Disclaimer - nothing is mine, but the lacklustre prose!

Author Note: Thank you for the last lot of reviews. I am hugely sorry it's taken three weeks to update - although, have the second longest chapter to make up for it!


Chapter Twelve

Strong arm muscles coated in a sheen of sweat flexed under dirt-streaked skin as Abraham stretched out the knot in his shoulders, glancing back to the tree line behind him with a snarl of irritation, his lips curling meanly and his hard eyes knotting together in a deep frown. He had never been able to consider himself a patient man, even before the world had decided to go to hell around him, and he grunted in dissatisfaction at the length of time it was taking the others to catch up with him. He continued to walk out further into a small opening, the leaf-littered ground covered on one side with fallen tree trunks, the rotting wood creating a miss-matched wall of protection around the perimeter, stopping only when his foot kicked a discarded firearm on the ground.

Abraham looked up from the glinting metal at his toes and settled his eyes onto his two long-term companions, a sigh of exasperation leaving his cracking lips at Eugene panting wildly from the exertion of barely a minute of running and Rosita standing with her arms folded, her usual look of boredom planted on her face. Ignoring the rising irritation that one of them had so quickly disarmed themselves, he debated internally for a moment whether or not to order them to keep going, to forget the group he could begin to hear behind him as they struggled with their injured friend and move on before they would be able to follow.

Before he could quiet the warring sides of his mind long enough to make a decision, the sound of leaves rustling and twigs snapping under hurrying feet began to filter through the hanging branches behind him. The noise built quickly as the footfalls neared until finally it reached a crescendo; the figures bursting through the foliage, stumbling forward, all bent low, desperately trying to keep their heavy cargo from dragging along the floor. His eyes stayed fixed on them for a moment as, his mind still considering its options, Abraham curiously watched them continue to struggle, each one so obviously exhausted but none of them willing to give up on a man Abraham himself probably would have written off as a lost cause long ago. He had to give it to them, these people sure had some balls, and they sure as hell took care of their own, even if he sorely expected it would all be for nothing from the state of the man held between them. Abraham continued observing as the group went to gently lower their casualty to the ground, not missing how careful they all were not to jostle him too much. Finally, his wavering mind was made up as Glenn turned his face to look up at him, a stricken look of panicked fear etched in his skin, making his young face seem impossibly old.

That damn kid. He'd already managed to get Abraham into more trouble than he ought to have been allowed, and now he was doing it again.

These people may not have be his people, and Abraham may not care much for the dying redneck in their grip, but he quickly realised that his stalwart sense of duty from the old world had not left him just yet. Flicking his eyes over the group that could have easily thrown him and his friends to the wolves as sacrifices to save one of their own, he knew he wouldn't be leaving them there.

Hell, they could use all the help in getting Eugene to Washington anyway.

"Hold on." Abraham reached out to Eugene's shoulder as he spoke, wordlessly removing the jacket from the man's back. He caught the grateful ripple on Glenn's features as he walked the few steps to where the group acting like human stretcher had stopped, and gently laid the material beneath the ruined expanse of back hovering above the filthy ground. "Best not lay him on the dirt, not with those open wounds."

Glenn's greasy hair flopped into his face when he offered a series of hasty nods and a mumbled thank you as they lowered Daryl the last of the distance to the floor. Once their hands were cleared of the dead-weight being held in them, most immediately stood up straight again, quickly stretching their aching backs. Abraham couldn't help but notice the bearded man, the one whose name he couldn't remember but had obviously been rightfully pin-pointed as the leader by their captors, made no move to stand and stretch, but kept his hand wrapped loosely around a bloody wrist. The light touch was almost certainly not an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, but as a comforting touch the now-unconscious man had no need for it. Abraham wondered whether the comfort was for the injured man at all, or whether the bearded leader was the one in need.

The air was suddenly full of jumbled words and mixed shouts as frantic voices started talking at once, panicked questions of what to do next, what the hell had just happened and, the loudest question of all, how they could possibly help keep the man on the floor alive. Abraham grimaced at the sudden noise assaulting him and was thankful when one of the men, the one who had introduced himself as Bob when they had first met outside the tunnel, stepped forward and shushed them all before handing out orders. Abraham was impressed to see everyone jumping into action, following them man's instructions without hesitation, knowing in that instant that he had to be a serviceman like himself. Most likely a medic at that.

