It's Sunday! I just finished a morning of cleaning and am now sitting down to write more and upload this chapter. I am so grateful for the feed back I have been getting, you are all so wonderful! This chapter we are beginning to see a different side of Pandora, a much harder side. I hope you like it!
Chapter Text
They spent the rest of the way in silence, occasionally he looked back to ask if she' was doing ok. The answer is always yes; maybe if they were somewhere else the answer would be different. Right now, being ok was the only option.
Around them the landscape began to change, the homes they passed before were fewer and fewer. On either side, they were blanketed by thick trees. There were hardly any signs that anyone had been here in a long time, no cars left, no bodies, nothing. She wondered if there had ever even been people here, it didn't seem like it. There were also no walkers she noted, besides the ones they were leading behind them, she didn't see anything else.
"Alright." Sasha's voice came from the walkie.
"That's 20?" He asked, relief washed through her.
"It will be, 642 is a mile ahead gotta put some distance between us and them before the turn-off."
"Alright try to keep up."
Pandora, who had been sitting up with her hands holding his jacket leaned forward again before she was told. When her frame was pressed against him tightly she felt the bike jerk forward.
Whatever Sasha says next is lost to her, the wind whipping in her ears making her voice too muffled to understand.
The landscape changed again after the turn; looking to the side she sees them entering a small town. Old abandon cars lined the streets around them; here she would see the evidence of people. She had been so distracted by trying to look around she didn't hear everything fall apart. It wasn't the whizzing sound that made her jump, or even the blooming warmth she felt now on her right arm. It was the sound of shattering glass from the car that was so clear even with the moaning of the dead behind them.
Before she knew it, they are speeding up again, weaving side to side to avoid the bullets. She wanted to scream, but instead hunched down making herself smaller. Daryl was screaming at her over the noise to stay low. The next turn he took was too sharp though and her body doesn't move in time, they were both sliding to the floor then, the bike having slipped out from under them.
Pandora's arm rubs painfully on the side of the road; the pain makes her mind sharper something clicking into place in her head. Daryl hisses her name; she's turning then and he is in front of her getting the bike back up. She is sliding into her seat with record speed and again they are speeding off.
The bullets don't stop though; she can feel the displaced air to the right of her, too close for comfort. Hanging on tightly, she bites her lip so hard that her mouth is filled with the coppery taste of her own blood. She can't see anything as her eyes are shut tightly; she doesn't know where they are headed, just that they are going.
When Daryl turns she can hear the dead come lurching towards them, she opened her eyes then, too frightened to keep them shut. It's only when she feels their fingers brush the side of her clothes does she scream. A voice in her head screams at her, head down, arms in tight, don't let go.
One car crashes behind them, she turns to look, steeling herself. "We still have one behind us!" Her voice is high and tight with panic. She was losing it, her mind tried to count the time between her breaths in order to stave off the panic.
"Hold on!" He's shouting it now too as he moves the bike from side to side avoiding the flying bullets and hands of the dead. He gives the bike more gas, peeling off down the road in front of them. Once over a hill, he turns to the side with his fingers on his lips, slowly he pulls off into the woods.
Nodding, she keeps her body as still as she can. As quietly as she can she peers to the side, watching the car slowly drive past them.
"Ya alright?" He questions, throwing another look her way. Not trusting the sound of her own voice she only nods hoping he can see it. Once he thinks enough time has passed he starts the bike again, crossing the road and driving into the woods. The path they take is surrounded by burnt blackened trees and the ground is nothing but ash.
When he finally brings the bike to a stop, she feels her muscles give way, and before she knows it she finds herself looking up at the sky. Daryl's face comes into her field of vision, concern mixed with weariness.
"Ya hurt?" His hands are pulling her to sit up gently. She follows his lead, pulling her body into a sitting position. "Pandora?" He prompts.
He is asking her a question she doesn't know the answer to; every nerve in her body is on fire. Shutting her eyes, she tries to think passed it and find the places she is hurt, but she can't, everything is too loud.
"I don't know." Her voice is calmer than she feels, maybe she should be worried. Fingers clench and unclench; she feels a stinging in her right arm. "Here, maybe?" She holds her right arm towards him. Gently he peels off her jacket revealing a wound from a bullet that just missed her.
"Shit! Fuck." He was trying to pull the bag off her back now to get the supplies.
