Resurrection
Chapter 17 - Sacrifice
"Put these on. You're coming with us" they told Daryl and shoved the military uniform to his chest.
The hunter looked down on himself, frowning, utterly confused by what was being said.
"What?" he asked and looked at the man in front of him.
"We got a mission. Boss wants you to come with us. Pull your own weight during your stay here " the soldier said, but Daryl just stood there, not believing what was being said.
"What?" he asked yet again, and the soldier shoved him hard.
"Put these clothes on! That's an order!" he said and grabbed his weapon without really aiming it at Daryl, to make it very clear that he was supposed to listen to him.
"You gonna stand there and watch, you freak?" Daryl asked with an angry frown as he took a closer look at the clothes.
"We've gotta meet up downstairs in t minus 10 minutes. Hurry" the soldier said and tried to get rid of Daryl's shirt to make him undress faster, which totally freaked the hunter out.
"Fuck off!" he spat and fought the hands off, chest heaving, pupils dilated and breath hitching.
He started undressing himself on his own just so the soldier wouldn't touch him again.
The man placed himself by the door and folded his arms in front of his crouch while staring at the opposite window.
"Why's gotta be me who helps you stupid people? Ain't got enough of your precious soldiers?" the hunter growled as he got rid of his pants so he could put on the new ones he'd been given.
"Professor Smith thinks the lack of a reaction from the infected near you could give us advantages in the field as soon as we get inside the facility."
Daryl frowned at that and looked up.
"Facility?"
The soldier looked at the hunter and nodded.
"Professor Smith needs us to get back to university hospital to gather specific medical instruments that he needs for a surgical intervention.
And we need someone to sneak inside even with the infected blocking our path. And that...would be you. Now hurry."
Daryl froze right on the spot yet again. He finally understood what was being said, and it absolutely horrified him.
He wasn't freaked out because of the possibility of facing countless walkers, it was the reason that turned him into stone.
Medical instruments for a surgical intervention.
He was supposed to get the instruments that were going to kill Connor.
He stopped putting the clothes on, refusing to do anything like that.
"I ain't going with you" he snarled and gave the man opposite a look that could kill.
The soldier came closer and really pulled his gun this time.
"Yes you are" he stated and pointed the muzzle at Daryl's head, but the hunter just snorted.
"Or what? Yah gonna kill me? Would be a pretty stupid move, considering that yah need me."
"This is my last warning, smartass" the soldier snarled and kept coming closer, but Daryl stood his ground.
"Listen, smartass. Whatever yah think yer doing..I ain't gonna join your little murder club."
"I said put these clothes on! That's an order!" the soldier yelled as loud as he could.
"And I said screw yah!" Daryl yelled back, still refusing to do anything he was told.
And this was enough to send the other man over the edge. Without a warning he suddenly buried the grip of the gun in the hunter's face, nearly breaking his nose while doing so. He then grabbed Daryl's arm and used it yank and turn the hunter around, which nearly dislocated his shoulder and made the younger man yelp in pain. Daryl kept struggling and cursing, but didn't really stand a chance because the soldier was well trained and knew what he was doing.
The hunter didn't expect the sudden blow to his lower chest that happened right then and there, which forced all the air out of his lungs and made him see stars. Daryl could hear the sick crack of one of his rips and then his upper body was forced down on the table. He gasped when his body got filled with nothing but pain as the soldier pressed his arm to his back and then forced his entire weight on top of him, to press his face on the table and whisper in his ear.
"I can break every single bone in your body. Every bone that you don't really need for this mission. Believe me, I know how to make this painful for you without actually threatening your life or rendering you useless, boy. I wish I could say I got all day for this crap, but I'm glad t'tell you that I don't even need five minutes for that. Now get. dressed" the soldier said quietly, almost calmly, and then shoved his head against the surface of the table, which made Daryl's nose ache even more. For just a second the hunter was completely paralyzed because this sudden violent behavior still reminded him of his past, how his father had mutilated and hurt him over and over again. He still tried to fight back and started yelling like a madman, but the soldier was too strong and knew exactly what he was doing.
