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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[ xxxix. how it's done ]
june 22nd, 2011
➸➸➸
ASTRID LANCASTER STOOD READY and poised around the chain link fence in the harsh afternoon light that following day, heart pounding as she and a few others prepared to enter the treacherous prison courtyard, a realm currently overrun by a horde of walkers. Among the chosen few to venture forth with her were Daryl, Rick, Glenn, T-Dog, and Maggie, while the remaining group members would hold their position in the cleared yard behind them, attempting to thin the ranks of the undead through the fence. It should have been routine, given the experience they bore, but a knot of anxiety still tightened in Astrid's gut, acutely aware that their only defense lay in the form of knives and machetes—precious yet breakable commodities when forced to forgo their usual ammo.
Sinister growls filled Astrid's ears, and Daryl gently knocked her arm, drawing her attention. "Stay close to me, alright?" He urged. She nodded curtly, a silent acknowledgment, and then her eyes pivoted to Hershel, their designated man at the courtyard entrance.
"Everyone ready?" Rick questioned. An affirmative nod rippled through the gathered group, each individual readying themselves for what was to come. "Alright, go!" Hershel quickly swung open the gate, and the six survivors shot forward with purpose, the courtyard beckoning them into its black heart. The iron clang of the gate's closure reverberated behind them, sealing their fate within the confines of this grim battleground. There was no going back now.
A walker lurched forward, yet Astrid heard it before she saw it. The Lancaster woman lunged in response, grappling for the walker's rotten shoulder. The glint of her hunting blade, gifted to her by Daryl, flashed as she thrust it upward, the sickening crunch of bone yielding to her force. She recoiled, casting aside the lifeless form that had threatened her, a surge of adrenaline lending her strength onward.
Drawing in a steadying breath, Astrid and the others fell into formation, forming a barricade against the advancing tide of monstrosities. Daryl stood sentinel on Astrid's left, while Maggie held her ground on the right flank. Their weapons became extensions of their wills, slicing through the air with lethal precision. Astrid's blade met tissue and bone, carving a path through the horde that dared encroach upon their newly claimed territory. Each thrust, each impact, sent ripples of blood into the air, splattering the Lancaster woman's once-clean skin with macabre artistry. The symphony of thuds pulsated as walkers met the hot, unforgiving ground, one after another.
Daryl's touch, a reassurance woven through the fibers of her being, granted Astrid a faraway feeling of comfort as they moved. His fingers continuously traced a path along her arm, as if just to reassure himself that she was still there beside him. Yet, as the battle roared on, his fingers slipped away, a reminder that their focus was committed to the very home they now fought for.
