OUTLIVE.
❝The dead were never the enemy.
It was the living. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK TWO of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 4 - 6 ]
*****
*I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I simply write to write. Astrid, any addi...
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[ xxx. buckle up ]
july 1st, 2012
➸➸➸
AMIDST THE SCORCHING HEAT of Atlanta, Astrid Lancaster treaded its gritty streets. Daryl strode further ahead. He had not cast a single glance back at her ever since they had left the land bridge where they had been robbed. She, too, refrained from reaching out to him. She had expected understanding from him, more than anyone else—yet was receiving none. But he, of all people, should comprehend why she had fired at the kid who dared to steal from them. Without their weapons, they were very likely going to die.
Still, Astrid was tired of that fight. Her singular focus now was on the van that Daryl had glimpsed through the scope of her rifle. It was their only clue left to Beth's whereabouts. As they pressed on, the distant moans of walkers reached Astrid's ears, carried by the wind. A small pack of the undead trailed behind them now, a concern, yes, but not a downright worry. They still had time, time to investigate the bridge where the van teetered on the edge of the road, half-suspended.
Astrid marched until she was directly stopped at the white van's back doors. Its rear wheels dangled above the ground, defying gravity. Daryl briefly inspected its dented exterior, before propping open the back doors. "All right," He huffed. "Let's get this done."
Daryl took a step forward, as if to begin his climb, but Astrid raised her voice. "It's not stable," She pointed out. "I'm lighter. You should let me climb in. Just tell me what to look for."
Daryl shot her a dismissive glance and scoffed at her suggestion. Without a word, he clambered into the van, his movements causing it to creak dangerously. Reluctantly, Astrid tossed her bag inside and hoisted herself up after, her every movement careful, mindful of the van's instability.
Daryl navigated to the front and settled into the driver's seat, his eyes scanning through a pile of papers scattered on the dashboard. Each mere breath seemed cataclysmic. The van shook beneath Astrid's feet, threatening to send her sprawling. Desperately, she clung to the vehicle's inner walls, her fingers digging into the metal, anchoring herself.
When the tremors ceased, Astrid began her own search, sifting through papers strewn across the floor. Yet her hopes deflated like a punctured balloon; there was nothing—no clue, no hint about Beth's location. Frustration bubbled within her, and as she glanced up, her eyes widened in horror. Outside the passenger's window, the distant pack of walkers had finally caught up with them. "Shit," She hissed. "There's more coming."
"Yeah, I see 'em," Daryl grumbled.
"We need to go," She insisted. "We're going to have to fight through."
Daryl knew better than to argue that. He eventually maneuvered himself out of the driver's seat. As he made his way toward the back exit, he stumbled over a stretcher that had been carelessly leaning against the van's frame. His brows furrowed as he read the initials on the stretcher aloud, "GMH . . . What's that? A hospital?"