"Daryl stop!" She whispered hoarsely, pushing his hands away. "I won't die, we don't have time for this, come on."
Sitting there for another moment he sighed, running his hands over his face. Beside him, a burnt up walker gave a dull groan. Slowly, he stood then still breathing heavily. She followed him, pulling herself into a standing position. Her legs shook slightly, but she forced herself to move toward Daryl and the bike. Picking up the bike, the two of them started walking beside it.
Pandora glanced around as they moved; the bodies of burnt walkers littered the ground around them. Most of the trees had been burnt black, there was no grass just ground under them that was coated in ash.
"What the hell happened here?" She wondered out loud. Daryl only shrugged.
They walked a while longer until her muscles screamed in protest; she slowed then, her grip on the bike slackening. Her mind wandered drifting in and out; it was almost as if she was watching herself from outside her body. She tried to keep focused by thinking about the pain in her arm, instead of all the noise in her head. Before Daryl noticed, her knees were giving way and she was on the ground with the bike on top of her.
She felt him pull it off and pull her to the side. Above her, the sky was still bright, light filtering in through the burnt branches. I'm lying on the floor she thought, that couldn't be good. His hands were on her face then forcing her to look at him. "Pandora you stay with me!" His voice was harsh but she could feel the desperation lingering just under his tone.
Large, vacant eyes looked up at him holding his gaze for a few moments until she finally spoke, "I just need a minute." What had Denise called this, disassociation? Was that a bad thing? She couldn't remember now. Right now it seemed like a good thing, it seemed like disassociation was keeping her from losing her shit.
He nodded; he leaned over her slightly as he stood up. He tried to call for Sasha and Abraham over the walkie. Pandora felt something warm on her face reaching up she wiped it away only to find her hand comes away with blood.
"Daryl, you're bleeding." She noted calmly, turning her head to look at him as another drop of blood hit her cheek.
He looked down at his hand, blood dropped from the inside of his sleeve. Somehow that sent her spinning back down to earth, like someone had picked her up and placed her back in her body. She was standing in front of him before she even realized she had moved, her fingers pulled off the bloody glove and tossed it aside.
"Take off the jacket and let me see." He did as she asked him, wincing when he slipped it off. Deep cuts littered the outside of his arm, from the fall she guessed. "Here, let me clean it." She was already getting is backpack off the bike, turning she found him standing right in front of her.
His arm snaked around her waist pulling her closely with his finger over his lips. She held her breath waiting to hear whatever he heard. She didn't hear anything, but it didn't matter because he was moving. Before she blinked he was holding his crossbow and the bike was covered.
She walked behind him with her knife held tightly in her hand, all forms of panic gone. This was life or death; she would fight with everything she had or she would die. She followed behind him straining to hear what he had heard.
Suddenly in front of them, there were two women, their hands up in surrender. They were speaking and she leaned forward to hear it but Daryl stepped closer, putting a few feet between them. Before she could try and make out their words her world was spinning.
She heard the crack of the object against her skull after she was already tumbling into the darkness. There wasn't even any pain when she slipped away. Maybe this is dying. She thought, no wonder people just gave up. If this was dying it was too easy.
The feeling of someone kicking her in the side jolted her out of the darkness. She moved to hide her eyes from the sun only to realize her hands were bound. Panic flared up and she twisted, rubbing the rope against her skin hunching forward. Not tied up, not without the use of her hands. She swore this would never be where she found herself, not again.
"Cut it out!" a voice sneered, kicking her again. This time the foot made contact with the bullet wound in her arm, causing her to scream as pain flared up. "Shut up!" There was a man in front of her now, she tried to look at him but pain blurred her vision. Breath hitched in her lungs, she hunched over gasping and gulping in air.
Daryl lunged forward hearing her scream. The man cocked the gun that was in her face, the world narrowed to only the barrel of it. Everything else seemed to fall away; the world was sharp and focused again.
"Get up both of you, we're moving." The gun was trained on her but he spoke to Daryl. "Here's the deal, neither of you says shit and I won't kill you."
Her breath was ragged, fire burning in her lungs. She twisted her hands again, skin cutting open. Blood ran over her wrists, wet and warm. Her body turned to the side, legs crossing to hide herself from them. Her hair tumbled over her face, strands sticking to the wet trails on her cheeks.
"We're not who you think." Daryl's voice was low, controlled, but she knew him enough to hear the rage behind it.
The gun was on him then, "Say something else, go ahead."