Tears shot to Daryl's eyes because of the throbbing pain in his face and ribs, and maybe it wasn't just because of that.
Everything was so fucked. Connor didn't believe him, and now HE was supposed to get the murderous things that were going to seal the fate and kill his friend because the fucking asshole wanted it to be that way. And not just Connor was forcing him to do it and get it, now everybody else was forcing him to do it as well. He knew that he was going to lose this fight, and although he was pretty much giving up inside he still tried to stay strong on the outside.
"Fuck you" he gasped and sniffed when he felt how blood was starting to escape his abused nose.
As soon as the soldier let go of him he moved away from the table and winced, because the broken rip sent a hot wave of electricity and pain through his entire body. He was pretty quick and eager to get away from the table, and he gave the soldier the most hateful glare he managed to come up with. And then it dawned on him. He knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against them in here, but maybe they were right about his advantage with the walkers out there. He didn't know how he was going to use his escape from here, whether he was going to use it to get out of Augusta like Connor had told him to, or if he was going to use it to kill the asshole who had just violated him.
No matter what he was going to do, he just knew that he was going to use this opportunity no matter what.
The hunter gritted his teeth and then got rid of the rest of his clothes, so he could put theirs on, look like one of those soulless bastards that were trying to kill his best friend.
Connor sat on top of the flat roof and watched the children play and draw suns and stickmen on the floor.
The sun didn't really shine today, which was why they could be up here. It was even a bit windy, the perfect kind of weather to stay outside.
He snorted gently and shook his head. The perfect kind of weather to stay outside and enjoy the last day of your fucking life he thought and blew some smoke in the air.
He was still scared. That was true. Everyone who said that they weren't scared of dying was a freaking liar. But this was exactly the reason why he decided to stay up here and watch the kids. They were the reason why he was doing this, he tried to remind himself. They were innocent. They were worth fighting for. Not a dead corpse. Not a rotting corpse in Boston, someone who had died a year ago.
Connor swallowed hard and turned his head to stare at the skyline of Augusta.
He's still alive.
Who is?
Murphy.
He was right here, in this building, and I think I kinda understand now why he ran the fuck away. I bet they wanted to do the same shit to him as well, but it looks like your bro is a whole lot smarter than you and saw right through this bullshit.
It wasn't true.
Couldn't be true.
He was still incredibly mad at Daryl. He couldn't believe that his friend could be so cruel and lie like THAT. He could've told him anything, but not...
The Irishman cleared his throat and shook his head with an angry frown. He hated his friend for saying this, because now he couldn't stop thinking about it.
He'd seen a couple of news reports and documentaries about it. He knew that some people had survived headshots in wars. He remembered the terrible images of some people, with half of their skulls and brains missing after a terrible accident. People, who had been fine.
It couldn't be true.
Murphy, coming at him, growling, bloody, drooling, not answering.
"Fuckin stop walking like that Murph..please..."
But Murphy kept coming.
"Please tell me ye remember it..please tell me ye remember me...fuckin don' be like them..."
He was sobbing, Murphy was only a few footsteps away from him, but he kept coming, staggering, wavering and reaching out, heading right for the gun.
"I love ye Murph" he sobbed and aimed at his brother's head. Another blink, and there it was. The recoil of the gun, the loud BANG, the sound of a skull cracking, blood droplets spraying everywhere, the brutal thud of a body falling to the ground, and then nothing.
Connor took a deep breath and clenched his healthy hand to a tight fist.
Murphy was dead. End of discussion.
And he wanted to be with him.
No more heartbreak. No more loneliness. No more rejection, no more pain.
Just salvation, and the knowledge that he would save a whole bunch of people with his death.
He looked up and swallowed yet again.
Probably.
Connor took a long drag on his cigarette, felt how the smoke filled his lungs and then exhaled with a gentle, pleased moan.
