A/N So sorry for the long delay in posting, suddenly real life has become the enemy of regular updates!

Once again this chapter is a little shorter than intended but I really wanted to get something posted. The next one is partly written so hopefully won't be too long.

A massive thank you to all those who have reviewed, followed and favorited so far. I really do appreciate it as it's the only way to know how well (or not) I'm doing.

Just a quick disclaimer which I don't do often enough. Obviously, and regretfully, I own none of these characters (apart from my OC's) I just like to borrow them for my own sick amusement.

Enjoy

Chapter 8

For the next few days Daryl was worked hard, long exhausting days and even longer nights. He still spent each night outside, chained to the staircase, despite the fact that winter was rapidly approaching and the thin, worn clothes he wore offered no protection to the elements.

Each morning he was unchained and taken into the mess hall where he forced down whatever scraps of food were thrust at him as men watched to make sure he ate everything he was given He was still in pain from the force feeding and those making him eat took great delight in making sure whatever they gave him caused the most discomfort. They gave him gristly lumps of almost unchewable meat, dry crackers he could barely swallow and soup or stews that would have been too hot to eat in normal circumstances, never mind with a throat that could barely tolerate water. On one occasion he was brought a bowl full of stew, the meat in it tender and well cooked, the vegetables fresh and crisp. Before he had a chance to eat a laughing man had stirred several spoonfuls of chilli powder into it. Eating had been agony, the hot spice searing into his damaged throat and burning it's way to his stomach. For the men in the mess hall it was the most entertaining thing they'd seen in weeks as they laughed and jeered, enjoying his suffering.

Once he'd finished he was told to take the empty bowl to the women behind the counter and get a drink. He handed the bowl over and reached for one of the glasses of tepid water, already laid out for the prisoners. As his hand closed round it, fingers brushed against his, discreetly directing him to another glass. Glancing up he saw Emma, a small half smile on her face, as she glanced to the side. Following her look he saw Amanda, she caught his look and gave a small nod. He took the suggested glass, surprised to find the water was icy cold. He gulped it down, the coldness easing the burn before he noticed the slightly bitter taste.

"Pain killers" Emma whispered as she leant forward on the pretense of taking the now empty glass from him. "Best we can do at the moment"

As he was lead from the mess hall back to work, Daryl found himself wondering why people were still prepared to help him when all he did was get people killed.

All he could think about now was escape, he spent his waking hours trying to come up with a plan but nothing seemed to work. His nights were spent huddled against the staircase, his legs pulled to his chest as he tried to conserve body heat, his malnourished frame wracked by shivers. The nights it rained were the worse, hours spent in soaking clothes, sitting in a puddle of cold rain water and he couldn't remember the last time he actually felt warm.

He overheard the guards saying Negan had gone on a tour of the outposts and would be away for a couple of days. The atmosphere within the Sanctuary was different, more relaxed without the despot leader there and the prisoners had a slightly easier time, as the guards spent their time talking and smoking instead of enforcing Negans rules

The second night Negan was away, sometime in the early hours, Daryl was jolted from his light sleep by soft footfalls on the staircase behind him. A slim, pretty, redhaired woman was making her way down and she shot him a pleading glance when she saw him looking at her.

"Please" she whispered "please don't give us away"

Daryl saw Mark slip from behind a parked truck running to the woman and pulling her into his arms.

"Amber" he whispered burying his face in her hair as she clung to him.

Pulling back Mark saw Daryl's intent stare on them.

"She's my girlfriend" he felt the need to explain "Negan wanted her so he made her become one of his wives. Told her he'd kill me if she refused him. Bastard says he doesn't allow rape but all his so called willing wives are there because he threatens the people they love. He's got Dwight's wife,Sherry, as well"

He shifted under Daryl's look before the older man spoke.

"I'll tell 'em you went that way" he said with a jerk of his head behind him.

"Thank you" Amber shot him a grateful smile as Mark grabbed her hand and they set off at a run.

Daryl didn't watch how they got out, he was too busy feeling resentful they were going to be free while he was still stuck there.

