Stray // Daryl Dixon

Beat Your Heart Out

We had one more day. One more day to ourselves before tomorrow, when we would set out for our attack on the Saviours, on Negan. We were preparing, gathering up any last bit of ammo we could scavenge by going on small runs. And later tonight we'd be celebrating. We all knew very well that anything could happen tomorrow, anything could go wrong, so tonight we'd have fun. Aaron had planned a barbeque for the town, hosted in his backyard, although I'm sure it was Eric's idea and planning that would soon take over.

I sat in the driver's seat of an old Nissan, Lincoln in the passenger seat to my right. It was just him and I that decided to go out together. He stared down at a map, directing me through the final turns in a nearby neighbourhood to the town's local police station. Rick informed us that it was a possibility for ammo or guns to still be laying around. He said that they'd most likely be locked up in a storage unit, but it was worth a shot with a pair of trusty bolt cutters.

"You never were very good with directions," I sneered, rolling my eyes as I made my second u-turn as Lincoln flipped the map back and forth, trying to figure out how to read it.

"Just give me a second, would ya? You never were very good at having any patience," he shot back. I glared from my seat, a small smile reluctantly creeping onto my face.

"Forget it, I see it right up there," I said, bringing his attention back to the road.

"Thank fucking God," he murmured, crumpling up the map and aggressively tossing it in the back seat.

"Hey, we're gonna need that to get back home," I laughed.

I pulled into the parking lot of the police station, driving up in front of the main entrance before shutting off the engine. Lincoln leaned around the seat, grabbing the bolt cutters as I instinctively pressed my hand to my belt, accounting for all of my weapons. We shut our car doors quietly, walking up to the tinted glass doors. I pressed my index finger to my lips, telling him to stay quiet as I tapped my knuckles on the window, drawing forward anything that lurked inside. We waited for a few minutes, surveying the town around us in the meantime. It was peacefully quiet, only the sounds of birds chirping and the light wind rustling through the trees.

"I think we're good," Lincoln said, keeping his voice low. I nodded my head, gripping onto the handle and swinging it open. I choked on the layer of dust that coated the station as we walked through the foyer, pulling my gun from its holster. The ratty old carpet kept our footsteps quiet as we cleared the main entrance. The hallway became dimmer the further down we ventured, the natural sunlight only following us so far in. "What do you make of tomorrow?" Lincoln asked, his voice hushed. I shot him a surprised glare and he immediately said, "Oh, we're fine. We would have heard them by now."

I shrugged my shoulders to say I don't know, but his head cocking to the side and his brows raising told me that he knew I had more to say. I peered into the room to my right as we passed it, nothing lay behind the door but a vacant office desk. I sighed, "I'm stuck between right and wrong. I think the lines are blurred on this one. If what Jesus' said about the Saviours is true, then it's only a matter of time before we become their next target. At the same time, we've never been the people to kill unless provoked," I confessed, my voice remaining a still whisper.

Lincoln stopped in his tracks. I turned to look at him, questioning what was wrong, but he spoke first, "Then why go with them? I know you're going too. But why go if it troubles you so much? Rick gave everyone the choice to stay home if they wanted to. To not kill," he asked. His face tightened, but it wasn't with anger, it was concern that stared back at me.

"I don't want to talk about it," I shrugged him off, continuing forward down the hall.

"Scarlett," he called to me quietly. I shuddered at him using my full name, something only my mother called me when she was disappointed.