There better be cigarettes in heaven, Murph. Hope ye didn't smoke all of 'em while ye were up there without me ye little bastard he thought and stared up at the sky.
But there it was again, the lingering question: what if he wasn't up there?
Connor gritted his teeth and shook his head.
Ye gotta believe.
"Hey, how you doing?"
The Irishman startled and looked up, only to see one of the nurses hovering above him.
He believed that her name was Elizabeth, although he couldn't really remember. He knew that he had spent some time talking to her yesterday evening, but truth was that he'd been more interested in Ninja Turtles. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed that he had her breasts practically in his face because of the way she was standing in front of him, although he was pretty sure that it was unintentional. She gave him that friendly smile yet again. Maybe she was interested in him, maybe she wasn't. He couldn't really tell.
So many options, so many opportunities.
He knew it could be easy for him to get to her. He had his Irish charm and his looks on his side, and he certainly knew how to kick the ball in a woman's park. And he also knew that she had to know -something- about this place, about this immune kid that had been here before him. Then there was the other positive thing to it: she was a woman. He could get information, and maybe even more if only he wanted to. He even kind of considered it for a moment, simply because there were many reasons for that.
This could be his last night on Earth, just like he was the last MacManus on this Earth.
Then there was the more obvious reason to it: yes, he was religious, but he was also a man and it had been far too long.
And then there was the most important reason to it, the one he would never admit to, would never speak out. He knew how Daryl was going to react to that, possessive of him that he was. He knew the kind of look on his friend's face that he saw whenever he was close to a woman. And he had been rejected last night, no matter how stupid and wrong the idea had been. He'd attacked Daryl like that because he considered this his last nights on earth, because he wanted comfort and near, because he was so close with his friend and sometimes wanted to be even closer.
He knew he didn't love him. He knew it was wrong anyway, but this way it was just selfish, but he didn't care. Their relationship had never been about love, what anyone wanted or what was healthy. It had always been about hatred, about need, about hurting and destroying each other with wrong and harmful things, and maybe that was just like that. He wanted to make Daryl suffer for the rejection last night. He wanted him to be jealous, he wanted him to see him with her, and wither in his own grief and anger because he had spoiled that opportunity for the both of them.
He just kept looking at the woman, suddenly needing the near, the intimacy, but also needing all the information she could give him.
So many options, so many ideas, so many possibilities.
Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body. Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.
Words of wisdom.
He swallowed hard and shook his head while raising it, so he could fix his eyes on her face and her face only.
"'m good. Elizabeth, isn't it? How you doing?"
The woman smiled back at him and sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around her bent legs.
"I'm fine" she answered and the both of them watched the kids for a bit.
"The professor sent me up here to let you know that he wants to speak to you" she informed Connor, who took another drag on his cigarette and nodded.
"About tomorrow" she went on and the Irishman tensed a bit, not really liking the topic.
He wouldn't say anything to that, he just watched the kids.
"They told me that you want to do it" she kept talking and suddenly took his hand, which startled the Irishman a bit and made him look at her.
The woman took his cold hand in both her hands and looked him in the eye.
"I just wanted to let you know that we all think that you are very, very brave."
Connor snorted gently and looked away again. She let go of him, sensing that he didn't really like the touch.
They got back to watching to the kids until the woman spoke yet again.
"You should've seen the little ones before you two came here. A couple of weeks ago when we had to move and pretty much lost everything."
They both watched how Ethan tried to draw on Emma's face with the chalk. The boys were laughing as the little girl struggled to fight them off, but then even she was giggling.
"They couldn't really understand what was going on, but they could feel it, and it was having pretty much the same impact on them.
Emma's mom committed suicide because she thought all hope was lost."
Connor eyed the little girl closer. He had not suspected any such thing, considering the fact that the girl was still smiling and sometimes laughing.
She was quieter than the other two kids, that was true, but he'd had no idea about another suicide.
"We're a family. We stick together. But it was hard. Very hard when we lost that case before you. So...thank you" Elizabeth said and looked at the Irishman yet again.
