General/Daryl POV:
Daryl's jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth might shatter under the pressure. His eyes, usually sharp and observant, were clouded with anger and frustration. The snarl that etched across his face was more animal than human, a raw manifestation of his emotions.
The rage boiled within him as he glared at the teenage kid who had unwittingly led them into this nightmare. With a swift and forceful motion, Daryl grabbed the boy and slammed him against the wall. Every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to explode in a fury he could barely contain. Daryl's grip tightened on the boy's collar, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. His mind raced with a jumble of emotions – guilt clawed at him for losing sight of Kali, anger boiled for not protecting her better, and fear gnawed at him, imagining the worst. The image of Kali's terrified face haunted him, her voice echoing in his ears as she fled. I told her to run, he thought bitterly, but what if she's in danger now? What if she needs me, and I ain't there? His heart pounded in his chest, a painful reminder of his powerlessness. The desperation to find her, to keep her safe, surged through him, mingling with his anger, a toxic blend that threatened to consume him entirely.
In that moment, his mind was a tempest of fury and worry. The other men who attacked him had taken Glenn as walkers cornered him in. His sister, his only family left, was out there somewhere, running, scared. He had told her to flee, but now he couldn't shake off the gnawing fear that had settled in his gut. Where did she go? Was she taken too? The fear for her safety mingled with his anger, a toxic blend that fueled his desperate need to find her, to protect her at any cost. The frustration of not being able to keep her safe, of not being able to prevent these events, surged through him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in impotent fury.
"It's your fault! I'm gonna stomp your ass." Daryl seethed, his anger boiling over, fueling the need to lash out. He clenched his fist, ready to unleash his frustration on the young guy who had inadvertently led them into this mess. But before his punch could connect, Rick's hand closed firmly around his shoulder, yanking him back with a strength that surprised Daryl. The sudden force disrupted his grip, his fist sailing harmlessly through the air.
His attention had been so fixated on the boy that he hadn't registered the arrival of Rick and T-Dog, the cavalry appearing just in the nick of time. Rick's grip was firm, a silent command to stand down, to rein in the rage threatening to consume him entirely. Daryl's chest heaved with heavy breaths, his muscles tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. In that moment, he begrudgingly acknowledged Rick's intervention, even if his anger still smoldered beneath the surface, an untamed fire desperate to rage free.
From there they found a secure spot in a nearby building and interrogated the guy, Daryl with hostility and Rick constantly pulling him back. Daryl figured his guys must have taken his sister along with Glenn.
Kali POV:
The front door stood locked, but the back entrance had been forcefully opened at some point. As I peered inside, darkness enveloped the interior. Sparse light filtered through a few windows, casting a dim glow on the worn-out brown carpet and walls tinged yellow from years of indoor smoking, despite the building's supposed 'smoke-free' status as indicated by a sign on the door. The place felt eerie and unsettlingly quiet.
Having learned from past experiences, I cautiously tapped on the glass. If there were walkers inside, my plan was to bolt. If there were people... well, I'd run just the same.
My grip tightened around the gun, I didn't want to use it... ever... if I didn't have to but it was there if necessary. The silence inside the apartment was suffocating, amplifying the unease creeping up my spine. The idea of being alone in this place, once familiar but now hauntingly strange, unsettled me deeply.
Worry for my brother gnawed at the edges of my mind, was he okay? Was he looking for me? Guilt clawed at my conscience; I shouldn't have left him... But he told me too... He'll find me... Right? I could go back... After, I would go back. But beneath that worry lay a deeper yearning—a desperate desire to find mymother, a flicker of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, she was still here, waiting. I scolded myself at the silly thought. She's probably long gone, I reasoned, trying to suppress the flicker of hope. If she isn't... I shook my head vigorously, dispelling the thought before it could take root.
With hesitant steps, I moved away from the door, my senses alert to every creak and rustle. Every inch of the apartment seemed to whisper of memories long gone, and the emptiness of the rooms mirrored the void in my heart. I pressed on to suit 105.
Nervously, I tried the doorknob. Locked.
My eyes fell to the familiar sight of our shitty welcome mat, worn and tattered yet oddly comforting. Slowly, I bent down and lifted the mat, revealing a hidden key. My hands moved automatically, as if guided by muscle memory rather than conscious thought, picking up the key and sliding it into the doorknob. It was a surreal moment; here I was, in the midst of an apocalypse, holding a gun, yet performing a mundane task as if it were any other day.
The door creaked open, revealing the darkness inside. The room was as pitch-black as the hallway, with curtains drawn tightly shut, allowing in only slivers of feeble light. The air was heavy with silence and anticipation as if the room held its breath.
"Hello?" I said my voice barely above a whisper.
No answer.
Unconsciously, I gulped, my throat dry with fear, but I mustered the courage to open a curtain.
Light flooded in. One thing was for certain: my mother hadn't moved.
Everything seemed frozen in time, untouched from the last moment I was here. The same lumpy plaid couch, its patterns faded with age. The never-ending stack of dirty dishes cluttered the connected kitchen. A dusty old box TV, a relic of the past, stood sentinel in the living room. And there it was, the simple but small wooden table that had always separated the two rooms. The familiarity of it all hit me like a tidal wave, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions I hadn't prepared for.
I reined in my emotions. She wasn't here, but that didn't mean she was dead.
Uncertain of my next move, I walked down the hall. I hesitated, glancing from her bedroom door to mine. I bit the inside of my cheek, a pang of uncertainty gnawing at me. Were there any material possessions left in my room? Probably not. Or had she repurposed it for something else? Did I want to know?
The uncertainty gnawed at me, a relentless ache in the pit of my stomach. In the end, curiosity triumphed over fear, and I turned the doorknob, the metal cool against my trembling fingers.
It was seemingly untouched aside from the closet that was slightly open ajar. Bare walls, that scratchy ugly green plaid blanket along with my lumpy pillows were actually coated in dust. My old dresser still held the picture frame of picture of me and my mother from when I was like 6. I picked it up. I'd only really taken my clothes and my MP3 player when I left this place for good. I was internally mad at the time that I had to leave and live with my father permanently and had blamed it on her. Oh, how that changed over time though when I'd wished to be anywhere but my fathers.
Before I could look around more, I heard voices coming from outside the apartment hallway.
I froze, please pass by but they just got louder. My breathing quickened when I heard a man's voice.
"Rose you expecting company?"
I grabbed my gun from my waistband and griped it tight but I couldn't move... Rose... It couldn't be...
I could hear them coming closer.
"Rose, wait by in the hall," the man's voice ordered.
I couldn't move. Merle would be so disappointed in me. I managed to barely raise my gun when the man creaked the door open further. He wasn't one of the thugs from earlier, but he was just as menacing.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded upon seeing me. Before I could answer or look over his shoulder to see if... to see if...
I squealed when he rushed me and twisted my wrist, forcing me to drop my gun and put it in his waistband.
Then he twisted my arm behind my back painfully. I tried to recall the self-defense lessons I had with Daryl but I just wound up pulling uselessly against the stranger.
"Hey Rose, we got ourselves a little thief!"
Footsteps made their way closer, " Last time that happened I was picking blood out of my nails for a week! That is not happening again," An annoyed mousy mildaged voice sounded from around the corner. My stomach dropped.
She stopped dead in her tracks and I stopped struggling, mouth open like a fish.