Chapter 5: Glimmer and Gloom

Daryl moved in a trance down the dim, twisting hallways, shadows clinging to the walls, the silence thick, broken only by the sound of his boots clacking against the linoleum floor. His gaze was fixed ahead, focused on moving forward, though the tears that welled in his eyes blurred out most of his surroundings. His feet were heavy, every step more taxing than the last. He walked like one of them.

How did they get here?

The weight in his arms grew heavier with every step.

The intense glow of the afternoon sun burned through the glass doors at the end of the hall, stinging his eyes. He blinked and felt the tears fall and run down the side of his nose.

He pushed open a set of doors, and sunlight flooded over him, warm and blinding. The brightness was startling after the gloom, heating his skin in a way that felt surreal, almost comforting. For a split second, the warmth filled him, softening the ache in his chest.

That's when he looked up and saw her—Maggie. As her eyes locked onto his arms, her face twisted in horror, her body trembling. Glen's arms encircled her as her legs failed beneath her and he managed to catch her before she crumpled to the ground. The anguish in her face twisted into something primal, something raw and unstoppable. A scream tore from her throat, sharp and jagged, echoing through the open space and splintering the warmth of the sun.

Daryl flinched, the scream piercing him, and against his will, he looked down.

Beth.

She lay limp in his arms, her face peaceful, her skin pale, framed by strands of blonde hair that were soaked through by the blood dripping from the back of her head. The reality of her loss hit him like a punch, raw and unrelenting. He felt his grip tighten, the sorrow twisting into something deeper, something darker. His knees trembled beneath him, unable to to take another step closer to freedom, knowing hers ended in a hallway floors above.

He forced himself to look back up.

Maggie was gone.

In her place stood Laurent, his young face streaked with tears, his mouth open in a silent scream, eyes filled with desperation. The weight in Daryl's arms shifted, and he looked down again, but this time it wasn't Beth lying there—it was Isabelle, her face pale, her lips slightly parted, struggling for breath. Blood seeped from the wound at her side, staining his hands.

"Daryl…" Her voice was faint, barely a whisper, slipping away from him like a fading memory. Panic surged through him, clawing at his chest as he clung to her, desperate to keep her close, to hold on just a moment longer.

"No… NO," he growled through clenched teeth, feeling helpless as her eyes fluttered shut, her hand slipping away, leaving him with nothing but emptiness. He tried to shake her back to consciousness, her head lulling to the side limply.

The sunlight faded, shadows closing in, the warmth leeching from his skin.

He jerked awake, drenched in a cold sweat, his breaths shallow and quick. The dim room came into focus around him, the quiet hum of reality grounding him. Lucien glanced over, assessing, but Daryl turned his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on Isabelle's steady breathing beside him, a reminder that she was still here, still alive.

But the nightmare lingered, like a shadow, a reminder of everything he'd lost—and everything he was terrified of losing again.

A short while later, Carol, Clair, and Lucien returned with the others they'd found on their supply run. Quick introductions were made, names exchanged in murmurs that blended with the ambient sounds of preparation as everyone moved with practiced purpose. This was a dance they had all done, more times than they cared to count. This was life now, and the quiet efficiency spoke to the exhaustion they all felt but also to the resilience that had kept them alive this long.

Lucien had already finished sewing Isabelle's wound, his steady hands and practiced skill evident in the neat line of stitches. Now, they needed to focus on keeping her stable. He set aside a bundle of cloths for sterilization, his gaze briefly meeting Carol's in silent understanding as she gathered them, heading for the pot of boiling water they'd prepared upon their return.

"Willow bark's here," Clair murmured, holding out a handful of dried bark. She met Lucien's nod with a steady gaze, showing the quiet determination that marked all their movements. She dropped the bark into a separate pot of hot water, letting it steep until it darkened to a medicinal brew.

Daryl eyed them from his chair in the adjoining room, his focus on every step they took. Each movement grounded him a bit more, a contrast to the lingering visions of his nightmare. They all worked in near silence, an unspoken understanding passing between them—a shared resolve to do whatever it took to keep her alive.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, and whether or not he'd dozed off or was already drifting in and out from the amount of his blood that was now in Isabelle. He looked over at her face, still several shades more pale than her normal tone, but she at least had a slight flush to her cheeks now.