"Thank you for being so brave and not running away. You've got no idea how much this means to us, how long we've waited for someone like you after..." she took a deep breath and then looked away. Connor had listened to her talk and he felt sorry for them, but there was a part of his mind that kept drifting whenever she talked about the past, the immunity case before him, the possibility that...
He's still alive. He was right here, in this building.
Connor stopped watching the kids play and turned his head to look at the woman.
"Who was that kid? The one before me?" he asked and the woman turned her head to look at him.
There was something in her eyes that told him that something was weird, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.
Maybe yer overreacting and see shit that's not there again.
He tried to tell himself.
The gunshot, Murphy falling to the ground with a hole in his head.
He's still alive.
Connor shook his head with an angry growl but kept looking at the woman, needing answers.
Elizabeth turned her head and avoided his gaze, which made him feel even more uncomfortable and distrustful.
"We didn't know much about him."
"Well, what was his name?" Connor asked, eyes piercing the woman, never letting go.
She swallowed and then turned her head again to look him straight in the eye.
"His name was David. He was a bit younger than you, I think. A walker bit his hand. He came all the way down here from New York. A soldier from a refugee center brought him here but got shot by the thieves that own most parts of the city. He got ambushed and lost his friend just before we got to him" she explained and then watched the kids once more.
She kept talking after a longer pause.
"He told us that the zone he hid in after the bite incident got slaughtered by military men. He was very traumatized and wouldn't tell us much because he couldn't trust anyone after that. Terrance, one of our guards, accidentally grabbed him the wrong way and freaked him out. He thought we were going to kill him like the other soldiers back in New York."
Connor frowned.
"I thought they bombed New York t'shit when the outbreak reached its height there? When I passed te city on my way down here there was nothin but smoke."
Elizabeth sighed and moved her hair behind her ear.
"Well, he was either lying to us or there's a part of New York that was still intact" she countered, and Connor frowned.
The story sounded plausible but he was still having a hard time believing it, although he supposed that it was all Daryl's fault.
The possibility of parts of New York still bein intact sounds a whole lot more plausible than yer brother surviving a horrible bite and headshot, he tried to keep telling himself, because really. It was -stupid- and insane to believe that Murphy was still alive. He had kept telling himself that for months, and it had nearly destroyed him because he had almost lost his connection to reality.
The grey Boston skyline all around them. The walker. Biting his neck and tearing flesh out.
The gunshot. The hole in Murphy's head. His brother's cold and unmoving body next to him. Him holding a cold and stiff hand and crying and crying his fucking eyes out.
Murphy was dead.
He's still alive.
Who is?
Murphy.
Are you really this stupid? Can't you connect all the dots? Bob told us. Immune kid who got bit. Your age. From up north. He was right here, in this building, and I think I kinda understand now why he ran the fuck away. I bet they wanted to do the same shit to him as well, but it looks like your bro is a whole lot smarter than you and saw right through this bullshit.
Connor squeezed his eyes shut and moved his fingers through his messy blonde hair.
His name was David. He was a bit younger than you, I think. A walker bit his hand. He came all the way down here from New York.
His head was spinning and pounding because of all the information, and no matter how hard he pulled on his hair, the headache wouldn't go away. He didn't know who he was supposed to believe. It wasn't the first time Daryl played mind games with him. And it certainly wasn't the first time his friend tried everything to fuck him over mentally. Who was lying? Who was telling the truth? It honestly looked like his friend had just said those things to keep him from doing the surgery.
Because Daryl was selfish, broken, fucked up, abusive and obsessed, because he would never let go of him, even if there could be cure. Daryl just had to be lying. But what about the woman, this group of people? He didn't know them. They wanted his blood. They could be telling him anything to keep him here. He would do the same if he were them. Everybody wanted something from him, his blood, his body, his friendship, anything but wanting him to be happy, to be healthy. So who was telling the truth? Who was lying? What was true? What was wrong?
