Depaysant Chapter 3: Flickering Hope
The engine roared in the vast emptiness of the outlying fields, cutting through the night's eerie silence. Carol gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white as she maneuvered the vehicle along the narrow road. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the twisted branches of trees lining the path like skeletal fingers reaching for them. The overgrown grass and weeds brushing against the sides of the frame, the occasional cracking of a branch.
Daryl shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position while cradling Isabelle in his lap. Her body felt alarmingly light, and the chill from the open frame of the ATV seeped into his bones, a stark reminder of how close they were to losing her. He brushed a few strands of hair from her pale face as his heart continued to pound in his chest.
Memories raced through his mind. Times of long ago, but still too fresh, even now. The fleeting thought of whether or not he was the cause. It always seemed to play out the same.
"Come on…" He mumbled to no one in particular. He didn't even know what they would be able to do. Where were they going? Anywhere. Somewhere to find help. Isabelle's injury was far outside the realm of what Daryl was able to mend.
Carol shot a quick glance at them, her brow furrowed in silent concern. The glow from the dashboard illuminated the lines of tension etched on her face. Lines that Daryl had watched her earn over the years. Together they had earned their scars, their battle wounds… even the graying of their hair. Years of unspeakable and unsurvivable things. All of which lead to this very moment. "We'll find something," she muttered, almost to herself.
Ahead, the road seemed to stretch endlessly, a ribbon of cracked pavement cutting through desolate fields. Patches of gravel kept clear of weeds by the horse carriages and vehicles used to loot and scavenge for their daily survival. The world felt suffocating, its stillness oppressive. Every passing minute was one they couldn't afford.
Suddenly, a flicker of light, so small that Daryl wondered if it was a trick of the mind. Low in the distance, further ahead to the left. They caught sight of it through the overgrown field, the grass moving like waves. Carol slowed the vehicle, squinting as she leaned forward. "What the hell is that?"
Daryl shifted, his grip tightening around Isabelle. His gut twisted, torn between hope and suspicion. "Could be someone," he muttered. "Or somethin'."
The light flickered weakly, as if it could fade at any moment. But it was the first sign of life they'd seen besides the few remaining bodies trying to cross the marsh. Those that were able to make it past the walls at least. With everyone that was able to escape, there had to be someone who could help.
"Worth a look," Carol said, and without waiting for confirmation, she steered toward the distant glow, the ATV's tires crunching over the rough terrain.
As they got closer, the source of the light came into view—a homely, cobblestone structure, with most of the windows long having been boarded up, except for the faint flicker of firelight through the one to the side. Daryl's heart pounded.
"I'll go check it out, stay h…" Carol whispered, her voice tense. Unable to get the words out before Daryl's feet were already on the ground.
He was out of the vehicle before the gravel had settled, rushing toward the door. At this point, it didn't matter to him who was on the other side as long as they could help. He would risk being detained and having to fight another way out of captivity if it meant that Isabelle didn't have to pay the price.
Not her, not like this.
His breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, the weight of Isabelle's unconscious body pressing against his chest. He had no plan, only desperation driving him. As he stepped toward the light, the faint warmth it promised pulled him forward despite the cold, gnawing fear in his chest. His boots hit the ground hard, sending up small puffs of dust as he leaned back, poised to kick the door in.
Just as his muscles tensed for the strike, the door creaked open.
Daryl froze, his heart thudding against his ribs. The dim light from inside spilled out across the threshold, casting eerie shadows in the night. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the flickering light of a small fire somewhere behind them.
Daryl didn't speak immediately, his brain analyzing whether the person in front of him was a threat. There was no uniform, no bulging black eyes, no weapon drawn.
"S'il vous plaît, ne tirez pas!" A man's voice, urgent but low, cut through the tension. His hands were raised, a sign of peace. "We... we don't want trouble."
Carol was beside Daryl in a heartbeat, her weapon drawn, eyes scanning for any threats beyond the man in front of them. She couldn't afford to take chances, not when they were this exposed.
"She's hurt," Daryl growled, pushing past the stranger, cradling Isabelle tighter as he entered the small, dimly lit room. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chill of the night, but the tension in the air was thick. He didn't care. Isabelle needed help, and he wasn't about to waste time on pleasantries.
The stranger stepped back, allowing Daryl and Carol to enter. His eyes darted nervously between them and the limp figure in Daryl's arms. Two other people, a man and woman, were watching from the bottom of a pool in the large open room. Their faces seemed familiar, probably from a random passing or at one of the large dinners. The woman more so than the man. He recognized her from the kitchen. She had welcomed Daryl shortly after his arrival at The Nest, saying that she had visited America in the before-days.
"Is she bit?" The man asked, his voice laced with concern.
