Chapter 31: ¡Da la vuelta!

The faint streaks of morning light filtered through the open curtains, casting jagged, uneven lines across the blankets. Isabelle stirred, shifting beneath the covers as the cool air crept over her bare shoulders. She pulled the blanket closer, wrapping herself in its lingering warmth. She reached to the now empty space behind her. Her fingers brushing against the rumpled, empty space where Daryl should have been.

She furrowed her brows slightly at his absence and blinked sleepily, trying to will her eyes to adjust to the light. Her gaze landed on him, standing by the window. His silhouette was outlined by the dawn, the faint glow catching the curve of his shoulders and the untamed waves of his hair. He was still shirtless, one hand resting against the frame as he stared out at the streets below.

He must have heard her stir, because he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers. "Hey," he said quietly, his voice low and rough in that throaty early morning tone that made Isabelle's heart flutter. She knew that, had he still been in bed, she would've felt the way he said it rumble through her chest.

She smiled softly, still half-drowsy. "Hey," she replied, her voice warm as she pushed the blanket off her shoulders and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

As she rose, she stretched her arms over her head, savoring the pull of her muscles as they protested the stiffness in her back. The days spent sitting in the same position in the truck had not been kind to her. She let out a small sigh of relief as her body loosened, her fingers brushing through her hair to tame the waves left from sleep.

She padded across the room to him, her steps muffled by the worn carpet. As she reached him, her fingers brushed lightly against the small of his back, her touch lingering for a moment before her arms slid around his waist. She pressed herself to him, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin soothing against her own.

Daryl's body tensed briefly at the contact of her cold hands, his free hand coming up to rest over hers where they were clasped around his middle. "You're warm," she murmured, her voice muffled slightly against his back.

"You're cold," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile that she couldn't see but could sense in the tone of his voice.

She hummed softly in agreement, letting her fingers splay against his skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, enjoying the rare, quiet stillness of the room. Isabelle let her eyes drift closed as she pressed her cheek against the curve of his spine, savoring the feel of him. The steady rhythm of his breathing beneath her touch, the warmth of his skin against hers– it was grounding and comfortable. She took advantage of it and let her fingers play over the skin of his stomach, tracing small, absent patterns. Her touch was featherlight as her fingertips traced the curve of his hip bones, then up his sides. His head dipped slightly as he relaxed under her touch and she smiled softly into his back as her fingers continued their lazy exploration.

Daryl let out a slow breath, his shoulders rising and falling under her cheek. She didn't have to look at him to know that his eyes were closed. She'd seen him do it enough to recognize the way his body shifted ever so slightly under her hands, the tension melting away as he allowed himself to just be.

"You okay?" she asked softly, her voice breaking the silence. She didn't need to ask, but sometimes she liked to hear him say it, to know what was on his mind.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice low. "Just thinkin'."

"About?" she prompted gently, her fingers pausing for a moment before resuming their slow, absent circles.

He shifted slightly, his hand brushing over hers where it rested against his stomach. "Nothin' in particular," he said, but the way his tone dipped told her otherwise. "Just... this." he hesitated for a moment, and she could tell he was suddenly unsure of his words. "You."

Isabelle's fingers stilled for a moment, "Me?" she asked softly, her lips brushed against his skin as she spoke. She was suddenly aware of the way she could feel his heart beating under her touch.

Daryl nodded slowly, the motion slight, almost hesitant. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice thick. "Still gettin' used to it, I guess."

She didn't interrupt him, sensing he had more to say, and just pressed her lips softly to his back again. His breaths were slow and measured, and after a few beats of silence, he continued, his tone low and uncertain.

"I just… I never had anything like this," he admitted. "So I don't know if I'm doin' what I'm supposed to. Don't know if I'm doin' it right… or good enough." He paused, and she could feel the tension in his body, the weight of the words he'd finally let out.