A few moments passed and Carol appeared in the doorway, her eyes scanned over Isabelle and then to Daryl, giving him a soft, lopsided smile. She walked over and put her hand on his shoulder, then pushed his hair out of his face.

"How are you doing?" She asked quietly, rubbing her hand in a circle on his shoulder.

Daryl blinked, bringing his gaze back to Carol. Her presence steadied him, a familiar comfort amid the chaos and uncertainty. He shrugged, swallowing hard as he met her eyes.

"M'fine," he muttered, though the words felt hollow, his voice rougher than usual. His hand clenched reflexively on the arm of his chair, betraying the strain he was trying to hide.

Carol's expression softened, a knowing look passing across her face. She squeezed his shoulder, grounding him even as she held his gaze with a mixture of empathy and determination. "Well you've done everything you can for now. She's holding on, Daryl."

Her hand lingered on his shoulder, and for a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the unspoken history between them filling the space. Daryl's gaze drifted back to Isabelle's face, watching the faint flush on her cheeks, a small sign that their efforts hadn't been in vain.

Carol followed his line of sight, her voice dropping to a murmur. "She's stronger than she looks, you know."

Daryl huffed a quiet breath, nodding almost imperceptibly. "Reckon she'd have to be, if she made it this far."

Carol's smile widened slightly, the edges tinged with sadness but also something else that Daryl couldn't put his finger on. "Reminds me of someone else I know," she said softly, letting her hand drop from his shoulder as she stood beside him.

A faint trace of warmth spread through Daryl at her words, though he didn't respond. Instead, he allowed himself a brief, silent moment of gratitude for Carol's presence—a steadying force, even when everything else seemed to be slipping away.

Lucien finished wiping the area around Isabelle's stitches and cleaned up her busted lip and cheek. He turned and tossed the bloodied rag into the pile that had accumulated by the door to be cleaned. He turned to Daryl, pushing his glasses up to rest on top of his head.

"Il faut laisser le temps au temps." He said, his half smile touched with uncertainty. "We must give time to time. All's left is to wait."

Daryl nodded and resituated in his chair. Etienne appeared, brandishing a small, open can of beans and a container of water that he offered to him. "You need this, my friend. You need to keep your strength."

Daryl nodded his silent thanks and took a sip of water.

After he'd eaten, Lucien removed the tube from Daryl's arm and bandaged him up. He stood from the chair, it creaking its relief, and stretched his back. Aching from having sat in the same position for so long. A small glimmer of dawn could be seen through the boards in the window. He took a few steps towards the doorway that led into the pool room, and steadied himself with one hand against the door frame. Carol came to his side and draped his arm across her shoulders. His gaze lingered on Isabelle for a moment, watching her shallow breaths rise and fall.

"Let's get you some air." Carol murmured, he felt her tug gently at his side. As they walked towards the front door, the others were scattered throughout the room. Some of them were sleeping, the younger boy and one of the women were huddled together, the other woman laying close by. Clair was stoking the fire in the bottom of the pool, adding another small piece of wood that Etienne had gathered from under the trees that surrounded the cottage. Lucien was stirring a boiling pot of rags and removing the Willow bark tincture from the heat to let it cool. Etienne was keeping watch out of the window closest to the door. He turned when he heard them approaching. Silently, he walked over and opened the door for them, and followed them out, closing the door behind him.

The sky had begun to lighten into muted streaks of pinks, purples and oranges just above the horizon, and the brisk air was a welcome change from the staleness of the room inside.

Daryl inhaled deeply, the fresh air filling his lungs. Carol stayed close, steadying him as he leaned against the wall. Lucien pulled a pack of rolled cigarettes from his coat pocket and offered one to Daryl.

"Thanks." Daryl said, his voice thick in the cold air. Carol declined the offer. He struck a match, shielding it from the slight breeze as he lit the cigarette between his teeth, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke mingle with the morning air. The warmth of the cigarette cut through the lingering chill, the tingle of the nicotine flowing down his arms and settling in his stomach

For a few moments, the three of them stood and looked towards the horizon, sharing the silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The world seemed still, as if the morning held its breath along with them, a brief reprieve from the weight of everything they'd left in the night. An owl called from one of the nearby trees, a few birds started their morning calls.