Dead. Alive. Dead. Alive.
Murphy. David. Murphy. David.
Boston. New York. Boston. New York.
Hand. Neck. Hand. Neck.
Immune. Immune. Immune.
He groaned and tried to think of something else, but there were hardly any nice memories, anything he could hold on to that could make him happy right now.
He startled violently when Elizabeth placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"You okay?" she asked and his head snapped back up.
"Yeah" he said with a croaky voice, not able to hide the emotion, the confusion.
He didn't even know what he wanted anymore. He had come to terms with Murphy's death. He had accepted it, he had learned to live a life of his own. But he still didn't know what he wanted. Did he even want him alive? Of course he wanted that. He missed Murphy more than anything, and because of that he wanted to die, which was why he wanted Murphy to be dead as well. His brother being dead would make the reunion easier, he wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that his twin might still be alive but he wouldn't be able to find him. He wanted him dead. Because this way, a reunion was only a couple of final heartbeats away.
But there were other things he wanted as well and that confused the crap out of him. He hated Daryl for everything he kept doing to him, but he loved him because he needed him after Murphy's death, he wanted him here and he wanted him to get the fuck away from here, leave him alone and give him peace. He needed comfort right now and he didn't know who he wanted to comfort him. The warm woman next to him, his twisted friend, his dead brother...
Too much information, too many choices, too many decisions.
He sniffed awkwardly because his mind kept spinning, and then he forced himself to get back on his feet.
He needed to get away from here. From the woman, from this place where he'd learned and thought about too many things at once.
"Let's get t'this professor of yers" he said and tried to sound all cheery and relaxed, but this time he couldn't really hide the fact that he was a trainwreck right now.
Saying that the hospital was creepy would be the understatement of the year. Daryl was an grownass man. He was living in a world that was filled with walking corpses, but even he had to admit that this freaking hospital had to be one of the creepiest places he had ever seen. Every single horror movie he'd ever seen could have taken place in here. The only place that could match the creepiness had to be their old prison back at Woodbury, but the hospital was even more creepy, dark, smelly, bloody.
He hated places like this, places that had been filled with walking corpses first. People had abandoned the hospitals pretty early during the outbreak, because they were the worst, hell on earth. Everyone and their mother had brought bitten patients to places like this, bitten patients who had turned in masses, overwhelmed staff, turned them, eaten comatose and old people in wheelchairs alive. Even now he could still see the corpses on the ground, the blood, because no one had ever cleaned this place up. There had been no one left to clean up. Quite the opposite. Most hospitals had either been bombed or sealed, either destroying the corpses or keeping them inside forever.
One of the soldiers had told him that even the thugs from outside never dared step a foot inside this part of the hospital complex.
Because it was dangerous, dark, and creepy as hell.
Out of all the people who were on this mission it was Daryl who had to carry the list of the things they needed to bring the professor.
He thought it was some fucked up irony, a constant reminder, each item on his list mocking him.
I'm one of the things that are going to slice Connor's brain up. I'm going to kill him. And there's nothing you can do. Ha. Ha.
Daryl gritted his teeth and wanted to rip the piece of paper apart.
He still didn't really have a plan, that was the bad part about the entire mission. Connor had always been the one to plan things, an escape, a kill, anything. But Connor was exactly the point. Daryl was absolutely desperate by now. He had tried escaping. In his mind, at least. Turn his back on the group of soldiers, run, because he knew that they weren't really interested in him. This was the easy part, planning wise. He could just turn around, run, hide, and get back to Woodbury. To Carol, to Rick, to little asskicker. Back to his group, the people he had met back in Atlanta. He could go back to them, forget about Connor, pretend that he had never even met him, that he had never spent the past couple of months with another man, a friend, an addiction. Escaping was easy. Living with it was not.
