This sucker is FINALLY done. I think I lost a couple of you there with the break I took, but, to those of you that came back, thank you :)
thejazzmuse: THANK YOU. I understand the struggle of finding a story, and I'm soso happy that this one has kept your interest. And, don't worry, the smut will never stop. I hope you're all moved in now, and that maybe this can help procrastinate on some other things. Lord knows I'm using this to not do school.
drivenunder: I really promise I'm not TRYING to take forever with these updates. Really. But thank you for keeping on being excited!
Also, for those of you that are interested, I do believe I may or may not have a sequel chapter to that Bethyl one shot I have posted. And, even for those of you that aren't interested, my beta MollyMayhem84 is perfect. That is all.
And, as for getting mad at me for the last cliff hanger... well... heh heh heh. Heh. *evil laugh*
"This was a waste of time," Carol said, looking around the kitchen of the fourth house they had hit that day. She was obviously frustrated as she kneeled to look in the lower cabinets, knocking aside the cleaning supplies that had been left behind.
She was right. They had found jackshit. "Knew it was a longshot," Daryl answered, kicking aside a dog food bowl. He eyed the living room where had left the lone walker he had disposed of. Still dead. Nothing new there. "We should keep movin'," he answered, looking outside. There were a few more fuckers roaming around, but nothing he couldn't handle if it came to it. They didn't have reason to come looking in the house, anyways, not as long as he and Carol kept quiet and didn't stay in one place too long. He guessed from the light outside that they could hit one, maybe two more houses before they should take the couple mile walk back.
"Maybe we should just go back," she said, standing up and crossing the kitchen to look through at the dining room.
He bit his tongue on the comments that immediately came to mind. She wanted to give up, just like she'd done before. "We got a job to do, and we're gonna do it," he said angrily, turning away from the living room to face her.
"The other houses will be just like this one," she said, gesturing around the kitchen. "Someone came through here before we did. Our time would be better spent -"
"Our time is better spent makin' sure," he snapped. He couldn't help but think of Sophia, how she had given up, how everyone had given up. "We're doin' what we came to do. End of discussion."
She opened her mouth, clearly about to argue, and he found himself riling up, ready for the fight. But then her eyes widened, and he instantly knew something was wrong. "Daryl!" she shouted, but before he had even raised his hand to take his knife out she had raised her gun and fired twice at something behind his right shoulder.
A fucking pain like nothing he'd ever felt before hit his shoulder, ripping through him so hard and so fast that he staggered sideways. His foot caught on something on the floor and he slammed down, his ribs hitting the sharp corner of the table next to him hard before he finally collapsed to the ground on his back with a thud, his head bouncing on the floor.
He stared at the ceiling in blank confusion, his ears ringing so loud that he couldn't hear anything else. He blinked, trying to take a breath, but as soon as he began to inhale a shooting pain flared up from his rib cage. He began to shift, surprised at the intensity of the ache, but as soon as he tried to move a fire hit his shoulder, radiating down his arm and to his neck and chest. He actually cried out at the shock, the sound breaking through the ringing and bringing his surroundings back into sudden clarity.
"Daryl!" he heard, and then Carol's face was over his. He knew from the worry and fear in her expression that he was in trouble. "I'm sorry, I didn't - There was a walker right behind you, it would've -"
He understood now. She had missed. Wrong place, wrong time, and too many nerves affecting her aim had gotten him shot. That explained the fuckery he was feeling all over his torso now. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to think, all his nerve endings yelling at him to fix it.
"Exit wound," he grunted out through bared teeth, wincing at the amount of effort those two words took. He tried to lift his arm, but stopped when that became too much, too.
But Carol was confused, looking at his shoulder with clear concern, her hands hovering over him. "I don't- your shoulder -"
"Check for an exit," he tried again, each word a fucking fight. "My back."
She nodded, a look and air of determination settling around her as she grabbed onto his elbow. "Hold on," she said, and gave no more warning before pushing him onto his side.
He bit back a groan, a strangled sound coming from his throat before an unbroken string of curses left his lips. He felt blood drip down across his neck with the shift of direction, warm on his already hot face. She only kept him there for a few seconds before letting him back down to his back, somewhat more gently than before.
"You're bleeding back here, too," she said, and looked down at her hands, now stained red.
Good. He at least fucking knew that that was good news. Bullet had gone through. More blood, but they weren't going to be trying to dig the goddamn thing out. Which meant bandaging. "Alright," he started quietly, starting to think of what needed to happen through the haze of his shoulder.
But before he could say anything, there came a loud thud at the back wall, the window pane creaking as it shook. Carol turned towards the noise, her eyes widening again, and he knew something else was fucked. He tried to look back, his neck straining, but his shoulder protested so much that he gave up with a wince.
She stood up, disappearing from his line of sight.
"'Ey!" he tried to shout, but the air wouldn't come, his ribs giving him a pang of a reminder that his shoulder wasn't the only thing hurting. Of course he would've busted his ribs, too. If he was lucky, they were only bruised. But Daryl was never lucky. He didn't get snuck up on like that, not by something that made so much damn noise just breathing.
