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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[ vii. the concrete jungle ]
october 24th, 2010
➸➸➸
THE DRIVE TO ATLANTA felt endless.
A tense, uncomfortable edge had long since gripped the cramped van. Astrid was doing her best to ignore it and had decided to lean her head back against the side of the steel frame, eyes closed as she desperately sought to try and get some more rest. She struggled to find comfort, though. Rick's driving seemed intent on hitting every pothole known to man—and maybe even the occasional dead body.
"You feeling okay?"
The break of everlasting silence came in the form of T-Dog, and it was not until Astrid opened her eyes that she realized the question was directed at her. Confusion pulled at her features. "Why wouldn't I be?" She returned.
T-Dog's gaze shifted downward, and Astrid stiffened, understanding. He was addressing her side, where Daryl had struck her earlier in the afternoon. Instinctively, her hand twitched, wanting to cradle the tender spot on her abdomen. She hoped it would not bruise, but—either way—it was a mark she could easily bear. She had experienced worse and seen worse in her line of work with endless patients revolving in and out of her medical career.
Astrid was convinced she could downplay the pain as she answered, "Doesn't hurt at all."
Daryl scoffed, ripping into her false face. "You're a terrible liar," He muttered. Astrid shook her head, stubbornly insisting that the pain was nonexistent. The hunter only rolled his eyes and looked away, unconvinced.
Astrid released an exasperated sigh. He might have been as stubborn as her.
Looking away from the brooding redneck, Astrid glanced back at T-Dog, but his attention now averted her. Following his eyesight, she noticed his cautious observation of Daryl, and she could guess he was contemplating whether to provoke him further. Seemingly deeming it worthwhile, T-Dog spoke up again:
"You hurt women often?" He questioned, his tone challenging.
Daryl retaliated swiftly, his response sharp and cutting. "You lose keys to handcuffed men often?" He snapped back.
"Okay, no," Astrid intervened, her irritation evident. She was not going to let T-Dog unleash another rageful Dixon explosion while using her as its catalyst. "We're not going to do this," She reprimanded. "This trip is about Merle, and nothing else."
Daryl's voice dripped with venom, unrelenting. He did not even look at Astrid as he began to snarl, "If Merle isn't okay–"
"He's okay," T-Dog sternly reassured, firmly cutting him off. "I chained the doors up real tight. The geeks can't get to him."
"Geeks?" Astrid repeated, perplexed. "I thought they were called walkers."
"Does it matter?" T-Dog brushed her off. "A dead one's a dead one."
