Mind running, chest squeezing, throat lynching off my breath, I dropped beside Dale; Eyes locked on the cannonball sized hole torn in his stomach.
The crimson life giving liquid from inside us all, gradually turning his white shirt the color of the wine we all laughed over at the CDC mere weeks ago.
I can hear Daryl calling for help but it's muted. Like I'm underwater and the cold nipping at my skin from the night only aids in making me numb as I watched the heat from Dale's organs clashing with it; creating pillows of steam, resembling a candle that's just gone out.
My vision blurred as I knelt down, raindrops splattering my hand except there's no rain.
My chest feeling like it's trying to pull itself apart, I took Dale's hand, as his gasps for breath gurgled through his throat.
He jerked with every breath. His diaphragm moving unnaturally doing it's best to get air to his lungs without the aid of muscle and skin.
Dale's warm brown eyes filled with unimaginable pain, fixed on mine for only a moment. His hand trying and failing to maintain a grip on mine for more than a few moments at a time.
"Hang in there, buddy" Daryl knelt on one knee on Dale's other side. I can hear the desperation in his voice. Even if he doesn't admit it, he respects Dale —all of us do.
I'm not a doctor, but even I know, there's nothing we can do. It would take a fully functioning emergency room and a team of surgeons within the next few minutes for even a remote chance of survival. And even if we had access to all of that and by some miracle he survived, it still wouldn't matter.
My eyes drew behind Daryl to the unmoving corpse. A split in the center of it's forehead going all the way up to the top of it's skull. It's hands stained red, the color of the cloth Dale & Jim always wiped their hands on after fixing up the RV or working on the cars.
He's infected.
I put my hand on Dale's forehead, holding his hand closer to my chest; trying to give any sort of comfort possible, anything. Even if it's only taking the pain from 100 to 99.
He's already getting colder, but his forehead is burning.
Footsteps and drew nearer as I looked at Daryl over Dale. His eyes drew to mine, a broken chaotic desperation held within normally steady blue.
He knows too. It's too late.
"Oh my god. Oh god." Rick dropped next to me and a moment later the entire group was swarming around us. Like oil poured into a pan, not enough to cover the center but enough to create a ring.
I moved out of his way, around Dale's head as Rick took the old man's tortured face; trying to get him to focus. "All right, just listen to my voice. Listen to me, all right? Just listen to me."
Dale moaned in anguish, and I set my other hand on his shoulder, squeezing. My mind ripping itself apart for anything I can do but even though I know there isn't anything to be done, I can't stop searching.
"Ok, hold on now —Get Hershel!" Rick screamed at no one in particular. Panicked voices and parroting shouts coming in return.
My hands are shaking but not as much as my shoulders as I try to keep the tears out of my vision. My lungs compensating for the lack of breathing by trying to hyperventilate, but I won't let it.
Andrea dropped beside Rick and I let go of Dale's hand so she could hold onto him; reassurances spilling from her trembling lips. The same expression she held when she sat beside Amy, twisting tear stained features. An expression I regret to have seen more than once.
Dale's wild, wide eyes darted around in chaos filled with unimaginable torment.
The only yelling I can understand anymore is the desperate cries for Hershel, stamping feet of those who are caught in between with no clue what to do that isn't already being done, and heartbreaking promises of 'help' that can't be kept, and 'hang in there' that we all know can only prolong the inevitable.
Each one stabs like a knife through the deepest recesses, but what else can we do?
People aren't designed to admit defeat, even when we've already lost. We're taught to hold onto hope even there is none.
A strangled sob split from someone in the mess of things and all of the noise suddenly resonated in my ears, the underwater feeling flooding away like water from a damn, and leaving them ringing.
The sound flipped a switch, resembling that of a walker too much to not send my mind reeling back to the thing responsible.
My eyes rapidly flew around for any sign of more walkers that could be making their way towards us now. To take a bi
Empty fields of dark tall grass didn't ease the adrenaline pumping sweep I was trying to make around the members of the group.
