Red River Blue

Chapter 88

As the pounding in her head intensified, the area around her slowly began to shift into focus. The first thing Leah saw when she blinked her heavy eyelids open was her own hand. There was dried blood on her palm. That was never a good sign. Leah rolled onto her back, wincing at the throbbing pain that was radiating out from her left temple. She lifted her hand, skimming her fingertips over the side of her face that hurt the worst in an attempt to see how badly she was injured. There was more dried blood on her face and she could feel little bits of it crusted into her hair.

Leah closed her eyes, fighting back a wave of nausea. She kept them closed as she tried to remember anything that might give her some clue as to where she was and how she got there. The last thing she remembered clearly was Afghanistan. Her platoon sheltered inside what remained of an old school, protecting themselves and each other as much as they could as the napalm dropped like rain from the sky above. The attack was what the military liked to refer to as friendly fire. There was no way it came from the Afghans. If they had that type of fire power, they would have started using it a long time ago. Whether there was a miscommunication about where her platoon was, or the powers that be simply decided they were acceptable collateral damage was anyone's guess.

Leah turned her head to the side and blinked her eyes open. There wasn't much light filtering in through the one small window in the room. But it still hurt her eyes. The wall closest to her was made of cement blocks. Which meant she wasn't in a proper hospital even though she was clearly injured. That wasn't good. But there was a cot under her. Which meant someone was taking care of her. Maybe we're waiting for the extraction team, she thought hopefully.

After a few deep breaths to steady herself, Leah slowly pushed herself into an upright position. She listened to her body, assessing any other place she might have sustained an injury besides her left temple. The movements caused her head to throb horribly. And the world spun around her. She knew she probably had a concussion. But she was relieved that the rest of her body seemed to be in good working order. Bracing her elbows on her knees, she rested her head on her hands and waited for the throbbing in her head to fade.

When Leah finally looked up, the first thing she saw was the metal bars. She was locked in a cell. The panic began to rise inside her. Being captured by enemy soldiers was never good. But as a woman soldier in a country where women weren't even allowed to wear pants or drive, it was especially terrifying. Had she been captured? Where was the rest of her platoon? When Leah was able to calm her breathing and focus beyond the bars of her cell, she noticed she wasn't alone in the dimly lit space. There was a man on the opposite side of the bars. The first thing about him that registered in her mind was that he was attractive. Not pretty boy handsome, but rugged. His dark hair was shagging in his eyes. And he was wearing a well worn leather vest over his black button down shirt. She wasn't sure who he was. But from his appearance, he certainly wasn't an Afghan soldier.

The man was sitting cross legged on the cement floor, staring at her through his shaggy hair as he sharpened the edge of a large hunting knife. Leah felt her stomach flip. Her head began to pound again as she searched her brain for the man's name. It was right on the tip of her tongue, like she ought to know it but didn't.

"Who are you?," she asked. Her voice came out in a parched croak. And she grabbed the gallon jug of water that had been placed next to her bed, chugging from it until her thirst was quenched.

"What the hell do ya mean, who am I?," the man growled. "Ya know damn fuckin' well who I am." He drug his knife along the whetstone with more force, casting a hateful glance in her direction. Whoever he was, he didn't seem to be in the mood for the game he thought she was playing with him.

"I swear I don't know. Are we still in Afghanistan?," Leah asked. The man huffed as he turned his blade over and began to sharpen the other side. "Please. I must've hit my head. I've got no idea where I am. Just tell me your name…"

The man glanced up at her though the shaggy curtain of his hair. He narrowed his hooded eyes at her like he was trying to decide if he believed what she was saying or not. He still looked unsure. But he must have decided there was nothing to lose by giving her the information she was nearly begging for.

"Daryl Dixon."

The sound of his name snapped something inside her. And suddenly Leah knew exactly where she was. She wasn't in Afghanistan. She was in Alexandria. And worse than that, she was locked in a cell in Alexandria. Everything came flooding back at once. The outbreak. The giant hoard that separated her from her platoon. Leah lurched off the bed, reaching for the empty bucket near the foot of it. She grasped ahold of it just in time, gripping the edge as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the plastic container. When she was done, she struggled to her feet, throwing herself at the bars of the cell.

