OUTLIVE.
❝The dead were never the enemy.
It was the living. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK TWO of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 4 - 6 ]
*****
*I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I simply write to write. Astrid, any addi...
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[ iv. contagion ]
june 20th, 2012
➸➸➸
ASTRID LANCASTER STOOD OUTSIDE the imposing entrance to A Block—a now literal Death Row—while her lithe frame shivered, her once robust lungs now wracked with violent coughs. It was a cruel reckoning of her immune system that had seemingly corrupted in the blink of an eye. One moment, she had been sharing laughter with Daryl, and the next, she found herself sprawled on the cold ground, expelling blood from her body. The merciless truth had manifested itself.
She was sick.
Beside her stood her hunter, his outstretched hand inching nearer, as if to bridge the gap between them, but Astrid, weakened and desperate, recoiled, retreating several steps. Daryl should not have even followed her down this far into the tombs and was risking his own well-being for the assurance of her safety. Her gaze, once fixated on the steel, heavy door in front of her, shifted reluctantly toward him.
"You should go," She whispered.
"I'm not leavin' you," Daryl protested sternly.
"You can't follow me in there," Astrid reasoned. "You can't get sick. You have a job to do. You have to go get that medicine for everyone, for me," She added in a soft plea. "It's going to be all right."
Daryl's brows furrowed. "Then why does it sound like you're sayin' goodbye?" He demanded. Astrid's silence hung in the air, a deafening void. Her hunter's piercing stare seemed to sear through her, and his cold assertion cut to her core. "You're not goin' to die."
"You don't know that," Astrid countered.
"You don't get to die," Daryl reiterated. "Not after everythin' we've been through. You're goin'—"
"You saw how quick it was with Patrick," She interrupted. "That's how quick it could be with me. I know that this sickness doesn't have a predictable timeline, but I do know that I'm not going to last more than a couple of days. A week at best. You can't waste your time here. You need to go find the medicine."
"I will find it," Daryl vowed through gritted teeth. "But I can't jus' . . . I can't jus' leave you."
"It'll be okay, Daryl," Astrid reassured. "Whatever happens, it's going to be okay."
He sighed, his fingers running through his disheveled hair. It seemed he had so much more to say. But there was no time left. "I love you," He finally murmured, his icy eyes seeking hers.
Astrid's quivering lip formed a hesitant smile that flickered, then faded. "I love you, too," She said, strained. "Please take care of yourself out there."
"Always do," He assured. "You take care of yourself in there."
"Always do," Astrid repeated, barely above a whisper. Daryl reached out to her, but she backed away once more, shaking her head. "We shouldn't touch each other, not until I'm better." Taking a deep breath, she added, "You should go."
