Depaysant

Chapter 1: Blood and Shadows

Daryl stood frozen in disbelief. For a brief moment, everything around him faded. He wasn't in the middle of a war-torn castle, he wasn't in the middle of France. He wasn't surrounded by rotting flesh and cold stone walls. He was standing in front of Carol. Carol…

How…

He wrapped his arms around her and immediately felt his eyes sting.

Not from sadness or loss, but because her face was the last thing he expected to see at the end of the hallway. His arms embraced her with a strength wound tight from months of running and uncertainty and fighting and surviving in unfamiliar territory. Two aliens plunged into and swallowed by a world in which neither of them belonged. He buried his face into her shoulder, thankful for the momentary semblance of peace and familiarity. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed her until now, standing here, her arms around him.

The sounds of chaos still surrounded them, faraway screams and the sounds of bodies being devoured echoed through the chambers of The Nest. Blood still gurgling up from the bodies lying slain around them.

Daryl felt Carol tense, her body stiffening against his. He pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face, and the relief in her eyes had turned to something else. Worry. Panic.

Her words were soft, whispered between them as if speaking them too loudly would make them more real. "Daryl… It's Isabelle."

Daryl froze in place, his grip on her arms tightening. The room spun around him as he pulled back and looked into her eyes "Where is she?" His voice cracked with tension, but before Carol could respond, something inside him snapped.

In a moment, he was running, sprinting down the hallway. Littered with corpses of both the dead and slain, the stench of copper and rot came in waves as he made his way blindly. The sound of his boots echoed down the stone hallways, but all he could hear was his own pulse, the blood rushing in his ears, muting Carol's words as she tried to keep up behind him. He didn't need to hear her. He already knew. Isabelle was in trouble—serious trouble.

The corridors felt endless, but finally, he felt the cold coastal air on his face as he emerged from the doorway. And that's when he saw her.

Daryl's breath caught in his throat as the courtyard opened up before him, his eyes immediately locking onto Isabelle. She lay crumpled on the stack of crates where Carol last left her. Her blonde hair tangled, matted with blood. Her face was pale grey in the moonlight, her lips parted as she struggled to breathe. Blood pooled beneath her, dark against the ancient stone floor.

For a moment, his feet felt rooted to the stone, his body refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. Not her. His throat tightened, and the world around him felt distant, a blur of motion and noise.

But then Carol was there, beside him, her breath coming out in smokey little puffs into the cold air. He felt her hand on his shoulder.

His body finally reacted, and he fell to his knees next to Isabelle. His hands trembled as he pressed down on her wound, trying to stem the bleeding. The sight of the blood on his hands made his stomach turn, not because it was blood, but because it was her blood.

He forced himself to focus.

"Isabelle," he whispered, his voice hoarse. He could barely get the words out. Her eyelids fluttered, a small movement in her sunken face, but it was enough to tell him she was still fighting.

Carol knelt beside him, already tearing strips of fabric from where Isabelle was laying to make a makeshift bandage. Her calm was a sharp contrast to the storm raging inside Daryl. "We need to move her, get her somewhere safe," Carol said firmly, her hands working quickly.

Daryl nodded, but his mind raced.

Where could they go? Genet was out there, hunting them, and Losang…. Losang.

Daryl felt the anger bubble up inside him. It had to have been him that did this. The images playing through his mind of all the ways he could dismember him. Piece by piece. Each cut separated by screams that echoed through Daryl's brain. The onslaught of images were interrupted by the whisper attempting to form on Isabelle's lips. Her words escaped between jagged breaths

"Daryl… please… Laurent. Just make sure… He's ok…"

Daryl touched the side of her face. She was so cold. He had no idea how much blood she'd already lost, but judging by the trail leading away from her, they needed to act quick.

They couldn't go back to the Nest, and there wasn't time to reach Laurent and Fallou. Every option felt like a dead end.

But they had no choice. Isabelle wasn't going to make it if they stayed here.

He pressed harder on the wound, looking down at her, his chest tightening with something more than fear. "Hold on," he muttered under his breath, almost like a prayer. "I ain't losin' you. Not like this."

Daryl's mind raced. Isabelle's labored breaths came in short, sharp gasps. They had minutes, maybe, before she bled out entirely.

"We gotta move," Carol muttered, already standing, her gaze darting around the courtyard. "The vehicle I came in on—it's still out there. We can get her to a safe place."

Daryl nodded, lifting Isabelle gently, careful not to jostle her too much. He winced as her body slackened against him, but he pushed his racing thoughts to the back of his mind. Now was no time for thoughts, only actions. Carol grabbed what was left of her makeshift bandage and wrapped it around Isabelle's torso tightly, tying it off to slow the bleeding.

"Most of the walkers have moved into the upper corridors," Carol explained, leading them toward the outer gates. "Everyone else is probably hiding." Her voice was steady, but her eyes darted left and right, scanning the narrow paths around them.

The distant snarls of walkers tainted the air above them. Screams, both feral and human. Frantic footsteps like thunder down the hallways. For now, the lower courtyard was clear, but it wouldn't be for long.

As they slipped through the stone archway, Daryl spotted it—the ATV that Carol had abandoned was still parked haphazardly near the broken-down gate. Limbs and entrails and blood and bodies littered the ground in the space between them and freedom.

"There," Carol motioned, her voice tense. She darted ahead, but as they closed in, a distant noise caught Daryl's ear—a feral growl, somewhere in the path behind him, followed by the unmistakable pounding of feet.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. They were coming. They had to move fast. Shadows danced on the wall, illuminated by the fire and moonlight, but the way they moved were unnatural.

"We gotta go!" Daryl hissed, as Carol climbed into the driver seat. Daryl carefully slid into the passenger seat, Isabelle's limp body across his lap, her cold face buried into his chest. His jaw clenched. She was still breathing, but it was shallow.

The sound of shuffling feet and guttural groans grew louder, echoing off the stone walls. Walkers were spilling into the courtyard behind them.

Carol cranked the ignition and the engine roared to life, just as the first walkers stumbled into view.

Without a second glance, she slammed her foot on the gas, and the vehicle shot forward, barreling through the gates and into the darkness beyond.