"Daryl. Please. She has my son. She has Matthew," Leah pleaded. "You've gotta let me out of here!"

"Yeah. I'll get right on that," Daryl said, snorting out something close to a laugh. He looked up at her again before he continued. "Our people are dead because of you. The only way yer ever gettin' outta that cell is in a body bag."

It wasn't Daryl's words that sent a chill up Leah's back. It was the tone in his voice when he said them. Daryl wasn't threatening her. He wasn't trying to scare her. He was simply stating the truth. He could have been talking about doing the laundry for all he cared about whether she lived or died. And she knew that what he was saying was true. These people would hang her from a tree after lunch and still have dinner on the table by five. They had no mercy or compassion for anyone that fucked with them. And she definitely fucked with them. A lot. Especially Daryl. She really fucked with him. Leah moved back from the bars of her cell, sinking down onto the edge of the narrow cot.

"What are you doing down here then?," Leah asked. "Why not just kill me now?"

"Gotta put ya on trial," Daryl said. "Alexandrians get a trial before we kill 'em."

Leah rolled her eyes. She remembered stories about the trial from last summer at the Kingdom when Negan killed that boy outside the barn party. But that one was conducted by Ezekiel with all his magnanimous bullshit. This one wouldn't be. Ian wasn't going to take her back to Riverbend with him like he took that little would-be rapist. She was going to swing for what she did.

"Why are you here?," Leah asked, repeating her question. She didn't have much hope. But there was a tiny sliver of it taking root inside her. Maybe Daryl wouldn't leave her in this cage. Maybe she could talk him into driving her far away from this place and leaving her there. For most people that would be a sentence worse than death. But not for her. She could survive on her own. She'd done it before.

"I wanna know why," he admitted, tucking his sharpened knife away and swiping his hair back out of his face. Giving her his full attention.

"I told you. She took my son. Alpha. She has Matthew."

"Not that," Daryl countered, though Leah could tell that he wasn't completely unaffected by her story. Daryl knew about her son, though she'd told him at the time that Matthew was lost not taken. She'd been tempted then to tell him the whole truth then. When they sat in that treehouse with the light fading in the sky, sharing their grief. "Why'd ya do that shit ta me? I thought we were friends. Or was all that just part of yer bullshit too?"

"What shit?," Leah asked, pressing her hand against the side of her pounding head.

"Ya told my wife we fucked!," Daryl hollered, rising from his spot on the floor and approaching the bars of the cell. He pointed at her, stretching his arm between the narrow slats. "I never fuckin' touched ya!"

Leah looked up, meeting his eyes with hers. When she raised her brow at Daryl she saw the slight waver in his expression. They never fucked. That was true. But she kissed him that night in the treehouse. And Daryl kissed her back, his hands cupping her face before they slid down to grip her shoulders and gently push her away. I'm sorry, I can't do this. It wasn't his lack of desire that held him back. It was his loyalty to a woman that left him when he needed her the most.

"What the hell did ya tell her that shit for?," Daryl asked, more hurt in his voice now than anger.

Leah winced at the pain in her temple. She took a deep breath, thinking over what she was going to say as she slowly released the air from her lungs. Because she didn't think fuck that bitch that's why would go over very well.

"I guess I wanted to hurt her. Like she hurt you," Leah admitted.

Daryl swiped his hair back, staring at her through the bars in the way that always made her stomach flip. He still cared about her, no matter who she helped kill. She knew it. Leah rose from the edge of the bed. Approaching the bars, she wrapped her hand around Daryl's.

"Please let me out of here. I'll leave. You'll never have to see me again. Please Daryl. You know I care about you. About everyone here. Alpha took my son. She'll kill him if I don't show up to the next meet I have with her. Please Daryl, you have to help me…"

"I've heard enough."

Leah glanced up towards the source of the voice, her body stiffening when she saw Carol stepping down off the stairs. The woman had clearly been sitting there for some time now, quietly listening to her and Daryl's entire conversation. At the sound of his wife's voice, Daryl was quick to step back from the bars of the cell, pulling his hand out of her grip. Carol wrapped her arm around his waist, favoring Leah with only one brief disgusted glance before she looked up at Daryl instead.

"Let's go home," Carol suggested. Daryl nodded, letting her lead him away and up the stairs without even so much as a glance behind him.