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MURPHY HATED THE UNKNOWN. So much of her life was reliant on knowing all. She saved people by knowing all. More importantly, she felt comfort in knowing all. Locked in this indefinite void brought her such anxiety. Strangled breaths left her lips... her heart beat so loud that she couldn't hear what the others were saying to her. Hope— that assurance of life— felt so far away. Murphy wasn't certain they would make it out of this place alive. Just like the visibility of the truck they were locked in... she could see nothing but darkness in their future.
"Daryl?" Murphy sniffed, trying her best to suppress her crying. "Can you hear me?"
No response. A choked sob emerged from her chest as she lifted one bloody hand from Daryl's wound to his neck, right beneath his jaw to feel for a pulse. There, she breathed. A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. Let's keep it that way.
"Murph," Michonne whispered beside her, tears glistening in her eyes from the dim light. "What do we do?"
Murphy's panting was the only thing that could be heard besides the muffled voices of the Saviors outside. She looked at Michonne, Glenn, and Rosita. She could feel Daryl's blood seeping between her fingers and became overwhelmed.
"I— grab me whatever they threw in here," Murphy muttered, wiping her wet cheek upon her shoulder. "Anything to stop the bleeding."
The three shuffled around in the small van, feeling for the materials.
"Here. A bandage and some gauze, maybe?" Glenn murmured as he crouched beside Murphy.
"Okay. Rip open the pack and take it out for me. Don't contaminate what we'll put on the bullet wound. There's an exit, which means, uh... which means no surgery but more blood."
Murphy scooted over on her knees to allow more room for Glenn. She felt one leg slip on a warm puddle... Daryl's blood.
"Shit," she let out a pained whisper. "Hurry up with that bandage, Glenn."
Murphy kept one hand on Daryl's shoulder and shrugged off a sleeve of her flannel from the other. She took off the outer layer completely which left her in a white long-sleeved shirt that was already soaked with blood. She carefully peeled back Daryl's jacket and unbuttoned his shirt to expose the wound, putting pressure with her own cloth on both sides of his shoulder.
"Murph," Glenn caught her attention and handed her the supplies.
As Murphy took them into her hands, she could feel how thin the bandage was. It would only hold a fraction of the blood Daryl was losing, and the Saviors knew that. She had to try nonetheless. Her hands shook as she felt around for Daryl's shoulder without touching the wound. If Daryl managed to survive this, she couldn't let him die from an infection. She carefully wrapped the gauze and the bandage around his injury before feeling his pulse once more. Still weak.