Isabelle's chest tightened as she realized that he'd probably been fighting with these thoughts. Letting them fester and eat away at him out of not wanting to voice them out loud. She squeezed her arms tighter around him, letting the warmth of her touch speak before her words came. She brushed her fingers along his sides, trying to offer a silent reassurance, as she rested her cheek against his back.

"Daryl…" she started, her voice soft and steady, but her thoughts scrambled in a dozen directions. Where did she even begin? Her sweet, quiet Daryl. Her heart ached with all the ways she wanted to tell him he was enough—more than enough. But how could she possibly find the right words to make him believe it? She took a deep breath, willing herself to speak.

"You're doing everything right," she murmured, her voice low and warm as the words brushed against his skin. She pressed a small kiss to his shoulder, her lips lingering for a moment before continuing. "Better than right. There's no guidebook or checklist you have to go by, no perfect way to do this. And you don't have to have all the answers or do everything perfectly. That's not what this is about."

Her words hung in the air, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders slowly begin to melt under her touch. Daryl shifted slightly, his fingers brushing over hers where they rested against his stomach. She felt the slight tremor in his breath, the way he seemed to be trying to process what she was saying.

"It's about being here," she went on, her voice soft. "It's about the way you care. The way you show up. The way you love, even when you think you're not doing it right. Daryl, you love with everything you have, and that's all I've ever needed. That's all I'll ever need."

He let out a long, slow breath, his head dipping forward slightly as though he were trying to absorb her words. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint rustle of the morning breeze outside the window. Isabelle felt his hand tighten over hers, his thumb brushing against her skin in an absent, almost instinctive motion.

Isabelle shook her head against his back, her arms tightening around him. "You are enough," she said softly. "You're more than enough, Daryl. You give everything you have to the people you love and you do it without even realizing it. That's what makes you… you. And that's why I love you."

She felt the subtle shift in him at those words. They'd said them before, both at separate times, but only once. It just wasn't something they'd made a habit of. It didn't need to be; it was understood in the quiet moments, in the way he reached for her, in the way she anchored him. But hearing it out loud now, in this moment, felt different. It settled over him, wrapping around the insecurities he'd tried so hard to ignore, quieting them in a way nothing else could.

Daryl swallowed hard, his head still bowed, his hand still brushing hers. He let her words hang between them, his breathing slow and steady as he tried to take them in. Slowly, he turned in her arms, his movements careful, like he was afraid of breaking the moment, like he half expected her to make a break for the door.

His eyes met hers, those stormy blues softened by something deeper– vulnerability, gratitude, love.

His hands came up to rest on her hips, holding her as though she might slip away. "I don't know how you see it," he said, his voice rough. "But… I'm glad you do."

Isabelle reached up, her fingers brushing lightly through the unruly strands of his hair. "I see you, Daryl," she said, her eyes searching his. "I see everything you are. And I love all of it."

For a moment, he just stared at her as if trying to memorize the conviction in her words. Then, slowly, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you," he whispered, the words low, but firm, like a promise.

She smiled, her heart swelling as she closed the small distance between them, her lips brushing softly against his. It was a kiss filled with everything she couldn't put into words– her reassurance, her devotion, her unwavering belief in him.

Daryl let the kiss linger, his grip on her hips tightening slightly, grounding him in the reality of her touch. The warmth of her lips against his, the softness of her hands brushing through his hair– it was more than he thought he deserved, but exactly what he needed.

Her arms slipped around his neck, pulling him closer as she felt his arms encircle her waist. She felt the strength in his embrace, the way his arms wrapped around her as if he was trying to shield her from the world.

Daryl tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his fingers splaying against her lower back as he held her closer. Her hands slid up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing lightly over the rough stubble on his cheeks.

She felt his tongue brush tentatively against her bottom lip, and when she parted her mouth, letting their tongues meet, a spark ignited in her chest. That familiar heat began to build, spreading through her like wildfire. His kiss was slow, his movements unhurried, as though he wanted to savor every second of it.

