Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "The Walking Dead," wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This exists purely because I was challenged to write something of this ilk. And I think I broke my soul in the process, just saying.
Warnings: Contains spoilers for all three seasons of the Walking Dead, adult language, canon appropriate violence, gore, suicide, allusions to suicide, canon character death and mature content.
Triage
Chapter Four
To anyone else the uneven stampede may have sounded like walkers. But he knew better. He would have recognized them anywhere. The corners of his lips turned upwards as he recognized the fleet sound of Rick running, Michonne not far behind, her steps graceful and lithe - Glenn and Maggie hot on their heels. He didn't have to look. He didn't have to see to know.
Family doesn't stop at blood.
He felt paralyzed, gratitude and self-loathing rolling off him in waves as he turned his head, watching them make their way across the clearing. Beth, Carl and Hershel were limping in the rear – unsteady as the old man struggled across the uneven ground with his crutches. They all looked like beaten shit.
Christ, how long had they been out here? Out in the open?
"Daryl! Daryl are you-"
He could tell the precise moment they realized it, all but tasting it in the air as his lungs rebelled. He coughed up black, wheezing, as if even that small burst of elation – that overwhelming roar of gratitude that had resulted when he realized they were all there, safe – was too much for him.
"Oh god…No, Daryl-"
There were fingers gentling across his skin – light, but business-like. And suddenly he could smell her, his girl. She was here, she'd made it. And when he said her name, the word coming out more like a whisper than anything else, he told himself that the tears rolling down from the corners of his eyes could easily be mistaken for sweat.
A half a dozen faces swam above him – stifling – familiar. His senses felt numb, dulled, his vision greying out, but he grinned anyway.
"It worked," he sighed, settling back into the ground as his side burned – relief making him light.
"Yeah, it worked," Rick replied, voice hoarse and broken as he shoved a jacket, folded up and warm underneath his head. Fussing. "You should have let me-"
He cut him off. "There was no time and you know it. You needed bait. That was the only way it was going to work. Wasn't like we had much of a choice, anyway," he snorted, voice heady but tightly restrained as flashes of memory reeled out in his mind's eye.
He remembered a three story house and a stocked root cellar. Carl had been laughing – feeding Judith with a plastic spoon as Michonne and Carol had emerged from the cellar in a whirlwind of cob-webs and excited smiles - victorious, with an armful of dusty jars each.
He remembered the smell of canned peaches, licking syrup from between his fingers as Maggie laughed, the fire crackling in the hearth behind them as Carol pulled a Jesus and somehow managed to make the thin soup stretch between them. He remembered night falling and Carol cat-napping against his shoulder, her short hair tickling across his skin as his arm had come around behind her. He remembered telling himself he was more comfortable like that in the first place, pretending not to notice when she made a soft sound, pleasant and deep as one of her hands finally tangled together with his – all long fingers and prudent delicacy.
He remembered wondering if she was really asleep after all.
But then everything had stopped. Well, not exactly. It was hard to describe. Because suddenly walkers were coming in through the windows, Glenn and Maggie had skidded around the corner to the living room just in time to watch everything come crashing down around them. They'd been on watch, something had happened. He'd never found out what.
He remembered breathing, shallow and panicked, struggling to pick out the others from the walkers spilling in through the shattered glass door, the dining room, the kitchen window. They were trapped, backed into a corner. Hershel had been struggling with his crutches, the girls screaming, Rick fierce in the low light – colt blaring out into the summer smog as they'd fled deeper into the house. Carol had-
He retched.
Someone held out a canteen, half-full, with water sloshing down the sides, cool against his fingers as he grasped it. His hand trembled, weak, nearly dropping it before Rick's hands curled around his, warm and gritty as the man coaxed his fingers free.
"Let me…"
Shame and embarrassment filtered across his expression when he realized he was so weak that he couldn't even hold himself up on his elbows. There was a pause, noticeable and hushed until someone, maybe Glenn, propped him up, the water warm and mineral-rich against his tongue as he drank gratefully.
"Maybe we can-" someone began, high and hopeful, Beth maybe, before Hershel shushed her, taking her into his arms and muffling her sobs in his suit jacket as the others shifted around him - restless.
There was only one thing left they could do.
A/N #2: This is my first attempt at such a genre, so please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Wow you guys! I didn't expect a response like this for this kind of story; you guys never cease to amaze me! I know this isn't my general fare, but it has been an interesting write thus far. I hope to have it wrapped up by the end of the week. The next chapter should be up soon!
"It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it's called Life." ― Terry Pratchett, (from The Last Continent.)