America in catastrophe

Chapter 19

Metal grinds against metal, teeth jarring ear bleeding shrieks as the old wheels catch on rusting track.

I press my forehead into my knee clawing at my ears from my corner of the car.

"Get up!"

Tears have been pooling under my cheek for over an hour. New waves with every shuffle of pinch of my muscles.

I can't.

"On your feet!"

The boom of someone stepping in jars my soul against my bones.

I can't.

Blinking hurts. So I don't open my eyes.

I wheeze, a cough slithers up and wheezes between my cracked lips.

I can't move.

"I said get up! Now!"

"Is she dead?" Another asks joining his companion in the car.

I might be.

"Screw it, just drag her."

Two sets of arms on my biceps. My shoulders pop and grind.

My spine pinches. My hip is oozing yellow. My ankle is numb.

My head falls foreword onto my chest. My hair in my eyes. I can't remember when it got so long.

They don't bother to tie my hands. I couldn't fight if I tried. I can't if I wanted to.

I want it to be over.

I vaguely hear the shuffling and snarling of other prisoners.

Food.

Terminus uses people like livestock.

I wonder if I know any of them.

My toes start to burn as the ground rips away at the skin of my bare feet. I think someone took my shoes. Or maybe they're simply worn away.

The hallway is bright, and crooked, or maybe that's just me. Ahead someone is opening doors, allowing the two men to heave me over the thresholds, a few groans find the strength to dribble over my cracked and split lips.

The last door echoes down my spine.

An empty room. With a long trough.

My knees pop and grind as I'm pushed down, head hung over a trough with flaking rust staining the bottom.

I press my forehead into the metal; curling in on myself. I hope it's fast, at least.

Two more men are hauled into the room, bound and gagged. Their screams muffled and jagged as they're forced to their knees at the other end of the trough. One look at me and they scream harder,fight a little longer.

Four more are dragged through the door. Boots hiss; growls and threats and elbows.

My neck grinds as I pick my head up.

Rick shoves and growls. Behind him is Glenn, and behind him.

Daryl reminds me of Taz when you grab his tail. Teeth bared, hair on end...But there's no fire; no life in his eyes.

His face is gaunt, his eye swollen dark purple. But he's whole, he's here.

I whimper, new tears getting caught it cuts and gashes, in the hollows of my face.

Daryl looks up, and goes still.

I slouch foreword, taking the edge of the trough against my chest with force. "

Daryl," a whisper. A breaking point.

Daryl explodes, snarling and thrashing.

"Shut up!" The stock of a gun cracks against his skull. His eyes roll back.

The room darkens.

One slow breath in, dragging it through my body.

Daryl is shoved down beside me. Forced over the trough a little rougher.

He slouches towards me. "Lynn." It's a slur, mumbled against the sharp edges of the gag.

"Start at the ends!"

A hand fists the back of my ripped jacket, a cry in alarm, the flare of every inch of my skin. I'm on fire.

Daryl growls, Rick thrashes.

A blade caresses the hollow of my throat.

I straighten a little farther.

Daryl murmurs something, leans towards me.

The blade sinks in, just a bite.

The building sucks in a deep breath.

At the other end of the trough blood gushes.
It's not rust.

The building sighs, the ground rolls.

From behind the man looses his balance, blade dragging crookedly across my neck and up my jaw.

My ribs crackle with the impact of the ground, the lights blur and dance and I want to laugh. This isn't how I saw my death.

Warmth caresses my skin, the hammering of my heart swells, crashing back down into my chest. There are worse ways to go.

"Lynn! Lynn hey, 'm here," cool words against my temple. The whisper of lips in my hair.

I smile, blood dribbles between my teeth.

"Daryl we gotta go!"

The warmth is intoxicating , like the summer sun on the water. The sweetest grass, and the peppered kisses of the wind.

"Stay with me! I'm here, I'm here stay with me!"

Daryls face is pressed into my cheek, right between the edges of old scabs and the swell of bruises.

A doorway cracks against my foot. Light flares.

I twist in his arms, head rolling back off the crook of his arm. Something thick is tied around my throat.

Daryl twists too, arms tightening; drawing me back to his chest.

His wings were once angels, now they're cracked and fading. But I see it now. My fingers rub against the edge of his vest over his heart.

"I'm sorry." I'm not sure it's words. Or a moan or a scream.

"I'm sorry." I try again, but the wash of ringing that fills my ears is the soft trill of bees. The tickle of his beard is the glades of grass.

"I love you." I whisper to the dirt under my toes, the sun in my skin.

And everything winks out.