Her hands tightened against his face, her fingers sliding back into his hair as she pressed herself even closer. She could feel the way his breathing deepened, the tension in his body shifting into something else.

Daryl's grip on her waist tightened, his fingers pressing into her as though grounding himself in the reality of the moment. The faint scrape of his stubble against her skin sent shivers down her spine, and she felt her body instinctively lean into his for support.

His hands slid lower, his fingers brushing the curve of her hips as he anchored her firmly against him. The intensity between them grew, the air around them charged with a heat that made it impossible to think of anything else.

Every touch, every kiss felt like a confession.

Her hands started exploring his sides again, her touch featherlight as her fingers traced over the ridges of his muscles. She felt his breath hitch beneath her palms, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that betrayed the growing tension between them.

When her fingers dipped lower, just brushing the waistband of his boxers, Daryl sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on her hips tightening. The sound sent a ripple through her, and she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. She knew the effect she had on him, and the knowledge only fueled the fire already blazing between them.

Her fingers brushed against the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband, and he let out a low, unsteady exhale. The faint smile on her lips didn't escape his notice, and it only added to the heat coursing through him.

Without a word, he slid his hands down to the backs of her thighs and lifted her off the floor. Isabelle let out a soft gasp of surprise, her legs wrapping around his waist.

Daryl's movements were careful as he carried her back toward the bed. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her legs secured around his waist, and the warmth of his body pressing against hers ignited something deeper inside her.

The mattress dipped under their combined weight as Daryl lowered her gently onto the bed, his body following hers in a slow, fluid motion. He braced his hands on either side of her, his rough palms pressing into the mattress as he hovered over her. Their eyes locked, the intensity between them building like a fire that refused to be tamed.

Isabelle's breathing hitched as Daryl leaned down, his face mere inches from hers. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the faint brush of his breath against her lips as he paused. His gaze flicked down to her mouth before capturing it with his own, the kiss deeper and more consuming than the ones before.

Her hands slid up his back, her fingers tracing the lines of his scars, the curve of his muscles. She felt his body tense and relax under her touch, the dichotomy of strength and vulnerability that was uniquely his. Daryl's lips left hers briefly, trailing down to her jawline and then to the sensitive skin of her neck, where he placed a series of slow kisses that made her shiver.

Her legs tightened around him, pulling him closer as his hands wandered, exploring the curve of her waist and the dip of her spine. The connection between them felt electric. Every touch, every kiss a silent exchange of the things they couldn't always put into words.

"Daryl," she breathed, her voice soft and laced with both desire and trust. It was the only encouragement he needed, his lips finding hers again as he poured every ounce of feeling into the moment, holding nothing back.

The sunlight had risen higher, filtering through the large window that Daryl had sat perched in the night before. The orange-red sea of rooftops sprawling out below in a rolling sea of terracotta. The sky had lightened into a bright blue, the clouds that had hung low the previous day were now barely a white streak on the distant horizon.

The coffee table, now free of debris, held the map they were all gathered around. The faded lines and weathered creases bore the signs of its age, its tattered edges faded and stained.

Daryl leaned over it, one hand braced on the table, the other tracing along the roads and landmarks with a finger. Carol stood to his left, her arms crossed as she studied the terrain. Isabelle sat partially on the edge of the coffee table to his right, propping herself on one arm. She tapped a finger on a specific area, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"When I was still at the Abbey," she began, glancing quickly up at Daryl, "I was in contact with someone in Valencia. They were part of the Union of Hope."

Daryl's eyes flicked up at her, a subtle crease forming between his brows as she continued. "I lost contact with them when the radio went down, but I know roughly where they were located. If they're still there, they might be able to help us."

Carol tilted her head, her arms tightening across her chest as she studied Isabelle. "Help us how?"

"Routes," Isabelle replied, meeting Carol's gaze directly. "They were well-connected. They knew the region, the safest ways to travel. If they're still there, they might know paths that could get us to Cádiz without running into trouble." she said, a faint uncertainty played at the edges of her tone.