"Tara, I need your jacket. Sasha, your jumper too. In fact, everyone, we need all the material we can get. Lay one over him, anything to keep him warm and give the rest to Rick and Glenn." Various items of clothing were tossed onto the ground as Glenn hurried forward to settle opposite Rick, the two men selecting Sasha's relinquished jumper to lay across Daryl's bare torso. Glenn quickly scrambled the remaining items into his hands and awaited the next instructions eagerly.

"Use them to wrap his arms, as tightly as you can, we need to get bandages on these cuts to stop the bleeding. Maggie, you have a vest underneath?" Taking no notice to the men engrossed in their task and barely noticing the quick nod of affirmation from the brunette, Bob continued in rushed sentences, the words tumbling over the waiting crowd as he continued check over his patient for the most urgent wounds. "Good, use your shirt, please, put pressure here on this shoulder, slow this bleeding too. Michonne, you grab his legs, keep them elevated as close to 45 degrees as possible. Rick, Glenn, you need to get his arms up in the air too. Above his head. Higher. That's it. It forces the blood to travel towards the ground, to his torso. It helps keep as much blood towards the vital organs as possible. To keep them functioning for as long as possible. It's the only way we keep him going."

Bob didn't take any heed of the worried glances between the crowd, instead he moved quickly to check Rick and Glenn's handiwork of tying makeshift bandage around Daryl's flayed wrists. He tutted audibly and leant over each man in turn as if they were not there to reach up and adjust the dressings. His movements seemed frantic but purposeful, fingers moving expertly along soiled fabric, biting onto his lower lip in concentration.

"Both of you, I need your hands around the arms. Press as hard as you can. As much pressure as possible, okay?" Grateful when the listening men nodded, Bob smiled encouragingly, hoping it would lessen the look of terror mirrored in each of their eyes as they complied with the request.

Bob sat back on his haunches for a second, looking at the patient below him but not allowing himself a moment to look at his face, trying to keep himself objective. He could do trauma medicine, it was his training after all, but the moment he thought of the dying man as the same one who had brought him in from the wilderness into the safety of the prison, he was scared it would go out of the window. The medic went to move forward and help Michonne who, positioned beside him, shifted the weight in her hands to help keep Daryl's legs in the air. He was cut off by the strong hands on his shoulders.

"Here, I got that, Doc." Abraham moved over to Michonne, silently, and took the hunter's feet from her hands. He lowered himself slowly to the ground and knelt, letting each foot rest on one of his broad, strong shoulders. Bob hesitated for a moment, unsure of why the usually curt man was picking now to help, but felt himself relax when his eyes flittered down to the dog tags swinging loosely around the auburn-haired man's neck. A military man, someone with a cool head, was someone Bob could do with right now.

"Christ," Bobs exclamation came as his attention was grabbed by the blood already staining the dressings under Rick's fingertips, his frown only deepening when he glanced to see the same under Glenn's. Too busy to mask his reaction, or to even notice the looks of panic that sweep over the other's faces, he continued, "it isn't stopping as much as I would like."

He moved to Rick's side, gently guiding the man's hand to lower and bring Daryl's down with it, enough so that he could peek underneath the layers of binding, only shaking his head in reaction. Raising Daryl's hand back to the sky, and without speaking, Bob grabbed onto Rick's free hand, bringing it so his fingers came to rest on the inside of the hunter's upper arm, in the small dip between the meeting point of the bicep and the tricep.

"Rick, I need you need to press here, as hard as you can. Make sure you can feel a pulse. Glenn, do the same on the other side."

"How would pressing here even doing anything?" Glenn fumbled over his own fingers, looking at the placement's on Rick's own calloused ones and trying to find the pulse as Bob had instructed.

"It's the pressure point on the brachial artery, a way of slowing the blood flow to Daryl's wounds without having to use a tourniquet. I want to avoid having to do that and then, if he makes it through, him ending up having to lose both his arms." Rick's instant look of shock up at Bob had him speaking again hastily. "That is what I want to avoid. I promise."