"I've got to go get Laurent." Daryl said, breaking the silence. "He and Fallou got out. But I don't know how long they'll stay there. And I don't want them trying to go back to the Nest." He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot, exhaling one last plume of smoke. He straightened, the chill air sharpening his focus, and glanced back at Carol and Etienne.

"I can go. You need to stay here." Carol said. Daryl's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping momentarily before he looked back at her.

"I ain't askin' you to do that," he muttered, his voice low but firm. "They're my responsibility."

Carol's eyes softened, though her tone held steady. "You're in no shape to go very far," she replied. "You're running on fumes, Daryl. You need to be here, in case anyone shows up. Let me go. I'll find them and bring them back."

"You ain't goin alone." he protested and a half smile played at the corners of Carol's mouth.

"I'll be fine, I made it here, didn't I?" Her head tilted to the side, eyebrows raised. He cut his eyes at her, but her face was set with that familiar determination, the same look that had carried her through worse than this.

Daryl let out a heavy sigh. He'd seen that look before, countless times, and he knew better than to argue. Still, a flicker of worry tightened his chest.

"Take Clair with you then," he said, his voice gruff but laced with concern. "I don't want you goin' out there alone. Things ain't safe with Genet's people around."

Carol nodded, her half-smile softening. "I'll take Clair. She's good backup. Besides, I know you'll sleep better knowing I'm not out there on my own."

Daryl huffed, chewing on his bottom lip. She was right, as usual. "M'not gonna be doin much sleepin'."

Carol's expression shifted to one of gentle reassurance as she squeezed his arm.

With that, she turned to head inside, already going over the preparations in her mind. Daryl watched her disappear into the building, a part of him still wanting to follow, but he knew she was right. His gaze drifted to the horizon,

The weight of the decision settled on his shoulders, but he trusted Carol, as he always had. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, letting go of the urge to go after her, even as a quiet hope stirred within him—hope that she'd bring Laurent and Fallou back safely, and maybe a piece of his own peace with them.

Carol returned a few minutes later, Claire closely behind, both of them moving quietly. Carol had a pack slung over her shoulder and Claire was securing her rifle, the metal glinting faintly in the early morning light. Daryl's gaze moved between the two of them, his jaw tightening.

Carol shifted her pack, then looked back at Daryl. "We'll be back before you know it." She gave him a final, reassuring smile, and Clair offered a nod, her gaze steady. They turned and headed toward the horizon. Daryl stayed by the doorway, watching them go until they faded from sight in the dense morning fog that lingered on the ground. His hand rested on the butt on his knife, fingers tightening as he wrestled with the urge to follow, to protect, to do something. But he forced himself to stay rooted in place, breathing in the cool morning air.

When he returned to Isabelle's room, Lucien was there, carefully covering her stitches with clean bandages. He took another and dipped it into the pot of brown liquid sitting beside him. He held it up as if to show it to Daryl.

"Willow bark," he started, dabbing it gently to the areas around her cuts. "Used for centuries, long before all this mess, to ease pain and bring down swelling. Nature's aspirin." He poured more onto the rag, "We'll keep this up, and it should help her rest a little easier. It's no miracle, but sometimes that little bit of relief is enough to keep someone holding on." Satisfied with his work, Lucien covered her exposed skin with a larger cloth, then pulled a blanket over her legs and stomach to help hold her warmth.

Daryl took up residence on the floor at the foot of the mattress, his back leaned against the wall. Lucien studied him for a moment, before leaving the room. When he returned, he was holding another blanket, which he offered to Daryl.

"I asked Claire to keep an eye out for some honey while they are gone. We will use that to help prevent infection. Other than that, it's all up to Isabelle now." Lucien offered Daryl a faint, reassuring smile as he handed him the blanket. "Rest while you can," he said softly, "if only for a moment."

Daryl nodded, wordless, tucking the blanket around his shoulders, its warmth an unexpected comfort. As Lucien moved quietly out of the room, Daryl's gaze drifted back to Isabelle, her face pale but peaceful. He let his back settle against the wall, his eyes heavy with the toll of the past days, yet his thoughts restless, cycling through every face he'd lost, every promise left unfulfilled.

Outside, the dawn continued to break, light filtering through the cracks in the boarded windows, casting soft shadows across the room. Daryl closed his eyes, just for a moment, letting the silence fold over him, knowing it was all he could do—for now.