Because he knew that if he would leave Augusta now then he would blame himself for the rest of his life. Connor would die then and it would be his fault because he would have done nothing to stop it. It was pretty much the same as going in there and doing the surgery himself. He knew it would be healthier for him, to get out of this dependent relationship, to get out of the emotional chaos, but he couldn't do it. Connor meant too much, and although he sometimes considered the possibility of killing him (the sick, dark part inside of him that still hated the Irishman because he was so goddamn annoying, that wanted to get out, that wanted to destroy his friend just so no one else could have him) he would never be able to do it.
Daryl wanted everything to change. He wanted to go back, save Connor from the surgery, never find Murphy. He wanted to stop the fights, the beatings, the insults, he wanted a second chance for the night before, he didn't want to push him away anymore, he wanted to change everything, cling to his friend, tell him the truth, because despite the fact that he still had the Atlanta group Connor was actually the only person in his life that kept him from being lonely. That kept him from breaking after Merle's death, the only one who made him a better human being, the only one who saw right through him, saw who he could be one day.
Which was the reason why he had decided not to leave Augusta. He was going to save Connor, no matter what. But at the same time this was the hard part. He had no idea how. He was pretty much right in the middle of the group of soldiers, because they still didn't trust him. There were six men with him. Heavily armed. Ready to scout and kill. And although he was pretty much wearing the same gear as them he still knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against them. But he had made up his mind.
He needed to kill them.
Keep them from getting the instruments.
He needed to delay the surgery, make it impossible, buy more time so he could convince Connor not to do it, so they could get the hell away from Augusta together.
He just needed more time.
Daryl let his gaze roam through the dark corridors and rooms to their left and right. Scanning reception tables, abandoned beds, wheel chairs, searching for anything he could use to get out of this mess. The entire team was heading for the ICU, hoping to find everything that was on the list. Every now and then they would hear a distant groan, the shuffling of feet or the cluttering of a falling piece of equipment. They knew they weren't alone in here. Sooner or later the walkers were going to show up, all the undead that had been locked in here ever since the outbreak had started.
The team had entered the hospital over a board, through a window on the second floor, since they were pretty certain that the ground floor and basement were filled with walkers. They had heard them after all, even seen them. The leader of the team of soldiers had made it pretty clear that they were supposed to be as quiet as possible, and Daryl had stuck to their rule because the place was so creepy, because he didn't fancy dying in a shutdown, overrun hospital when he needed to save his friend. He did stay quiet, until realization suddenly hit him like a truck.
They were hurrying down the corridor, getting closer and closer to the intensive care unit, closer and closer to the murderous instruments. Another reception, another bed that was toppled over and lying in their way, with the soldiers desperately trying not to make too much noise. It was then when Daryl noticed a table by the left side of the corridor. A table with loads of strange medical bottles still standing there, waiting to be used by ghostly doctors that would never return.
The bottles were made of glass.
Professor Smith thinks the lack of a reaction from the infected near you could give us advantages in the field as soon as we get inside the facility.
Advantages in the field.
Lack of a reaction from the infected near you.
The walker was lying right on top of him, staring at him and grabbing and pinning him, but he did nothing but sniff and snarl. Daryl stared back at the undead with wide eyes and watched him sniff at his throat, face, clothes. He did anything but bite him. The fight was going on all around him, inside the prison, outside the prison, by the cars, he could see Michonne and Beth from where he was lying, but for some reason the walker wouldn't attack him. Just like Connor.
The bottles were made of glass.
Glass meant noise when it scattered into a thousand pieces.
Noise attracted walkers.
They were walking right past the table when Daryl made the final decision.
He knew it was stupid, he knew it was dangerous, but this was his only chance to fight the soldiers, to return back to the building by the river on his own.
Without the medical instruments. Without soldiers.
The hunter walked to the left, careful not to make the others notice. He hooked his left leg underneath the table while making his way past it, to make it look like he had just stumbled. He yanked his foot forward and got what he had aimed for. The bottles shook violently with the moving table, then they lost their balance, falling to the ground, breaking into thousands of glass splinters.
The noise was deafening in such a quiet, abandoned building, which was exactly what he wanted.