Daryl's eyes didn't leave the map, "When's the last time you talked to 'em?"

Isabelle hesitated, her fingers tapping the edge of the table absently. "It's been… over a year," she admitted. "The last time we talked, they mentioned making contact with others—on an island, somewhere off the coast. They were excited about it, said it could be a big step forward for the Union."

"And then?" Daryl prompted, his gaze flicking up to meet hers.

She let out a soft breath, her shoulders tensing slightly. "A few months of radio silence. I kept trying, but… nothing. And then the radio died completely. I was still looking for replacement parts when you showed up."

From his spot on the couch, Codron shifted. "What island?" he asked, leaning forward.

Isabelle glanced over at him, shaking her head. "I don't know. They didn't say," she replied, her brow furrowing. Her fingers tapped the edge of the table as her eyes shifted back to the map, scanning the marked districts. "The Monastery," she began, "it was located somewhere in the La Saïdia district. From what I remember… Father Mateo mentioned that it wasn't far from the old riverbed." She traced a finger over the area on the map, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Looking at this, it doesn't seem like that much ground to cover."

Daryl's eyes followed the path her finger outlined, his jaw tightening as he considered the terrain. "Should be easy enough to find," he said, his voice low. "If they're still there."

It was early afternoon when they reached the outskirts of Valencia, the sprawling farmlands that had stretched to the horizon giving way to another sea of beige structures adorned with terracotta roofs.

"If there's one thing to be said about the Spanish," Codron started as he stepped out of the truck, stretching his legs and surveying the city that lay before them. "They're consistent."

Carol smirked as she shrugged her pack onto her shoulders, taking another look at the map and comparing it to their surroundings. Daryl was already at the back of the truck, readying his crossbow and making sure everything in the back of the truck was secured.

They'd parked in a small alley, planning to leave the truck and make their way to the abbey on foot. It was quieter and more discreet than having to navigate through blocked roads and cramped alleys in unfamiliar territory.

The streets were relatively quiet, only an occasional walker meandering about amongst the trash and debris lining the streets and sidewalks. They made their way slowly, carefully, sticking to the smaller alleyways and darkened corners that helped keep them from a direct line of sight from any length of distance.

Daryl and Codron walked slightly ahead, scanning intersections and windows of shops, their doorways and lobbies once teeming with life and inhabitants, now hollow and deteriorating shells of their former selves.

"The riverbed runs straight through the middle of the city," Isabelle called, careful to not let her voice carry too far. She slid her finger along a section of the map she carried in her hand. "We can either follow it down, closer to the abbey… or, turn down next to the old museum. But there seems to be a lot more open areas that way."

Daryl slowed, listening as he waited for Isabelle and Carol to catch up with him. He glanced at the map as she walked to stand beside him, his eyes following where she was gesturing. His jaw worked as he considered their options. Open spaces meant more visibility, but also more of a risk of being more visible.

"We'll stick to the riverbed," he said, adjusting his crossbow strap. "More cover. If we need to drop down or cut across, we can. Gives us an easy way out if we need it."

Carol nodded, already glancing ahead to gauge the best approach. Codron hummed in agreement, his rifle slung loosely over his shoulder.

Isabelle traced the map once more before folding it and tucking it into her jacket pocket. "It should take us straight to the monastery," she said, her voice quieter now. "Just past the next few blocks."

Daryl exhaled through his nose, his eyes still scanning the rooftops and broken windows overhead. He couldn't shake the feeling that something– or someone– was watching them.

"Then let's keep movin'," he said.

They started off again, sticking close to the walls, their footsteps quiet against the dirt and debris. The air carried the faint scent of decay mixed with the balmy wetness of the night's dew evaporating from the stone walls in the streaks of sunlight that cut down the alleys and between the buildings.