The group lapsed into silence for a moment, only a tiny drip of time, long enough for the group to finally allow a calm settle over them now they were not all in imminent danger. The only sounds were the whispering winds caressing the leaves not yet claimed for the ground in the trees around them, their racing hearts no longer thumping loud in their chests or their breaths coming out in rasping gasps. Rick remained kneeling on his side of the hunter, one hand clamped tightly on the cloth covering Daryl's right arm, his fingers of the other hand in the same place Bob had left them. Glenn was doing exactly the same on the other side. Both men held the hunter's blood-soaked limbs high into the air so they were level with their own heads in an attempt to stop the bleeding, their own shaking slightly with the effort of keeping them airborne. Maggie imperceptibly leant into Glenn's side, both hands strongly clasped over Daryl's damaged shoulder, her eyes tired and glassy, staring off past where she could see. The others stood gathered around, on standby in case they were suddenly called into action, except Carl who was prowling the perimeter of the group, blatantly throwing looked littered with distaste as sharp as the knife that had been pressed against his throat in his father's direction; Not that Rick would have noticed, his attention not yet being drawn from staring intently at Daryl's face. The weapon Carl had taken on escape was drawn and constantly pointed at the tree line, always ready to protect the group that seemed to have forgotten that threat of the undead all around them wouldn't take sympathy on their plight.

"He's lost so much blood." It was Maggie that spoke into the silence, the faraway sound of her voice to match the look on her face, asking a question no one really wanted to know the answer to. "How much more can he lose?"

"Not much." Bob wore a sincere grimace to portray how unhappy his was to relay this bit of information, his hands coming to his face and rubbing fiercely in a mixture of fatigue and frustration, before carefully inspecting between Glenn's fingers again. "It's slowing, but not enough. We just need to get the bleeding stopped, that's the most important thing. If we don't do that, we lose him. It's as simple as that. Tara, Michonne, I need your hands here as well. Take an arm each, push along with Glenn and Rick. We just need more pressure."

Michonne and Tara both moved to their requested positions, settling in beside the two men who were grateful to find the extra help took the weight off of their quickly-tiring arms. Bob took a moment to check he was happy with their placement and the amount of pressure, giving a satisfied nod before looking up and seeing expectant faces staring back at him.

Letting out a sigh, standing up and setting his hands on either hip, Bob cocked his head, his mouth lopsided where he chewed on one side of his mouth, while he contemplated how to phrase his words without dashing the last remaining lights of hope from the dulling eyes around him.

"We're doing all we can," he started, taking his time over the words spoken, letting them come out deliberately and with meaning, "We just need to hope he doesn't go into severe shock, if he isn't already. If he does...well, there is nothing I can do to stop his blood pressure bottoming out. We have no blood, hell, we don't even have any saline to help him replace the fluids he has lost. I won't be able to save him if he does, I just don't have the supplies."

"He's already unconscious...you're trying to say that after everything, he's as good as dead?" Glenn words shattered the tenuous calm that had settled in the clearing, sucking it into a void of increased panic and all-too-familiar grief.

"No!" Bob's bloody hands flew up into the air, placating the younger man whose nervous energy suddenly had him bobbing on the spot in his crouched spot. "I'm saying we need to hope that he hasn't already gone into shock. His body has been through a lot. An awful lot. He could be unconscious because of the culmination of his injuries, his body trying to protecting itself by shutting down while it recovers. I just don't know. That's the problem. After everything..."

Bob's voice faltered for the first time since taking charge, his eyes wandering to Rick, hoping the man would step up and help him talk to his people, but finding the man staring resolutely at his friend's face. It was as if Rick hadn't taken in a work of the conversation, and Bob let out a shaky breath before finishing.

"...I just don't know what chance he has."