She reappeared suddenly, looking even more frantic than before. "We have to move," she said quietly, and her hands hovered over him, obviously lost.
"What'd you see?" he asked, already trying to think of a game plan. The garage door was their easiest exit point, but the basement was closer. He wasn't going to be able to get anywhere fast.
"Walkers. So many. It looks like the farm. We don't have long before they make it here."
A herd. This goddamn day just kept getting better.
"Help me up," he grunted, knowing he couldn't do it on his own.
She came to stand behind him, kneeling down to put a hand under his unwounded shoulder, her other hand snaking under him to get a hold on his midback. "On three," she said, her fingertips digging in as she prepared herself, and he tried not to openly wince again. "One, two -"
She pushed before he was all the way ready, and his head fell back lazily as his abdomen tightened with the effort of sitting up. He moved his arm to clutch at his ribs, but that just set off the reaction all over again, a new wave of pain tearing through his shoulder. He couldn't move either side of his body without triggering one injury or the other.
Before it had time to settle, Carol had come back over to his left side and had lifted his arm around her shoulders. He bent his knees so his legs would at least be ready to bear his weight even if the rest of his body was pretty much fucking useless.
"On three again," she repeated, and her instruction was beginning to annoy him. He wasn't big on being the one that needed help just getting on his damn feet. "One, two -"
He couldn't help but put his weight on her, and she fell slightly sideways as she slowly straightened. His arm fell like dead weight to his side, swinging uselessly as he struggled to bring his feet under him. It was an awkward struggle of balance, but as soon as he got it he removed his arm from her shoulders, even as the stretch renewed the hurt. The second he was on his own, though, he was swaying, his vision faltering as the room spun around him. He felt something wet on his hand, and looked down to realize the blood had made its way to his fingers.
Carol caught him before he could fall again, and he reluctantly let her carry most of his weight, watching blearily as they lunged unevenly to the basement door. He realized now that they weren't getting out, but there more important things, like the brief view he'd had what out the front window. He understood, now, as Carol opened the basement door, what she had meant: they were in serious fucking trouble. The last time he'd seen this many dead grouped together had been at the farm, and he wasn't even sure that compared.
"Stairs," she warned, and Daryl had to put all his energy into not just falling down them. Carol shut the door behind them, looking for a lock and finding none. Not that it would help if they came down here, but it was a force of habit he understood.
He didn't realize how dark it was until they had gotten all the way down. There wasn't much in the way of sources of light down here, and the concrete walls and floors made it even worse. It was cold as hell, but at least that felt good against his overly hot skin. He was aware enough to take in his surroundings, though, looking for an exit strategy. There was one door leading outside, but as soon as he looked out the window high on the wall he knew that wouldn't be an option. He could see decaying legs easily through the dirty window, a bustling of limbs that set another rush of adrenaline. The window at least was too small for anything to get through, so they wouldn't have to worry about that, but that door was a different story. He looked around frantically, immediately spotting a bookshelf.
"Bookshelf," he said, nodding towards it before staggering forward. Carol caught on to what he was trying to do, helping him towards the door and gently removing his arm from around her shoulders so that she could place her own shoulder against the shelf's side. Inch by inch, she began to move the shelf against the floor, the resulting scraping sound unnaturally loud.
But she was moving too slow, and before he could put more thought into it, he put his good shoulder next to hers, using the strength in his legs to help her push. He held his breath the entire time, but felt relief when it was in place in front of the door.
Helping her had taken all of his strength, though, and he now found it impossible to stand. Carol caught him before he fell, guiding him backwards to the wall so he had a surface to lean against as he finally sat down.
He let out all the breath in his lungs, trying to calm down. He was all too aware of their situation, the uncovered basement door, and, even though he knew it wouldn't help things, he was angry.
"Why'd you shoot?" he demanded, but his voice sounded weak. "You don't shoot unless you have to."
She didn't give him an answer, simply taking his criticism, and he felt an inkling of guilt bugging his conscious. So he left her alone, then, closing his eyes, trying not to count the seconds as they ticked by.
A while later, he heard the floorboards shifting overhead, making him open his eyes in time to see the dislodging of shimmering dust and dirt that fell to the floor, coating his jeans. They had made their way inside, and he kicked himself again for leaving the front door open. Daryl closed his eyes again and shook his head, trying to focus on the sounds if only to distract himself from his shoulder and the exhaustion nagging his eyelids. But it was too much to separate the dragging footsteps from each other, the combined thuds too many for him to count, and he gave up, slouching as much as his shoulder would allow. His bow laid useless beside him, but he kept his left hand on it just to give him some illusion of self defense as he once again eyed the walls, especially the stairs. The only comfort he had over there was that walkers weren't exactly coordinated, and any that actually bothered to fight through the door would have to take a tumble down the stairs before they reached them. Those extra few seconds might be all they had between dead and alive.
