Double Crossbow (Daryl Dixon) [The Walking Dead]

Chapter 55 ↣ You really don't know this game?

"Every step, every move / I see death coming after you / I see death heading in for the kill / Coming over the hill."

—Wax and Wane, Over The Hill

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Daryl

THERE WERE SO many of them. My mind could still never process the sheer number of the dead that still roamed around. I had killed so many, and yet there was always more. The story of the hydra flashed in my mind. It was something Kathryn had read to the kids one night. Cut off one head, two replace it. The dead seemed to operate on a similar code.

My mind pulled back to reality as Beth and I broke through the treeline. The sky rolled with thunder as I fixated my scope on the trees. They weren't far behind. I glanced over my shoulder to see Beth attempting to start the rust bucket that happened to be on the road. As she turned the key, it didn't so much as give a groan of life. No amount of car magic was helping us this time.

I tensed as another rumble of thunder met my ears. What followed wasn't its echo, but the herd of walkers' combined growl. I quickly motioned for Beth to follow, and I pried open the trunk of the car. She easily concealed herself within the ancient car. Myself, on the other hand, had my knees touching my temples. It didn't matter. A human pretzel was a fate better than walker dinner. I placed my crossbow in the crack I had left open in the trunk and tied my rag around a hitch in the trunk so that the lid wouldn't fly open, revealing us.

My ears rang at all the noise. The growls drowned out the thunder and the rain. All there was was them. Them. Them. I counted their bodies as they crossed through my sight like a kid counts train cars. I stopped at two hundred.

As sun light began to bleed into the car, I became aware of how much my body hurt. My hand was cramped around the trigger. I wasn't even sure if I had legs anymore. Chancing a glance over to Beth, I found her in a similar state. Her knuckles were white around her knife, and her gaze fixated on the final few walkers that strayed past us.

When the world grew silent outside and the car far too warm for comfort, we finally unfolded ourselves from the trunk. My knees popped painfully as I stepped onto the ground. I was too old for this shit.

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Hours later I was still on edge. Even the focus I put into hunting didn't take away that sharp adrenaline. Beth was back about a mile or so, setting up camp for the night. She knew what she was doing.

I brought my crossbow up as I saw a squirrel making a lazy descent of a tree in front of me. I exhaled and released a bolt. It missed by a long shot. I missed. The bolt struck the bark instead. With a knot of frustration tightening in the back of my throat, I approached the tree. Removing my bolt, I instantly noticed that the balance was wrong. Upon closer inspection, I saw the impact had bent its shaft. It easily snapped under the pressure of my grasp.

"Losing your touch?"

My heart leapt into my throat as I whirled around to meet that familiar voice. My eyes darted along the foliage of the clearing. There was nothing. Something in me cracked further then. The hope that she was still out there was far worse than knowing. I caught myself thinking all of this was a bad dream. That I would soon wake up in the prison beside her. I wanted to forget it all, but something in me held strong. It threw out snippets of her voice into the trees, carried the smell of rain and lighting across the wind when there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It wanted me to hope, and I wanted to suffocate.

I tossed the two halves of the arrow aside and continued the hunt.

Kathryn