For just a moment all the soldiers froze right where they were, turning their heads and giving him an angry glare.
"Fuck, sorry, sorry" the hunter cursed loudly and stepped back.
It was a fake apology, and he only used to make even more noise.
"Shut up. SHUT UP" one of the soldiers whisper-shouted at him and grabbed him by his shoulder to yank him away from the glass, but it was already too late. They could hear them down the corridors, the roaring wave of undead, staggering meat. Attracted by the noise, ready to rain down upon them, ready to tear, kill and eat.
"Get a move on. Go go go!" an other soldier shouted and they started running, towards the door that led to the ICU.
His side was stinging with every step that he took because Daryl's rip was broken, but despite the pain he still had to smile. He had done what he wanted, they were coming, he was pretty sure that there was hardly a way out of this hospital except for the way he had entered the building. It was just a matter of time until the undead would come, and although Daryl still feared them himself he still just had to smile even more. For the first time they weren't actually his enemies, they were his allies, the ones who were getting him out of here like a secret, undead rescue team.
One of the soldiers kicked the door to the unit open and the team entered it with their guns raised. Daryl pretended to do the same, but he wouldn't keep an eye out for the undead, he was waiting for an opportunity to turn on the soldiers who forced him to do this, to be part of this, to assist his friend's murder.
"Alright, Terrance, William, Henry, you search the left side of this corridor. Michael, Abraham, you search the right side with me. You" the man said and then pointed at Daryl with furious eyes. "Stay put and don't. Fucking move. You stay here and kill strays. Bout time you show how useful you little shit are around walkers" he said, and despite the anger Daryl could also see fear in the man's eyes.
And maybe he regretted his plan a bit.
The hunter wasn't a bad guy. He was far from it. And he certainly didn't like killing or scaring people.
He remembered everything Smith had told him about these people, this group who was looking for a cure and had lost hope more than once.
And fuck.
He didn't even know if any of them were the fathers of the other two kids.
He'd been watching movies with them the night before.
He gritted his teeth and nodded, staying close to the door as the other soldiers started running to search for the things they needed. The unit wasn't that big and there was another bunch of stairs down the other side of the corridor, but judging by all the sudden noise it sounded like the entire hospital was alive now. Or more like undead. They could hear terrifying snarls and growls all around them, hurried, clumsy footsteps, coming closer and closer to the spot where he had dropped the bottles.
Daryl swallowed hard and watched the men move about, now ignoring their 'be silent' rule. They were shouting commands, collecting things and searching drawers and beds as they desperately tried to find everything in time. Then he heard the first loud scream, coming from the far end of the corridor. A minute later the double door at other end of the unit burst open, revealing all the undead bloody monsters that had been piling up on it. The screams of the men were deafening, and it obviously sounded like the first soldier was down.
Daryl bit his lip hard and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, suddenly regretting everything, turning into this. Betraying a whole group of men just like that, sealing their fate and killing them without actually killing them. He kept his eyes closed for a moment and tried to rewind time, to come up with a better plan, a plan that would save Connor without having to kill other people. But of course. Rewinding time happened only in shitty cartoons. Like in Ninja Turtles. The cartoon he had watched with them less than 24 hours ago. It was so grotesque.
More screams. Gunshots, and the banging of a door right in front of him. He knew that thedoor on his side had been opened by the undead who were streaming inside, entering the same way they had used just minutes before. The screams were bone chilling, the typical gut wrenching yells that escaped a man's mouth, a human being that was eaten alive because of him. Daryl kept his eyessqueezed shut just for a second longer as he tried to come to terms with the slaughter he had initiated, the dinner bell he had rang. But then he remembered everything, why he was doing it, why he had come up with the whole thing.
They're gonna cut me open t'get to the brain stem, where the virus is located, and there's a pretty high fuckin probabilty that it's either gonna kill me, or fuck me over and make me a cripple.
