OUTLIVE.
❝The dead were never the enemy.
It was the living. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK TWO of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 4 - 6 ]
*****
*I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I simply write to write. Astrid, any addi...
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[ xx. can't go back ]
june 29th, 2012
➸➸➸
"THIS SHOULD DO IT," Michonne announced, concentration marked into every line of her face as she secured the final knot of a torn sleeve around Astrid's exposed waist. "If it keeps bleeding, let me know."
"Thanks," The Lancaster woman breathed. She tugged her shirt back down, hurriedly trying to conceal her wounds, though the eyes of every individual in the train car had already witnessed her agony. The very air smelled like her coppery blood.
At least, attention did not hold on to her for long. The train car crackled now with the sound of ripping cloth, splintering wood, and the forging of blunt weapons. Sporadically, the quiet was punctuated by hushed conversations among the battle-hardened survivors.
Currently knelt beside Carl, Astrid turned her gaze towards the newcomers. They had fallen in line with Rick's command, manufacturing weapons of their own out of necessity. Rosita Espinosa, a fiery Latina woman, had transformed her hoop earrings into tiny blades. The other female, a younger girl named Tara Chambler, had begun to unravel one of her bootlaces, and Eugene Porter, a stocky man with an unkempt mullet, aided her efforts by undoing the other.
Elsewhere, in the shadowy corner of the train—concealing the last new face—Abraham Ford stood, sharpening a wooden stake. He had begun to recount the harrowing confrontation at Terminus that had unfolded mere hours ago for his own group that had arrived seeking sanctuary.
"They seemed nice enough," He insisted. "But I was ready to go. We had just gotten here, but, damn . . . it was time to go. When I told them about D.C.—a wink and a nod from the head asshole in charge, they pulled their guns, and it was right back to our regularly scheduled shit storm."
Sasha, who had been sitting across from Astrid, drew her attention. Nervously, she inquired, "Before they locked you in here, did you see Tyreese?"
Astrid shook her head. "No," She answered.
Overhearing, Maggie followed up with her own question. "What about Beth? Did anyone see her?"
Daryl looked at the worried older sister. "I was with her when the prison fell," He informed. "We were stayin' in a funeral home, but it got overrun. She was taken."
Maggie gasped. "Taken?" She repeated.
Daryl nodded solemnly. "A black car with a white cross painted on it," He described. "I tried to follow. I tried."
Tears welled in Maggie's eyes as she processed the news. "But she's alive?"
"She's alive," He confirmed without a shadow of doubt.
"Then that's all that matters," Astrid murmured, bringing the conversation between her hunter and her friend to a close before the all-consuming fear of the unknown could engulf them both. She then looked around at her fellow survivors once more, truly taking in the makeshift weapons being crafted. Rick and others honed wooden stakes, torn up from the floor. Meanwhile, Michonne and Carl continued to tear and fasten fabric from their jackets, and Astrid had just finished twisting and carving the metal of her belt into jagged little knives all their own.