Rick felt sick. Physically, gut-wrenchingly sick. Flashes of dread spread throughout his limbs, so tangible in his body he is sure it is only the lack of food which is keeping him from emptying his stomach on the floor beneath him. He can hear the events around him, knows he shouldn't leave Bob to deal with it all, but he can't make himself focus on much more than the paling man in front of him. He can feel the pressure under his hands where he is pressing down firmly on Daryl's arms, is aware enough that he knows Carl is pacing behind him, and can see the sideways glances of concern he is getting from Michonne, but he's not totally sure he can bring himself to do anything but cling onto his friend's arm, as if keeping his grip tight would somehow stop the life from leaving his ailing body. Looking between his hands, white knuckled and strained, on either side of Tara's just-as-tense one, and Daryl's filth-covered face, he can feel the walls of him mind closing in on him, shutting down to save itself from dealing with the ongoing traumas of the day. It was only a sudden injection of a hope-filled plan that brought Rick closer to the surface of the present, tearing his gaze from Daryl on onto the dark iris's, still full of some impossible light, of Glenn.

"We can go on a run! There must be somewhere. They must have some medical supplies in Terminus, I can go back in."

"No, Glenn." Maggie's quick response stilled Glenn's expression a moment before it reached something resembling positive.

"She's right." Rick's voice felt foreign in his own mouth. He wondered if it sounded as wrong the rest of them, if they could hear the echo he could. "We can't be going back in there for something we don't even know exists. It's dangerous sending people back in there when we don't know who was responsible for that back there. Just because they left us to go, doesn't mean they aren't a threat, or that they don't see us as a threat."

"So you're going to let him die then?" Rick bristled at the sudden voice behind him, the hardness in his son's questions making him close his eyes against another wave of dread that made the hairs of his arms stand. "Again?"

"He's right." Abraham interjected, not wishing to let these people play the blame game right now, leaving the boy breathing heavily and the father frozen, "the last thing we need it to lose someone else"

"Stop it." Glenn words were matched with a strong shake of his head, his eyes pleading towards Abraham. "You're talking like he's already dead. You don't know him,..."

The silence that followed was full of a palpable anger, Glenn's chest rising slowly as his took a calming breath. His hanging words settled heavily on everyone's heads, threatening to stretch to eternity, weighing down their hearts until Tara's worried words cut through it.

"Guys..."

More leaves rustling from the direction they came from, and everyone's whose hands were free reached down for weapons, drawing them to the parting of trees they had emerged from moments ago, two looming shadows barely visible. The weapons remained levelled there as the shadows grew, the snapping of branches sweeping forward towards them, until finally the dark shapes reached the light.

Rick's mind tunnelled as he saw the approaching figures clearly for the first time, his mind grappling, not for the first time in the day, to comprehend what was happening. The larger of the two suddenly burst forward, the recognisable shapes of a katana and a crossbow slung across his back, advancing quickly on the group.

"Sasha!"

"Oh my God! Ty!"

Rick didn't really pay attention as Tyreese walked quickly to the already-running Sasha, enveloping her in a smothering hug, his hand holding onto the back of her head and burying her face into his strong shoulders. Rick didn't really notice as the man gripped on tightly to his sister, tears freeing themselves from his eyes, wetting her hair, as he was simply unable to contain his joy at seeing her alive.

What Rick did notice, however, was the grey-haired woman that was a few metres behind, sauntering cautiously towards them, a backpack fixed to her shoulders and a rifle in her hands. A rifle, Rick noted quickly, that would have been perfect for taking shots at people the rooftops of Terminus, and was identical to the one Tyresse had dropped from his own grip to embrace his sister. The woman's eyes scanned the others as a half-smile played along her lips, them meeting Rick's briefly before darting away and finally, with a look of sadness, falling onto Daryl's wrecked body, slack and pale on the ground at his knees.

He hadn't noticed as Carol had come closer that she had moved to scoot the rucksack to her side, and that has soon as the majority of the khaki material had come into view the rest of the group had reacted with overjoyed smiles and moved forward in a strong pulse. Rick was jolted back into reality as Carl stopped pacing momentarily, then sprinted forward, his voice filled with a hope Rick hadn't heard in a long time that cut through the tension and immediately dissolved it with one word.

"Judith!"


Before anyone gets too excited (or disappointed - looking at you there, Peachuzoid!), I want to clarify that this is NOT, nor will it turn into a romance fic - that includes Rickyl for the reviewer who asked that. Nothing against romance, or any "ship" in particular, it is just not where I am going with this fic, and not something I am good at writing at all!

Until next time!