[ viii. my good intentions ]
october 24th, 2010
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THE MINUTES STRETCHED ON in a haunting silence, broken only by the howling, summer-storm wind that whipped around the five exposed heads of the horrified group who stood, weary and guarded, atop the desolate, and near damning, department store building.
Daryl Dixon wiped away his tears with a rough hand, and his focus locked onto Astrid's from afar. In that intense stare, she found herself unable to hold his gaze and forced her eyes to frantically avert themselves. But as her attention shifted, she could not help but notice, once again, the severed hand that lied before them. The grisly sight held their entire group captive, their bleak focuses fixed on the gruesome reminder of their massive failure.
Suddenly, a burst of rage erupted from Daryl as he grabbed his crossbow and sharply turned, his finger already tightening around the trigger as he aimed it directly at T-Dog's head.
"No!" Astrid's cry filled the air as she lunged forward. In her desperation to spare another life, she clutched onto Daryl's arm, and her hands wrapped tightly around his wrist, trying to pull him away. But he stood firm, unbreakable, his bloodthirsty attention solely on T-Dog.
"Daryl, don't do this," She pleaded.
Rick materialized at her side, his revolver quickly finding its home against Daryl's temple. Astrid released her grip on Daryl's arm immediately and watched as he stiffened slightly beneath the cold barrel, yet did not ultimately waver, his satiation to carry out the final act of vengeance only growing stronger. Rick cocked his gun, a threatening sound as it echoed in Daryl's ear.
"I don't care if every walker in the city hears this shot," The sheriff hissed.
Daryl remained frozen, torn between the risks and the rewards of such an execution. After immense deliberation, he let out a deep breath and slowly lowered his crossbow again. Surrendering for now, he would resolve to fight T-Dog another day. Turning around, Daryl did not meet any cautious gaze as he crouched down and examined the severed hand of his brother. "Must have used his belt as a tourniquet, or else there would have been more blood," He noted through gritted teeth.
Confusion clouded Astrid's face. "Why would he cut off his hand? Was he really that desperate? It's only been a day, right?" She crossed her arms over her chest, unable to fathom the extent of desperation that would drive someone to such an extreme act. If she were handcuffed on a roof, she would meticulously evaluate every possible scenario before resorting to self-mutilation. And even then, she did not think she could commit such a desperate act.
"A day can feel like a lifetime to Merle," Daryl insisted, rising to his feet. He stalked toward Astrid, and before she could back away from his impending assault, he dipped around her hips and yanked a small piece of cloth from her back pocket. It had been dangling there, and she had not even noticed it. She had not even realized she carried such a thing.
Astrid grimaced, first in disgust, and then in annoyance as she watched Daryl bend back down and wrap the bloody hand carefully in her white cloth. "Just keep the rag when you're done," She said, her tone laced with disdain.
"Already planned on it," Daryl clipped from over his shoulder, already moving onward to abuse Glenn's resources next. The young Korean cringed in disgust as Daryl forcefully unzipped the kid's backpack, and then proceeded to place Merle's severed hand carefully inside. Once satisfied, Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder and prepared to move on from this daunting place altogether. "We'll follow the trail and find him," He decided, already tracing the path of drying blood that led off the opposite side of the roof. "He can't be far."
The lingering four stood cautiously, watching Daryl's disappearing form. He had expected the others to follow him so easily. In search of another say, Astrid hesitantly turned to Rick, who simply nodded his reassurance back to her before following in Daryl's footsteps. Adjusting her bag, Astrid joined the sheriff, walking side by side with him, with Glenn and T-Dog close behind. She took extra care to avoid stepping in the blood left behind by Daryl's seemingly deranged brother.
Minutes later, Astrid and the others had descended from the roof and were back downstairs in the department store, where they quickly began to make their way through different sections of the building. Each time Daryl called out his brother's name, Astrid winced, knowing all too well that their cries could attract not only Merle but also the ever-lurking walkers that now roamed the city. It seemed that Daryl had forgotten they were no longer alone in this world—or just did not care.
Entering another ransacked room, their group soon stumbled upon two freshly killed walkers, their lifeless bodies still running black with blood. It was evident that Merle had killed them—and had done it recently, too.
Daryl chuckled at the sight. "Would you look at that," He said, impressed. "He took down two walkers one-handed."
The pursuit quickly continued, following the trail of blood until a small breakroom-like kitchen was reached. Astrid briefly scanned the area, hoping to find some leftover food to add to her bag, but the place had already been thoroughly looted. Her attention was drawn next to a faint buzzing sound, and across the room, she spotted a small fire blazing on the stove, accompanied by various utensils. Picking up a large cake-cutter knife near the open flame, she inspected the light-colored molding that covered the blade. "What is this?" She asked.
"Skin," Daryl answered from right behind her. She recoiled in disgust and dropped the knife, which clattered loudly to the floor. As she hurriedly stepped away from the scene, Daryl examined the supplies further, his voice tinged with morbid amusement. "Merle must have cauterized the stump," He muttered, causing a sickly feeling to churn in Astrid's stomach. Daryl chuckled at her nauseated expression. "He's tough. Nobody can kill Merle but Merle."