"Can't tell how many are up there," he grunted, speaking only loud enough to be sure she would hear him. He didn't say the rest of what he was thinking, though, that it meant they were fucking stuck in this hellhole until this blew over. He was losing blood and they had no way out. He could feel sweat on his face, and he turned his cheek into the cold concrete of the wall so he was facing Carol.
"Shh," she said, her eyes trained at the ceiling, too. "Keep your energy."
He turned away from her, looking around again at the basement, hoping he would be able to see something now that things had calmed down. There was a lot of shit down here, boxes full of papers, a fridge, an old couch. Jack shit that would help them out down here, push come to shove. Maybe double up the couch on the barricade, but Carol wouldn't be able to move it on her own, and he didn't have the strength left in him to make another move like before.
So he went back to staring straight, ignoring the trapped panic beginning to itch through his legs, the tingling numbness in his chest. He fucking hated waiting like this, stuck, out of control, no fucking plan.
The basement door thudded, causing a few books to fall out of the shelf, and Carol jumped next to him at the same time his fingers twitched towards the trigger. He strained forward, getting a better view of the door, but heard nothing else. If more than did make their way in here, they were shit out of luck. But if they didn't clear that house soon, they were fucked anyways. They weren't stocked for this kind of stakeout even in the best of conditions, and right now they had the worst. Shit, they had two bottles of water between the two of them. He was kicking himself for that now. He had been too busy thinking about getting back to consider what he would do if something like this happened.
"They'll notice when we don't come back," Carol said, looking up at the ceiling towards the noise. She gave him what he guessed she thought was a comforting look.
He shook his head, wincing as he gave his shoulder a dirty look. "Won't matter. Taylor and T gone, they don't got enough people to come after us. Rick won't spread 'em that thin." He paused, thinking. "I wouldn't. Not 'til Taylor came back."
He had a feeling that's what they'd be waiting on. The sounds of the dead were getting louder, and through the small window he could see even more feet shuffling past. Maybe these things were like a storm, heavy at first and then tiring out fast after the first downpour. He'd never exactly wanted to sit still and find out, but now he didn't have a choice.
Better the herd hit here than wherever the hell Taylor was. He didn't even have a good guess of if that was an option, hadn't seen what direction it had come from. He stiffened, brain already thinking of the what ifs, every situation, pictures running through his fucking head, trying not to put too much stock into any of them. Truth was there wasn't a damn thing he could do if the herd had found Taylor first, and if he didn't get himself out of here, it wouldn't fucking matter anyways. He was getting twitchy just thinking about it.
"This is my fault," she said suddenly.
He was instantly uncomfortable. He knew he had blamed her before, but that wouldn't help anything now. "It ain't," he said, but couldn't think of anything else. He had only just gotten used to being around an upset Taylor. It didn't seem fair to dump another crying woman on his shoulders.
"It is," she argued. "There's no use arguing about it."
He huffed. "Wanna explain how I'm the one who's shot and you're the one whinin' 'bout it?"
She laughed quietly. "Fair."
He faced back forward with relief, thinking that was the end of it, but then she kept talking. "Would just be nice for one of these things to go smoothly for once," she said.
It was definitely something to think about. Everytime the went outside the gates it seemed like some shit went down. Taylor getting stabbed, running into bandits, and now this.
Fuck. If her run was going half as bad as his was… He made an involuntary face, becoming even more angry at the lack of options he had. He wanted to do something.
"She'll be fine, Daryl," Carol said softly.
He snorted, an automatic response that he almost regretted when Carol sighed and turned away. But it wasn't her business, wasn't anyone's business. He hadn't wanted to talk about any of this at all. He hadn't even wanted to think about it.
"Ain't a damn thing I can do from in here anyhow," he said, pissed as hell now. If he fucking died in this basement, he was going to have a few things to say about it. "How long you reckon it's been?"
He was normally better at keeping track of the time, but all his senses were stunted now, focused on his shoulder.
"I don't know," she answered, looking at the window. "It can't go on forever."
Judging from the shift of light, the sun had started to go down. More time had gone on than he thought, at least. It wouldn't be long now before the group started wondering about their absence. He was never late, he made sure of it. They would know something was wrong by nightfall.
But he stood by what he had said earlier. He wasn't expecting a rescue crew, not for another two days.
Two days.
And just like that, Daryl was scared. It wasn't an emotion he was very comfortable with. Adrenaline, anticipation, anger, these were things he could use to his advantage. But the panic starting to beat through him was not alright with him. He had to face what was happening: he was shot, bleeding, and hurt. They were, for the most part alone, with no food and next to no water. At least they had shelter, but even that could be fucked up any second. There was the chance the herd would move on, but if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't going to be able to make it back home if they didn't stop the bleeding. He was weak, and this was going to keep on for two more days. Two more days if they were lucky, if Taylor got back with no problems and the group got off their asses fast.
Two fucking days, and he just had to live.
yes, yes, yes, I promise I WILL get this out sooner than this one. That's the best I could do. Leave the hate in the reviews, people. It sustains me.