ᴀɴɢᴜɪsʜ » ᴅᴀʀʏʟ ᴅɪxᴏɴ

{42} Infection.

Thank you for the 1k!
I'm so pleased to see this story grow and see you all as I struggle to continue lmao. But it means so much to me. I love you guys! As this book comes to an end, I think of how you all helped me to continue.
So thank you for giving me a chance and supporting me until the end.

***

Willow doubled over, leaning against a tree as she cried. The farm no longer stood, and the others were nowhere to be seen. Only she and Daryl stood on the side of a lonely road, far from anyone. Willow feared the others to be dead, including Jodie. That pain took hold of her, and she could no longer keep it in. She begged Daryl to pull over, and after some time, he did so. As soon as the motorcycle stopped, Willow wiggled from the passenger seat and stumbled towards the very tree she now leaned against.

Daryl stood awkwardly beside her, watching Willow with grief in his blue eyes. There wasn't much he could do this time around. His thoughts wandered back to Rick and Shane, then Carl and Sophia, and eventually the others. If they were all gone, what else is there? That feeling of survivors' guilt may eat them both whole. Still, Daryl held a candle to the hope that everyone had made it out.

"It is all gone," Willow sobbed, "All of it. Fucking gone."

"We don't know that," Daryl states. "If any thin' - those sum of bitches got out and is somewhere out there lookin' for us."

Willow raised her head to gaze through the thick tears blurring her vision. She wanted to agree with him, believe that to be true, but her faith vanished. The herd wasn't typical, and Willow could only guess what happened. She remembered screams, someone asking for help through the growls. Yet, they chose to leave to save themselves. Back on that farm, someone precious to them may be a walker by now—someone like Jodie or Carol.

"Listen," Daryl placed one hand on Willow's shoulder blade and the other on her shoulder. He forced her to stand straight with a soft expression, turning Willow to face him fully. His hand that once held her back sat on her temple, rubbing sweaty hair from her damp face. "We go to the highway and see if they are there; if they aren't, we can wait for a little. Someone has to be there."

Willow looked at Daryl with utmost conviction. Usually, Dixon kept the notion of everything working out. His hunches were hardly wrong, and things tend to work out in mysterious ways. If only Willow could think like him. Assume optimism in a world full of terrible surprises. Their luck could only go so far, and Dale's death seemed to hint at that.

"Get yourself together, huh?" Dixon pats her arm before taking her hands and guiding her back to his motorcycle. He could already hear the distant growls from walkers growing closer. There is no more time to sit and mourn what could have been. Willow wiped her nose with her sleeve and carefully crawled onto the back of the bike with her bow on her shoulder. Daryl's crossbow sat on the front of his handlebars, where a makeshift hook for the weapon had been placed.

The motorcycle's engine quickly roared to life, and Daryl kick-started just in time. A small group of walkers fell from behind the trees, and as the pair moved away, Willow searched their deceased faces. Not recognizing one familiar face.

***

Along their journey, the pair saw a curious SUV driving as if the motorist hadn't learned the basics of operating a motor vehicle. Willow pointed out the blood smeared across the back window and how the SUV reminded her of the one back on the farm. After the SUV stopped, Daryl and Willow were greeted by Maggie and Glenn. The pair looked worse for wear but were just as glad to see Dixon and Hunter. They had little to no hope that anyone made it out alive. So, Daryl encouraged the couple to follow them back to the highway. At least the four had each other, and if no one else made it, they weren't alone wholly.