Negan returned mid morning the next day with a truck load of supplies from one of the communities he stole from and a bound man with a bag over his head. Daryl figured he was a new hostage, brought to the Sanctuary to control another group.

It wasn't long before the alarm was raised about the runaways and Daryl found himself thrown at a furious Negan's feet.

"Did you see them?" Negan demanded.

"Don't know what yer talkin' about" Daryl smirked at the man towering over him.

At once Negan's booted foot slammed into his stomach, flipping him onto his back, the same foot pressing down on his chest and holding him in place

"Not in the mood to play games today" Negan pulled his knife and shoved the blade against Daryl throat.

"Either you tell me which way they went or I'll slit you open and we'll go get Rosita for Dwight to play with" The blade moved closer and Daryl felt the point pierce his skin, warm blood trickling under his collar

"You aint gonna go get anyone" he snarled "I got no reason to protect that son of a bitch" he raised his hand and pointed in the opposite direction the couple had run. "They went that way"

Negan stepped away, calling his lieutenants to him. As they spoke Daryl saw Dwight look in his direction a few times before Negan turned back.

"Dwight tells me you're a pretty good tracker, so you're gonna go out there and find them for me" he ordered.

Daryl wanted to tell him to go screw himself but the chance to be outside the walls was too good to pass up on. It might be his best chance of escaping and he was going to take it.

An hour later, after his boots had been returned, with his hands bound in front of him, he was leading a small group of Saviours through the forest surrounding the Sanctuary. He lead them on a wild goose chase for miles, all the time looking for the right moment to make his bid for freedom. Dwight was at his side, watching him carefully.

"You sure they came this way?" he asked suddenly

Daryl nodded, pointing to a broken branch and trampled grass that could have been weeks old.

"Yeah, they aint even trying to be careful, a blind man could follow this trail" he scoffed, hoping none of the men with him had any tracking experience.

Finally they came to the side of a paved road and, now they were out of the trees, one of the men used his radio to call in their situation and location.

"Negan says we gotta wait here, he's sending a truck to pick us up. We're needed back at base" He informed them.

They sat, most of them smoking, one snoozing, as they waited. Daryl sat to one side, using the respite to keep working on the badly tied ropes around his wrists. He leant back against a tree, doing his best to look like he was napping, all the time loosening the bindings.

A roar of engines announced the arrival of the truck, two motorcycles escorting it, all three stopping on the side of the road.

Daryl watched as the bikers pulled over and one climbed from his machine, heading for the treeline, already tugging at his belt. Glancing round Daryl saw his chance. The rope slipped from his wrists as he made a dash for the bike. He threw his leg over the saddle and started the engine, grateful the rider had left the key in the ignition in his haste to get to the trees and relieve himself.

He was racing down the road before the others had even realised what was happening. A few stray bullets hit the pavement near him but nothing came close enough to cause a problem. He accelerated, taking a second to enjoy the familiar feeling of the wind on his face and the rumble of the machine beneath him as he flew up the road.

After a mile or two he slowed, swerving off the pavement and into the trees. He waited out of sight of the road and, just seconds later the second bike roared past, the truck just moments behind it. Once he was sure they were gone he revved the engine and pulled out onto the road again, heading back the direction he'd come from. He realised he had no idea where he was, when he'd been taken to the Sanctuary he'd been unconscious in the back of a car and had seen nothing. Checking the fuel gauge and seeing he had over half a tank, he figured the best thing to do was drive until he found the nearest town and hope he could navigate home from there.

He alternated between using the road and the forest, trying to throw off any possible pursuers. Rounding a bend he found his way blocked by a large pile of half burnt logs, piled across the road. A little further along he saw a concrete bridge, a twitching walker suspended from it by a rope around it's neck. Carefully he guided the bike from the road and bypassed the obstruction. He navigated his way back onto the road and picked up speed, failing to see the man that stood on the bridge behind him, rising from his hiding place behind the parapet, speaking quickly into a radio as he watched the bike disappear from sight.