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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[ xxxii. perceived necessity ]
november 14th, 2010
➸➸➸
LATER THAT EVENING, THE entire group reconvened in the expanse of Hershel's spacious living room, the weight of fate hanging heavily in the air. The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked away, echoing the seconds of indecision that plagued them all.
Rick had granted Dale an entire day to build his case, to sway the group's conscience into sparing Randall's life. Yet, as the hours had passed, a troubling thought had been gnawing at the edges of Astrid's mind, finding its way through the cracks of her better judgment. She could not believe she was even contemplating it, but a cruel consensus was settling in—perhaps it was best if Randall were to meet his end by their hand. If it meant safeguarding the fragile peace of their new home, could this evil within her be justified?
Astrid hated herself for thinking such a way, and a storm of guilt churned within her almost immediately as she leaned her head back against the cool wall. She could feel Daryl's watchful gaze upon her, likely silently probing her thoughts from where he stood beside her.
The clearing of Rick's throat cut through the growing tension like a blade, drawing all eyes toward the sheriff at the center of the room. His eyes, normally so steady and confident, now held a touch of unease. "To start things off, let's just see where everyone stands so then we can talk through the options," He suggested.
Shane's swaggering confidence reacted first. One hand found its place casually resting on his hip, while the other clenched tightly around his pistol. "Well, where I sit, there's only one way to move forward," He said. The man's tone held a certain arrogance, as though he already held Randall's life within his lethal grasp.
"And that's killing him, right?" Dale snapped. "I mean, why even bother to take a vote anymore? It's clear which way the wind's blowing."
Rick's gaze shifted from face to face, seemingly trying to collect their individual thoughts like precious fragments of a shattered mirror. "Well, if people believe we should spare him, I want to know," He replied.
"Well, I can tell you it's a small group. Maybe just me and Glenn. Possibly Astrid—but even I don't know where her thoughts lie on Randall anymore," Dale said as his eyes found the Lancaster woman's. He dared to look into her soul, and she hated the spotlight it brought.
"You heard exactly what I said earlier," Astrid's voice cut back through the room, a steely resolve underpinning her words. Her eyes locked onto his with a defiant challenge. "I want what's best for this group. Our group. Not Randall's. If killing him is the best option for us, then we have no other choice. You want to protect this group, right? Someone is going to die either way. Now, it can be Randall—or it can be one of us when we risk the chance of his group finding him here. So, whose blood would you rather have on your hands, Dale? Mine? Or Randall's?"