The dry riverbed was overgrown and provided ample cover for them to stay out of sight. The thick weeds and small trees that had taken up residence hit them nearly shoulder height, while the cement walls that lined either side were covered in years-old faded graffiti.

The path twisted and stretched ahead of them, weaving through the middle of the city like a gaping scar on the landscape. The crumbling walls and rusted railings that lined the edges were merely remnants of a time when it had been more than just an overgrown graveyard. The painted words and pictures that adorned its culverts told stories of those who had once been there; messages of defiance, warnings, names long forgotten.

Daryl kept his crossbow raised, his gaze darting between the high ledges and the shadowed overpasses.

"We should be getting close." Isabelle murmured, glancing over her shoulder at Carol. Codron was at the back of the pack now, his rifle in hand.

They moved in silence, navigating through the clusters of weeds and cracked pavement. But as they rounded a bend, Daryl came to an abrupt stop. His arm shot out, signaling for the others to do the same.

"You hear that?" he said, his voice low. He waited a moment, and turned his head, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.

Everyone fell silent, their breathing shallow as they strained to listen.

At first, it was just a low hum, distant and muffled by the sea of weeds. But as the seconds stretched on, it became clearer as the wind seemed to carry it to them.

The low, wet groans of walkers, the shuffling of feet.

Carol's grip on her knife tightened. "That sounds like more than a few."

Daryl walked carefully forward, crouching under the overpass as he peered down the riverbed. The others followed, stopping in their tracks as the sight unfolded in front of them.

On the other side of the overpass, the walls jutted out, doubling the size of the trench, and within that pocket of space hundreds of walkers shuffled about, swaying and weaving together.

The walls along the old river had funneled them together into a pit of rotting flesh and gnashing teeth. Some clawed uselessly at the concrete, others stumbled in tangled limbs.

Daryl's eyes scanned the area, his grip tightening around his crossbow. "The walls are too high here to get out. We're gonna have to go back." He whispered. Isabelle's eyes were wide as she stared at the horde with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Carol narrowed her eyes as she scanned the heaving mass of bodies.

"¡Da la vuelta!"

The sharp, unexpected command caused them all to jump unexpectedly, their nerves on edge.

Carol's knife was out in a flash and Codron shifted his rifle, his eyes snapping towards the sound. Daryl twisted around, towards the overpass, his crossbow raised.

Across the riverbed, standing half in shadow beneath the bridge, was a lone figure. A tall, lanky man with short, dark hair and a pack slung across his back. His posture was tense, his hands raised slightly at his sides. His eyes flicked from them to the mass of walkers in the trench just ahead.

"¡Da la vuelta!"

His words rang out again, sharper and more urgent.

"Turn around!" He shouted, and the mass of walkers stirred, more direct now.

Daryl's jaw tightened, his crossbow trained on the man. The stranger sighed, shaking his head.

"You should probably run!"

The group didn't move, but Carol's gaze shifted uncomfortably between the man and the walkers.

"He's going to have every walker here coming for us if he doesn't shut the hell up." She said through gritted teeth. Codron raised his rifle and pointed it at the man.

"Yeah, that probably wouldn't be a good idea." The man called, nodding towards the gulley as he dropped his hands to his sides. He looked back at the walkers and then back at them.

Then, without hesitation, he ran.

But not away.

Straight into the horde.

"Wait!" Daryl called, before thinking better of it.

Isabelle sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers gripping Daryl's sleeve. Carol muttered a curse.

Daryl's eyes narrowed as he watched the man weave through the sea of bodies. The walkers barely reacted, their arms still hanging at their sides, not even reaching for him. He moved through them as if he was one of them. It was impossible.

"What the fuck?" Codron said, dropping his rifle down and standing upright, trying not to lose sight of the man.

Then the groans turned sharper, more frantic.

But not for the stranger.

For them.

Dozens of heads twisted in their direction. Decayed jaws and teeth clamping and snapping hungrily.

Daryl didn't hesitate.

"RUN!"