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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[ xl. into the tombs ]
june 23rd, 2011
➸➸➸
"HERE, PUT THIS ON," Daryl instructed as he extended a riot guard vest toward Astrid.
A full day had elapsed since their clearing of the walkers from the cell block and its attached courtyard. Now, they had no choice but to push further into the prison—to descend into the eerie depths of its tombs. A cohort comprising Rick, Daryl, T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, and Astrid herself had volunteered to continue the task. Yet, the Lancaster woman was baffled by Hershel's decision to join the expedition, considering his typical penchant for staying away from danger. Perhaps a yearning for adventure, akin to her own, had rekindled within him over the passing weeks.
Astrid set down her gun and regarded the dusty vest in her hands. Confusion furrowed her brow as she raised the protective garment, her voice laden with a hesitant curiosity. "Why?" She asked.
"Just to be safe," He explained, short and to the point.
Exhaling a sigh that carried both resignation and understanding, Astrid acquiesced, pulling the vest over her head. Daryl's deft hands adjusted it, his fingers securing the vest to her petite frame with an attentiveness to her body that only he knew. When he stepped back, Astrid felt an odd fusion of absurdity and invincibility, the vest's stiff material chafing against her arms and chest. A simmering glare met Daryl's smirking expression before he retreated to his arsenal. Astrid felt like an idiot—but at least she was not alone. Her discomfort was shared with Maggie and T-Dog who wore similar attire.
"Alright, let's go," Rick decided. Astrid stashed her gun back in her waistband and fell into step behind the group, her gaze connecting with Beth's small and encouraging smile. Then a tender flick to Carl's hat conveyed Astrid's silent affection, an acknowledgment and an apology of his thwarted plan to join them. And thus, with a purposeful stride, they embarked from the cell block, venturing into the obsidian depths of the prison's tombs.
Footfalls reverberated against the walls as silence quickly enveloped them. The darkness pressed close, and the feeble beams of their flashlights illuminated dust motes that danced in ethereal abandon. Astrid's gaze lingered on an empty cell they passed, a faraway contemplation of the vacant lives that had once dwelled within. She then turned back to the others.
"How will we not get lost?" Astrid wondered. Her words were but a whisper that traversed the corridors, their resonance swallowed by the emptiness.
"Like this," Glenn answered. He turned to the wall behind them, procuring a spray can from his pocket. Each movement of his hand carved a white arrow into the slate-gray surface. With a decisive final stroke, he stowed the spray can again. "In case anyone gets separated by chance, just use the arrows to find your way back to the cell block."