Watching the gun pointed in Daryl's face, her fear was replaced by a cold rage. I will kill them; the idea was so final in her head that she should have been frightened. She wasn't though, just comforted in the finality of the decision she had made. She would live through this and then kill them.
The man was pulling her up now, pulling on the rope that bound her hands and shouting at them to follow behind the women. Pain ripped through her arm as she felt fresh blood well up in her sleeve soaking her. The world around her seemed to be moving slowly again, her eyes swept the area as they walked. Daryl was beside her then walking so his arm pressed against hers. She wasn't sure how long they walked but she was sure it had been a while; her body was beginning to feel it now. Feet and back screaming she needed to stop, but she couldn't since to stop was to die. A few times she was sure Daryl tried to get her attention, but everything was too much.
It was hard to focus. She was sure they were speaking to each other, to them too maybe? Daryl made no move to answer. She walked along, following the women's backs, her mind drifting. She was sure they were speaking, but listening to their conversation would require more energy than she had right now.
Suddenly the gun was in Daryl's face again, fear sliced through her like a knife. She tried to step between them, opening her mouth to say something, but her foot caught a root and she was sent tumbling forward. Without her hands to break the fall, her head connected painfully with the ground, white flashes of light in her vision.
There was more shouting then, the man threatening to shoot Daryl, but she couldn't get up. Something grabbed the back of her sweater pulling her up; she tumbled forward into Daryl's chest, the world tilting and shifting. She could hear the curses he whispered, and then he was calling her name. His words were too far away in her mind though despite their closeness. Glancing up, she met his gaze with wide unfocused eyes.
They were moving again now, shoving her and Daryl in front. She moved slower, almost stumbling again when they reached the end of the dense woods. In front of them stood a fenced in a factory of some kind, the dead wandering inside the fences. The few fleeting moments when their captors had their backs turned were bliss to her, she tried to breathe deeply. The pain in her head and arm roped her back down to earth, the pain was an anchor to the world.
A glance at Daryl and she knew what was next, they were going to run the moment they could. He gave her a small nod and she tried to nod back, not sure if it actually looked like one. Everything was still a little blurred. Then she heard their captors say something, the distress in their faces was clear. Something had happened, but she wasn't able to make out what.
She was being pushed then blinking, Daryl came into focus in front of her mouthing run, and when she didn't move he shoved her again. Finally, her body sprang into action, the blond woman was on the floor and she was running.
Twigs and branches whipped at her arms and face, but she didn't stop. Faintly, the sound of the gunfire caused her to slow, but Daryl was right behind her telling her to keep moving. How long they ran she wasn't sure, the intention was to keep running. The universe had other plans.
Her foot caught on a root again, this time she tucked and rolled. Muscle memory kicked in and Pandora found herself standing upright, stopping just short of a tree. If she hadn't been on the verge of having a panic attack she would be more impressed. She couldn't remember the last time she even practiced any of her moves.
She tried to wipe the hair from her face, only to raise her bound hands to eye level. "Daryl." Voice high, she presented her bound wrists. Blood coated the rope from when she tried to get them off.
He sat her down on a log behind them, working the knot until the rope fell away. Something between a gasp and sob escaped her when the air hit the skin that had been rubbed raw. He watched her, hands on her arms squeezing lightly. Then he was gone, ripping the bag open to try the walkie.
Sitting, she tried to slow her breathing. It was fine now, she tried to tell herself. Her hands were free and no one was waving a gun in her face, they would get home. The groaning of one of the dead reached her after it reached him, when she turned her head Daryl was struggling to get the crossbow out of the bag.
Before she knew it she was on her feet, a knife in her hand, and then it was the head of the walker. Her arm ached, unable to pull the knife from his skull, blade wedged too deep. Both bodies dropped at the same time, she lay panting on her back eyes fixed on the sky above them. Hysterical laughter bubbled up from inside her filling the space around them. Daryl was pulling her up then forcing her to sit up, pressing water into her hands. The dead one lay beside her, the blade gone from its head.
The laughter had stopped when she pressed the bottle to her lips, she passed the bottle back to him to finish. Fingers tugged at her hair hanging around her face, she moved to take the rest of her weapons from the bag. The bag came open and a white cooler sitting upright was exposed, the words insulin written on the top.
"Oh for fuck's sake." Her foot connected with the cooler knocking it over, but not before Daryl read the words on the front.