The pain he had felt during these first couple of hours, during these first couple of minutes when Connor had shown him his very first bite. When the Irishman had collapsed, when he had carried him back to the group. When he had held his hand through fits, when he had watched him convulse and scream and suddenly stop. Those couple of minutes he had spent thinking that Connor was dead. He hadn't been able to take it back then, and he sure as hell wouldn't be able to take it now.
Merle's cold cloudy eyes staring at him, the blood on his shirt, the utter utter pain, the violent crying fit, the knowledge that someone he loved was dead.
He couldn't take another death.
The soldier, breaking his rip and bending him over the table, hurting him, just like his father, threatening his life and breaking and hurting hurting hurting.
Daryl clenched both his fists and made a decision. He could still hear the screams and gunshots, but he tried to ignore the pure screams of agony. They were all like the guy who had put a hand on him like that. They had all broken his rip, forced him to come. They were the ones who wanted to take Connor away. They were like the Governor. The very man who had killed his brother. And now they wanted to kill his best friend. They were evil. They were all Governors.
They deserved to die.
Daryl clenched his fists even more and got determined enough to open his eyes and face the massacre. He startled violently and even let out a surprised shriek when he saw the bloody figure of a woman was standing right opposite him, on the other side of the corridor, staring at him with wide, cloudy and dead eyes. Her bloody hands were twitching, the blood was dripping from her bespattered mouth, her long blonde hair hung in her face like dirty, wet curtains. Her blue hospital gown was also covered with blood, her feet bare and blue from the cold.
She was just staring at him, breath raspy and disgusting, and when she noticed that he was looking right at her she suddenly staggered forward, closer and closer to Daryl, who tried to back off but winced when his back connected with the wall. It was just then when the hunter finally realized how insane his entire plan had been. He was surrounded by the undead. There had to be at least one hundred of them all around him, some of them kneeling on the floor, feasting on the dead soldiers on the ground with loud and disgusting slurping noises.
The woman was different though. She kept coming, closer and closer, and it was then when Daryl noticed that he didn't have a weapon on him. The soldiers had never given him one because of their distrust. He pressed his back against the wall and waited for her to come closer, so he could kick her away and make her lose her balance.
But much to his surprise the female walker was faster. She was standing right in front of him within the blink of an eye, face right in front of his, only to move closer and closer, until she moved it next to his head, closer to his neck, as if she was trying to embrace him, kiss his neck heatedly like a long lost lover. She wouldn't bite him, she just hovered there and sniffed on him like a dog, like she didn't know what to make out of him.
And then he heard it, the gentle, croaky whisper, a dry throat that was desperate for water, blood.
Helllpppp ussssss, she croaked,the s hissing, scaring the crap out of Daryl.
There it was again, the sick connection with these monsters. Whatever Connor had pumped inside of him, he didn't want it, didn't want to hear it, see it, feel it.
The mentality was fucked up, and although it was keeping him alive right now he still hated it more than anything.
She tried whispering to him again but Daryl was fed up with it. He knew that she wasn't really talking, but there was a herd mentality, a connection, he just didn't want it.
"Get off!" he growled but not too loudly, fearing that the other walkers would get interested in him. The undead woman stumbled backwards and then finally seemed to lose interest in him, because she staggered towards the others, to the pool of blood and fleshy fresh corpse of a soldier, who had stopped screaming by now. Daryl tried to catch his breath because he was so freaked, so disgusted, so panicked and full of adrenaline because he was the only one alive in this entire freaking hospital. It still freaked him out how they wouldn't attack him, and even though they wouldn't he still wanted to get out of here as fast as possible.
He pretended to stagger around and even did the groaning thing so he could get a helmet and weapon from one of the soldiers, careful not to touch any walker or make them interested in him. As soon as he got the equipment he staggered towards the exit, the door, back to where they had come from, and even though he knew that he shouldn't he still started running.
He wasn't just running because he was scared shitless, he also did it because he knew his time was running out.
He needed to get Connor out of there before they suspected anything, before they threw him out for getting the soldiers killed.