•A DARYL DIXON STORY•
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you leave and you don't look back."
"Daryl," she sighed softly, shaking her head.
"No, I mean it," he argue...
'It will not be beautiful, but the truth never is Come now, you promised yourself, you promised you'd live through this.' -clementine von radics
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The air smelled different in Virginia.
Fresher, crisper.
The faint twinge of pine needles had replaced the thick, boggy musk of the Georgia swamps. Though one smell was always with them the some 500-odd miles from Atlanta, unescapable even across state lines.
Death.
It soon became hard to tell how much time was passing. The sun came, caressing their cheeks for a while before it slithered away, replaced by the iridescent glow of the moon. Then it was gone and the sun returned again.
Zepp tried to keep track of the shape of the moon to get a general idea of how many weeks had gone by, how many days their group of survivors trekked along some road. She guessed it had been around a month, which seemed much too short.
The days were long and the nights too quick. Walkers ever present, and food few and far between. Most of her time was spent ambling in between Daryl and Veronica, shoulders bumping along the way.
Most days spent with them were manageable, livable.
She was able to hang on to a tiny shred of hope that they would get to D.C., Eugene would stroll in to the capitol, punch some numbers into a keyboard and they would be on their way to normal again.
Then night would come, and though she was no longer plagued by the sinister nightmares, she could still hear voices.. still feel the cold, stroking touch of men who had no business doing so. The screams of her friends as they are torn to shreds by walkers. Those nights were more and more frequently lately. Those nights, she'd look for Daryl across the fire, only to find him watching her too.
Their group had been quiet for most of the morning, only exerting enough energy to exchange knowing glances and silent suggestions. They had adapted to life on the road well, speaking in hushed tones, constantly on lookout. Veronica's aunt in the old world was hearing impaired for most of her life and passed the knowledge of sign language on to her. Zeppelin wondered what happened to her, but forced the imagery away the moment her brain conjured it.
Maybe it was fate that Veronica was teaching sign language to them now, in the hopes it could save someone's life one day. She leisurely strolled next to Rosita and went through the alphabet with her while Zepp and Daryl practiced with Carl behind them.
A low whistle echoed through the woods as Rick, Abraham, and Tyreese emerged from the thick treeline. They reconvened on the side of the road and waited for the others to join them, each of their faces a different expression, ranging from impatience to pure exhaustion.