"No, she's been stabbed." Carol answered, stepping in and shutting the door.
"Ici, bring her here." Daryl followed the man into one of the adjoining rooms, there was a mattress laid on the floor. "Étienne, j'ai besoin de lumière ! voyez ce que vous pouvez trouver." He called over his shoulder. Daryl carefully laid Isabelle down on the mattress, her shirt saturated at her stomach. So was Daryl's. Seeing how much blood covered his chest, stomach and lap made his head swirl, knowing that the majority of it was hers.
Moments later, the other man hurried into the room, a lantern with a broken globe in his hand. "C'est tout ce que j'ai pu trouver." He took a match from his pocket and lit the wick, sparking as it burned off the years of accumulated dust before casting the room in an orange glow. The paint on the walls peeled in sections, from years of neglect. A lone framed picture on the far wall - The Nest at sunset. The colors, once vibrant reds, yellows and purples, now muted and dirty.
"Can you help her?" Daryl asked, his eyes snapping back to the man that was now kneeling at the edge of the mattress.
"She has lost a lot of blood, monsieur" He says, gently pulling back the bandages on Isabelle's stomach and revealing the wound underneath. It was deep and jagged, gleaming wetly in the light from the lamp. Isabelle's chest rose and fell with another shaky, shallow breath. Her eyelids fluttered as he inspected the area closely, his fingers dancing across her; checking her pulse, her pupils, the area around the gash. "Etienne, bring me my bag, s'il te plaît"
Daryl's eyes shifted from one man to the other and back. The man he assumed was Etienne left and came back in with a brown leather satchel, which he handed over to the man. He flipped it open and began to rummage through it.
He turned his head to Daryl. "We need to work quickly. I have some supplies but it will not be enough. I need cloth… and a pot to boil them in. And I need you to find a willow tree. I do not have much to sanitize with. I need the bark. All you can grab." As he spoke he was rolling up his sleeves.
Carol stepped forward, "What's close to here? We didn't see much on the way in."
The woman from the other room appeared in the doorway, her voice over Carol's shoulder. "There is another cottage, just a stone's throw from here. A few old hotels just across the river. I'm sure they were scavenged long ago, but we might be able to find something of use."
"Do you know her blood type?" He was removing several things from his bag. A small bottle of clear liquid and what looked like a handkerchief.
He turned to Isabelle and unbuttoned her shirt, spreading it open and out of the way. She looked small and exposed on the mattress, her thin frame completely motionless, her undershirt clinging to her ribs. The bleeding had slowed, but was still weeping from the wound.
"No, but I'm O negative." Daryl said, already pushing up his sleeve on one arm.
"Then I need you here." He wiped the bend of Daryl's arm with the liquid soaked rag. It was cold and sent chills up the back of his neck. "Daryl, is it?" he asked, wrapping a bit of cloth around his bicep and cinching it tight. Daryl nodded. "I'm Lucien. I worked in the infirmary at The Nest. I helped with Isabelle before, but never made the acquaintance of you." He spoke quickly, his thick french accent making his words flow like song.
Carol turned and started for the door. Etienne slung his rifle across his back. "Claire can show you where the other cottage is. See what you can find there. There are a few more buildings further down. Cut across the river when you come to the bridge and head back North. I will meet you there." Claire nodded and donned her own rifle, snugging the collar of her coat up to stave off the cold as Carol opened the door.
One by one they filed out the door, their boots crunching on the gravel outside. As they eased the door shut, silence fell over the cottage like a blanket.
The feeling of the needle penetrating Daryl's vein caused his teeth to clench. Lucien turned and started the same ritual with Isabelle. He grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it next to the bed motioning to Daryl.
"S'asseoir… Sit." The wood creaked below him as he settled his weight, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
Lucien poured more of the liquid into the bandage and began wiping the area around the cut in Isabelle's stomach. The thick dark blood streaked across her abdomen, the rag already stained in crimson.
He pulled another from the bag and Daryl watched silently as Lucien continued to work. His eyes searched Isabelle's face.
The gash across her cheekbone still caked in dried blood. Its contrast even more pronounced against her gray complexion. Her lips were slack, slightly parted, more flecks of dried blood on her lips and in the corners of her mouth. Her bottom lip still split from the blows he assumed were delivered by order of Losang. Daryl felt the rage starting to bubble back up, his chest tight. He looked away, back to Lucien's hands and the precise movements his hands were making as they cleaned and inspected. He worked quietly but quickly.
"It seems that God was on her side," Lucien said, glancing back over his shoulder at Daryl. "I don't think it hit any organs. It's still too early for promises, but if you're a believer, now would be the time to pray."
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A/N - Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate it so much! Please drop a review and let me know what you think so far! Lots of ideas, so I hope I'm doing it justice. New chapter will be up soon!