just say 'sorry'?" She quipped.
"You should be happy I'm even tryin' to say anything at all."
Astrid scoffed. "Try harder."
Surprisingly, at blunt her words, a hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of Daryl's lips, a small crack in his hardened façade. Astrid did not know what to think of it. She did not smile back, did not see what was so funny in her harsh honesty, but she did not look away from his strange reaction. Their charged moment, though, was brief in passing, interrupted by Rick's call to action from afar, announcing that it was time to go. Without a word, both Astrid and Daryl's faces dropped, and they set off across the camp together. As they approached the large transport van, both of their expressions were now stoic again, mere strangers turned allies who would be forced to face the unknown together.
Astrid tossed her bag into the back, and as Daryl climbed onto the platform, he turned and extended a hand to help her up, but she shook her head dismissively. Ignoring his gesture, she effortlessly hoisted herself into the back of the van, and asserted her brazen independence as she huffed, "I've got it."
The hunter scoffed and dropped his hand. "Whatever."
And so, perhaps tempers from their conversation—from their physical brawl—before had not yet faded.
And yet, not even a full minute later, Daryl still dared to prod their shared wound, to poke that bear further, determined to unearth any hidden truths about the woman before him. His narrowed stare pierced into Astrid like blade, demanding answers that could shatter the fragile calm between them. "So, do you really care about saving my brother?"
Now sitting nearly knee-to-knee with Daryl, both of them settled on either side of the van's platform, Astrid was convinced she might suffocate in the sudden closeness. She quickly shifted her legs so that not even the worn tips of her boots might risk touching his own. "No," She responded coldly.
Daryl emitted a chilling sound of confirmation. He treated Astrid as if he could already see right through her. "Thought so," He muttered.
Astrid remained rigid. The weight of his judgment bore down upon her, threatening to expose the cracks in her armor. Perhaps he could see her regret beneath her annoyance. Her initial answer to Daryl's prying question had been too precise, too icy as it escaped her lips; she had not had the chance to consider the consequences of its sharpness until she saw it take shape on Daryl's narrowed features. A simple 'no' was not the whole truth and could not convey her rightful character. Astrid knew that. Daryl likely knew it, too, even if his verbal response said otherwise, even if he did not even know her whole name.
Astrid raked a hand through her knotted hair and felt her features contort with frustration. "Look, I don't know if I care about him. I don't think I do," She admitted, her voice filled with conflicting turmoil. "What I do know is that he doesn't deserve to be locked up on that roof. No one, not even an asshole like your brother, deserves to die like that."
Time stood still as their exchange hung in the dark and hot air, seconds melting into minutes without a single reaction from Daryl Dixon. His piercing and reserved blue eyes continued to stare into hers, an inexplicable abyss that kept Astrid on edge. The weight of his silent presence that pressed upon her, as she sat alone in the back of the van with him, almost made her uncomfortable. Had she, as Rick said she would, said the wrong thing? How would she even know?
A moment later, just as Astrid's voice might threaten to fill the awkward void again, her saving grace came in the form of T-Dog. He was the last to climb into the back of the van, leaving Rick and Glenn in the front seats as the prime navigators. As T-Dog pulled the shutter door down, Astrid stole a final glimpse of the camp, a fleeting image of what could have been a sanctuary, snatched away before it could take root in her heart. She had barely memorized it, barely enjoyed it. Still, she hoped she might get a second chance to experience it.
Lifting her gaze from the van's back door, Astrid shifted her focus to the front windshield as Rick started the van's engine. Within no time at all, she was watching the rotten city of Atlanta steadily draw nearer with every passing mile. Its darkened streets hid a labyrinth of danger and death.
A tremor coursed through Astrid's hands as she clutched her weapons tightly through their holsters. She refused to allow her nerves to betray her now. She would be fine.
Taking a strong and fortifying breath, Astrid Lancaster once again attempted to clear her mind of her uncertainties and doubts, to bury them deep into the recesses of her consciousness—but they lingered unquestionably, haunting, cruel, and condemning.
What the hell was she getting herself into?
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