SURVIVE.
❝ Let the end of the world be
inside you, then you don't
need to fear the end
of the world out there. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK ONE of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 1 - 3 ]
******
I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its...
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[ xxviii. i killed a man today ]
november 5th, 2010
➸➸➸
ASTRID, RICK, GLENN, AND Hershel arrived back at the farmhouse at the break of dawn, and immediately, they were ambushed with a wave of worry by those who had stayed behind. The old, creaking house seemed to disgorge its several occupants all at once, spilling them into the open yard and onto the porch like a flood.
Meanwhile, the Lancaster woman still found herself wedged uncomfortably between Rick and Glenn, a trio of unease as Hershel toiled in the cramped backseat, tending to the injured kid's mangled leg. The boy's name turned out to be Randall, a name that held little importance to Astrid right now—but very likely would in the future.
The car's engine fell silent, and before the group within could fully gather their thoughts, Rick exited the driver's seat. Astrid followed in his wake, her feet falling to the grass, silently observing the embrace of the sheriff's own wife and child who enveloped him. Elsewhere, Maggie's arms found Glenn in a desperate grip.
Amidst the many reunions, Astrid's gaze wandered, her eyes settling next on Daryl Dixon. She crossed the distance to him, brushing past his guarded stare as if compelled by some force beyond herself. His eyes held hers every step of the way.
"Where were y'all?" The hunter wondered, a demand tinged with suspicion. He scanned Astrid's form, dissecting her appearance. "Is that blood?" He questioned, his tone sharp.
Astrid's stare followed his, landing upon her own attire. Her gray coat was smeared and stained with deep hues of blood, her hands bearing the same tacky residue of lives she had both taken and fought for.
How could she possibly explain herself?
Astrid's voice caught while she attempted to respond, to weave words into an explanation that could capture what she had gone through and been forced to endure. But before she could form a proper sentence, T-Dog interrupted. "Who the hell is that?" He demanded, alarmed.
A sea of eyes turned toward the backseat of the vehicle she had arrived in. Astrid did not bother to look back as she cleared her throat and brushed back her hair from her tired eyes. "That's Randall," She replied stiffly.
All attention converged on entirely on the boy, an unconscious figure blindfolded, seemingly harmless, yet clearly guarded. He was looked upon as if he were a puzzle piece that did not yet fit. And perhaps never would.
Hershel's command soon broke the spell, redirecting their attention again as he ordered Randall to be taken into the farmhouse, his injured leg becoming a focal point once more. Once the kid was unloaded from the car and moved out of sight, Rick took charge, ushering in a group meeting amidst the growing circumstances.
