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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[ xlvi. content to simmer ]
july 1st, 2011
➸➸➸
THE MOMENT DARYL GENTLY laid Astrid down on their shared mattress, the Lancaster woman's eyes fluttered open once more. Her vision was quickly overwhelmed by the blinding brightness of the cell block after becoming so accustomed to the suffocating darkness of the tombs. Blinking away the disorientation, she snapped shut her eyes again.
"Hey," Daryl's voice broke the silence, his tone soft and filled with concern. He had undoubtedly noticed her movement. He lowered himself to a knee beside her, his rough hand gently taking hold of hers. His thumb began to trace soothing circles over her scratched knuckles. "Can you hear me?" Astrid nodded faintly, her lips parting just enough to form a barely-there response, and then Daryl continued. "Can you tell me how you're feelin'?"
"Sore," Astrid muttered, using her other hand to clumsily scratch away some dirt from her face. A twisted look crossed her features as she turned her head slowly back to Daryl, his intense gaze fixed upon her every move and breath. "Disgusting."
Daryl could not help but emit a quiet chuckle, a sound that carried a blend of joy and relief. "We'll get you cleaned up," He reassured her.
Astrid groaned softly, tinged with discomfort. "What's wrong with me?"
"You're pretty banged up," Daryl admitted, his words as straightforward as ever. It was one of the things she appreciated about him—the absence of pretense. "Your knee ain't lookin' too good. And your hip . . ."
Astrid's memories began to return, like fragments of a shattered mosaic. "I fell," She recollected faintly. "I tried . . . I tried to patch it up."
"Hershel will check it out," Daryl insisted. "Can't find him, though."
Astrid's eyes widened, dread curling its cold fingers around her heart. The last she had seen of Hershel, she had thought he was safe with Beth. Had she seen wrong? "Did something—" She began.
"No, no," Daryl interjected quickly. "He's alive. He just ain't in the cell block."
"What about the others?" Astrid pressed. "What the hell happened during the attack?
Daryl's jaw clenched. "It wasn't an attack. It was an ambush," He recounted bitterly. "One of the prisoners cut through a fence, led the walkers in. Took a long time to get back in order. Then we could start findin' people."
Astrid's brows furrowed. She wondered distantly about the time she had spent in that dark, claustrophobic room. "How long was I missing?" She inquired. Time had lost its meaning in that tiny, isolated space, and she needed to know how long she had been separated from her group. For all she knew, it might have been only a few hours.