I stood, pulling my knife when I saw something moving but as soon as I was up, there's another figure running alongside it and I recognized them. Patricia and Hershel.
Daryl spun around, looking as well in the same adrenaline pumped manner I am. 360 later and our eyes met, both of us shaking our heads, in light of our findings.
Even so, it didn't bring the usual relief.
Eyes catching on the walker laid out on the damp tall grass, I moved towards Daryl on the other side of Dale.
'Where did this thing come from?'
My hand tightened around the grip of my knife. The intense urge to throw it as hard as humanly possible into the skull of an already dead creature washed over me like a maverik.
The only thing that stopped me is Hershel finally parting the group like red sea. "What happened!?"
"What can we do?" I've never heard Rick so desperate and helpless —so utterly lost— before.
I found my hand seeking out anything to grab, that isn't myself. What it took hold of was Daryl's.
My head began to swim and I latched my focus onto the tight grip around my hand; possibly the only thing keeping me from launching into a full blown panic attack, as I try to take some semblance of control over my rampant lungs and stop the panic kicking my ass.
"Dale, it's gonna be okay." Glenn tried to reassure but his own desperation drove him to my side and I dropped my knife to the dirt beside my boot, taking his hand with my other.
He squeezed the life outta my grip and I held tightly; trying to provide as much comfort as I can, but he's probably helping me more than I am him right now.
The physical contact between the two of the people I trust most helping ground myself and keep my leveling head from tipping. It's almost poetic how touch used to be the thing sure to push me over, and here I am now... using it to hold me down.
"Can we move him?" Rick looked up to Hershel desperately.
The old vet set his hand on the deputy's shoulder. Eyes nothing but grave and sorrowful. "He won't make the trip."
"You have to do the operation here— Glenn get back to the house!—" Rick stood in a flurry but was cut off by Hershel standing with him, "Rick."
The old man shook his head and that was the last straw for the entire group. Like a broken window scattering shards across a stone floor to be completely destroyed; turned to dust.
"No!" Rick shouted in desperate frustration. Harsh sobs and desperate choking cries seared the air like water in hot oil.
Andrea reduced to weeping, beside Dale who can't even speak; unable to get anything more than strangled gargled breaths through his throat. One of his organs dangerously close to spilling out of him.
Memories of our last night at the quarry camp, came flooding through my head.
The cold night air, the crying, the shouting from before, Carl clinging to his mother, everything. The only thing missing: gunshots.
"He's suffering." I looked at Andrea shaking with tears beside Dale.
"Do something!" her broken cry brought Rick's gun from it's holster at his thigh.
He stared down at Dale in grave sorrow and Daryl left my side, letting go of my hand.
I watched through blurry eyes, furiously trying to rub the tears away as he stepped in front of a struggling officer; taking the burdensome gun from his hand.
Glenn turned into my side and I wrapped my arms around him.
"It's okay to cry." I muttered into his ear and his shoulders began to shake.
He looks up to Dale like a father and to be honest… I think I might too. I don't know what it's like to have a father, but I'd like to think this is what's it's like. At least a father figure.
I don't know why I feel like a big sister, trying to be strong for my little brother, like in movies. But I hugged Glenn as tight as I could, trying to do exactly that.
Maggie came over to hug him from behind, and I moved my arm to include her too.
I watched Daryl kneel beside Dale's head, Rick's gun heavily in hand... and I shielded Glenn's eyes. He resisted a little but I pushed his head down against my shoulder as he cried.
He may be in his 20s but I don't want him to see this. To have this memory. No one should have to.
I rubbed the back of Maggie's head, smoothing her hair in comfort as she buried her own face against Glenn's back; both of them almost enclosed in my arms, if I could reach that far.
Dale stared up at Daryl and I watched him lift his head towards the gun; a silent plea to put an end to this.
"Sorry, brother." Daryl muttered, and Dale's mouth pressed into a smile.
Bang
My ears ring once again but I know that long after it fades, that sound like booming thunder, will echo inside me forever.