Rick was quick to counter Daryl's observation as he simultaneously put out the flame on the stove. "He's lost a lot of blood. Even the strongest man can pass out from losing too much."
"Didn't stop him from bustin' out," Daryl retorted, moving toward a shattered window on the opposite side of the kitchen. Astrid followed and peered down to where more fresh blood had splattered on the ground below.
"Why would he leave?" She questioned. "He just cut off his hand . . . He must have known he wouldn't get far."
"Well, then it should be easy to find him. I'm goin' to go get him with or without you guys," Daryl stated. He gripped the windowpane, ready to climb out, but Rick firmly grasped his arm, trying to dissuade him back. Daryl yanked himself free from the sheriff's firm hold, their faces suddenly inches apart. "Get your hands off me!" He snapped, his anger flaring. "You can't stop me."
Rick raised a calm hand. "I understand that he's your brother. I get that he's family. I went through hell to find mine, so I'm going to help find yours. Astrid's right. Merle couldn't have gotten far," He reasoned. "I'll help you search the surrounding areas, but only—and only—if we keep a level head. Do you think you can do that?"
Daryl glanced at the group, weighing his options, and then took a deep, relenting breath. "I can do that," He complied. His gaze shifted over Rick's shoulder, settling on the three who were still watching their exchange unfold with bated breath. "You in?" He asked, addressing them. Astrid reluctantly nodded, tightening her grip on her machete. Glenn also agreed to help.
Meanwhile, T-Dog hesitated, voicing his condition. "I'll only help if we get those guns first," He stated. "I'm not going to stroll the streets with only good intentions."
Astrid nodded her understanding, but before she could speak, Daryl beat her to it, accepting the terms for them all. "Fine," He agreed. "We get the guns, and then we go find my brother."
After one last look around the room, they soon slipped out of the department store building and back onto the deserted streets of Atlanta. Glenn took the lead this time since they were no longer following Merle's bloody trail. Staying quiet, Astrid could feel Daryl's eyes fixed on her back as they veered into an alley. She did not meet his gaze, not wanting to pick a fight—or even engage at all with whatever the hell it was that he might want from her. For all she knew, he was probably waiting for her to—as he had said earlier—slow them down.
As they reached the midpoint down the concrete path, Glenn crouched down and, looking around, gathered scraps of litter to form a makeshift physical plan. "Alright," He called, summoning the attention of four other onlookers. Subsequently, Astrid and the others lowered down to meet his level. "The guns are by the tank, right?" Rick nodded as the question was directed his way, and then Glenn continued. "Okay, then it's just up the street. T-Dog and Rick will stay in this alley, while Astrid, Daryl, and I will go this one, one block down. For now, I'll stick with them," he motioned to the latter pair mentioned, "because they'll be closest to the guns," He explained, gesturing to each object representing an alley.
"You're separating us?" Rick noted, pointing at his designated alley in Glenn's makeshift plan. "Why?"
"In case Daryl and Astrid get blocked off by the pack, I can run back to you guys," Glenn informed. He smiled softly as if proud of his own solution. It all seemed so simple. "Either way, I have someone to fall back on."
Daryl scrutinized the map on the asphalt, his lip caught between his teeth. "You sure seem to know your way around here. What'd you do before all of this?" He wondered.
Glenn frowned, likely questioning the relevance of his previous occupation at a time like this. "I delivered pizzas . . . Why?" He inquired, puzzled. A surge of laughter bubbled up from Astrid, and even Daryl could not help but snort at the innocent kid's answer. Glenn glanced between the two of them, his gaze filled with a mix of confusion and irritation. He then proceeded to wipe away the hastily designed plan and rose from his crouch. "Alright, let's get this started."
"Stay safe," Rick bid. Without another word, he gathered his belongings and followed T-Dog down an adjacent alley. Astrid watched their cautious retreat, their figures peeking carefully around the corner and then vanishing from sight into the street.
In a matter of minutes, Glenn led Astrid and Daryl to the other end of the alley. As they made their way, Astrid repeatedly cast glances over her shoulder, searching for any sign of walkers that might sneak up on them. To her relief, none were in sight. She stepped over a large stack of crushed cardboard boxes as they neared the opposite side of the pavement. A thin chain-link fence was the only barricade that separated them from the overrun downtown street, and Astrid direfully peered through it, surveying the open space where walkers roamed. A shiver ran down her spine.
"So, how are we doing this?" She questioned, her hands planted firmly on her hips.
Glenn turned away from the street to face his two newest partners. "Astrid and I will make a run for the tank," He explained. "I'll grab the guns, and Astrid will watch my back while I do it. Daryl, you'll stay here and provide cover from a farther distance. Catch what we don't see with your bow."
Daryl's icy eyes darted to Astrid's. They were dark and glinting, and absolutely impossible for her to decipher. "You really need to take her?" He asked, looking back at Glenn.
Astrid was quicker to respond than the Korean was. "You worried?" She retorted, sarcasm dripping from her words.
"No," Daryl shot down. Rolling his eyes so sharply at her, a stranger might think he would never, ever give Astrid the time of day. "I just don't want you slowin' him down."
