Kali POV:

I tried to hide my disappointment, but those thoughts got quickly pushed to the side when Daryl's head perked up like a hunting dog catching a scent. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, and he subtly indicated for me to hide behind a nearby dumpster closely following.

I pressed my back against the cold metal, trying to control my breathing as I strained my ears to catch the faintest sound. All I could hear was the distant moans of walkers echoing in the distance through the desolate streets. Daryl's hand rested on the hilt of his crossbow ears strained.

A few heartbeats later, the echo of footsteps reached my ears. They didn't drag lethargically like the walkers; these were purposeful, human steps.

"Stay," Daryl mouthed to me, his voice barely audible amidst the eerie silence. He spun away from our hiding spot, swift and cat-like, pointing his crossbow with trained precision. My muscles tensed, and I held my breath, not daring to make a sound. I didn't move an inch.

"Woah, don't shoot me!" The voice, now louder, sounded young, desperate.

"I'm looking for my brother. He's hurt bad. You seen him?" Daryl's voice, surprisingly calm, cut through the tension. He was advancing cautiously, putting more distance between us, his eyes never leaving the stranger.

The stranger's cries grew louder, escalating into a frantic pitch. Daryl tried to hush him, his rough whispers slicing through the tense air, but it was futile. The guy just kept screaming in a language I couldn't understand, his panic palpable. I poked my head from around the dumpster to get a look curiosity was leaning in. The strangers' features came into focus – perhaps two years older than me, a buzzcut framing a terrified face, clad in a worn-out wife-beater shirt. He looked petrified of my brother... I couldn't blame him.

When the boy's shrill cries persisted, Daryl's patience snapped like a taught wire. With a swift motion, he struck the stranger in the face with the butt of his crossbow, silencing him abruptly. The guy crumpled to the ground, his shouts muffled as Daryl clamped a firm hand over his mouth. I flinched lightly, then flinched harder again when I heard a rattling noise from behind me, shit there were walkers at the fence. Hunger stirring in their rotting bodies.

I cautiously withdrew the pistol Daryl had given me earlier, praying I wouldn't have to resort to using it. The situation was rapidly deteriorating. My anxiety reached its zenith when two imposing figures thundered down the narrow alleyway. One of them was bald, sporting a shitty scruffy goatee, while the other wore a blue bandana around his head. Their presence struck a chord of fear and familiarity within me.

My eyes widened in recognition, but not a pleasant one. They resembled the type of people my father used to tangle with – or, more accurately, people my father would aggressively provoke, given his racist tendencies.

"Daryl," I called to him uncertainly as the menacing figures approached, my grip trembling around the gun I held. Fear constricted my throat, and I couldn't shake the gnawing sensation that we were facing the very definition of bandits. Bandits to the front, walkers to the back – it was a nightmare scenario, leaving us utterly defenseless.

Before Daryl could react, the burly bald man delivered a vicious kick to his head, knocking him away from the teenage boy.

"DARYL!" I screamed in horror, my voice laced with terror, making a desperate move towards him. But before I could reach him, the man with the bandana seized my wrist, wrenching it painfully behind my back. The gun slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground, as pain shot through my arm. A cry of agony escaped me, and hot tears welled up in my eyes.

"Stop... please, stop," I begged, my voice quivering with fear and desperation. My vision blurred with tears, and I struggled futilely against the man's grip, my focus fixated solely on reaching my brother.

"Let go of 'er," I heard Daryl's growl, his voice strained and furious, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. My heart pounded in my chest, a symphony of fear and anguish, as I watched my brother being ruthlessly attacked, each blow flinching harder and harder.

Where are the others? Oh, God, I actually wish Merle was here. He would know what to do. He would know how to fight violence with violence, unyielding and unapologetic. I felt the invisible pressure in my chest threatening to take over. We were fucked, that's how it felt. But, Merle he'd tell me, 'Toughen up River Girl, remember what Daryl thought ya'.

With a deep breath, I steadied my thoughts, though I could still feel a tremor coursing through my shoulders.

"Sorry," I muttered sincerely before swiftly yanking my hands-free, pivoting, and attempting a kick aimed at his groin. However, my aim went awry, and I ended up striking him in the knee before he could even register what was happening. He let out a surprised "Huh?" and stumbled backward. Don't ask me how I missed; I'm not very kung-fu savvy, okay?

The fence restraining the walkers was teetering on the verge of collapse. Daryl was engaged in a fierce struggle with the bald man, while the one in the bandana was slowly rising to his feet. I hesitated for a split second. Instinct told me to aid my brother, even though he seemed to be gaining the upper hand. But if that fence gave way, every one of us would be screwed. Also, the bandana guy looked pissed and was likely to target me again.

Panic clawed at my throat as I glanced around in desperation, my eyes locking with Daryl's.

"Fucking run, Kali!"

His urgent command pierced through my fear. I didn't have time to question my actions or analyze my motives. The primal instinct for survival took over, propelling my legs into a sprint. Maybe I was a coward, maybe I really didn't want to be involved, maybe I just wanted to go hide under my bed like a little girl. Whatever the reason, I obeyed Daryl's order without a second thought.

I raced through the chaos, my surroundings a blur of decaying buildings and snarling walkers. I didn't even notice Glenn nearby, nor did I register the fact that the menacing men had been on Daryl and were now kidnapping Glenn.

My legs carried me relentlessly, propelling me through the pandemonium until I finally burst into a clearing. Slowing down, my lungs burned, and my heart pounded against my ribcage. Leaning over, I rested my hands on my knees, gasping for breath. As I looked around, trying to regain my bearings, my eyes fell upon the street sign: 42nd St and Florence Ave. A bitter, ironic laugh escaped my lips; of course, my subconscious would lead me straight back 'home.'