"I won't be slowing him down. I can handle this," She insisted. Glenn nodded his encouragement, which left Daryl outnumbered and with no choice but to fall silent and take his position near the fence. Astrid and Glenn followed suit, stepping up beside the hunter who would ultimately be the one to release them into the fray.
Astrid could feel Daryl's gaze upon her face as he observed her and Glenn as they readied themselves, and she could not help but wonder what he truly saw within her. Did he see two fools recklessly risking their lives? Or did he recognize two adults willing to set aside their own needs for the sake of others? Perhaps she would never know. Perhaps he genuinely did not care, did not think of her and Glenn at all. Without uttering another word, Daryl turned to the gate located in the center of the chain-link fence and released its latch. "Ready?" He called over his shoulder. He received matching nods from both of them.
Astrid shook away her final nerves. In and out. No going back now.
With a swift motion, Daryl swung the gate open. "Go!" He commanded.
Glenn's grip immediately shot to Astrid's and he clutched her hand tightly as they ventured onto the crowded street. As she crept forward along the sidewalk, balanced on the balls of her feet, Astrid swiftly, and silently, dispatched one walker with her machete. Moving on from the fresh, bloody body, Glenn pulled her behind a nearby burnt-out car and continued guiding her stealthily toward the center of the avenue where the massive war tank awaited. Still along the hood of the rusted car, the duo was momentarily guarded against the view of the undead horde, until a straggling walker approached from behind with a loud snarl, forcing them to make a final mad dash to the tank. Vaulting over sandbags, Glenn reached the large machine while Astrid covered him with her long blade, ready to fend off any approaching threats.
Astrid watched with bated breath as a walker nearly grabbed Glenn as he darted around the tank, but with a swift slash, she sliced it down and watched as its now lifeless form crumbled at her feet, splattering her jeans with blood. Within moments, Glenn began his sprint back to Astrid, clutching the formerly abandoned bag of guns and—and Rick's sheriff's hat? There was no time for Astrid to question where that had come from as Glenn took hold of her elbow and turned her around. Together they raced back toward the alley, their panic at being further discovered by the horde urging them forward.
As they approached the mouth of the alley, Astrid spotted Daryl standing there, relief shining in his eyes. But before she could rejoice, he was abruptly yanked backward into the shadows, and the sudden sound of shouting filled the air. Both Daryl's cries and unfamiliar angry voices merged into one.
"Daryl!" Astrid shouted, calling out to him before she could stop herself. Glenn propelled them onward toward the alley, their united determination to reach Daryl unstoppable—until it actually was.
Time seemed to blur as the abrupt and unfamiliar rumble of an approaching vehicle reverberated through the chaotic air from behind them. What the hell? Astrid could not turn around to see what had changed. In a split second, as if to avoid being run over themselves, Glenn shoved Astrid forward with unrelenting force in the direction of the sidewalk. Their bodies fell together, colliding with the unforgiving concrete.
Dazed and disoriented, Astrid struggled to regain her bearings, her senses overwhelmed by an onslaught of pain and confusion. As her vision cleared and she fought back to her feet, she looked around. Recognizing the chain-link fence before her, Astrid's terrified eyes met the horrific sight of Daryl locked in a fierce battle against three unknown assailants in the alley.
Fear gripped her heart, threatening to choke her as a hand that was not her own clamped over her mouth. A brutal blow struck her upper back next, an attack from behind that sent searing agony radiating through her body. Crumpling back on the ground, helpless, she realized Glenn had been hit and was down, too. Before she could even try to reach him, to call out to him, more hands restrained her.
Amidst a blur as the world turned sideways, Astrid felt her arms and legs bound tightly, and her weapons were callously discarded. Panic surged within her as she futilely reached for her pistol, for her machete, only to find them both absent. In the blink of an eye, a heavy bag was forcibly slipped over her head, muffling her cries, while a newfound cacophony of growls filled her ears, signifying an ominous approach from the undead still chasing her from the street. Astrid twisted and pulled against her captives, and cried out again in her forced blindness, desperate to escape the unknown and cruel clutches of death that gripped her.
"Astrid! Glenn!" Daryl roared from somewhere nearby. He was so close, and yet Astrid could not see him. She could not even feel him—not his fierce gaze upon her as she had felt all afternoon. From somewhere beyond the black of her vision, he tried to shout her name again, but his cry of anguish was cut short by a pained grunt.
"Daryl!" She shrieked back, her words laden with desperation and raw fear. "Glenn! Help me!"
But Astrid's pleas fell on deaf ears as she was forcefully lifted off her feet and carried through the air like a discarded puppet. Unfamiliar voices, speaking in urgent tones, filled her ears, the harsh syllables shrouded in Spanish. The solid impact of her body crashing against a hard surface sent waves of agony pulsating through her head. Blackness enveloped her senses completely, and an excruciating final blow struck her skull, eliciting a sharp cry of pain that echoed into the void of . . . of . . . the woman no longer knew.
Without another sound, Astrid Lancaster succumbed to the cold depths of unconsciousness, the darkness swallowing her whole.
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