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...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
[ xxvii. you can let go now ]
june 30th, 2012
➸➸➸
THE RUMBLE OF SPEEDING tires was the only sound to be heard directly following Astrid's heated argument with Daryl. Her tremoring hands, clenched into fists, lay bundled in her lap as she stared intently through the windshield at the shadowy silhouette of the black car ahead. They had maintained a cautious distance for the most part, close enough to keep a clear path within sight, but far enough to remain concealed from unwanted view.
Astrid longed to alleviate the stifling tension. The interior of their vehicle seemed to close in on her, and she yearned to roll down the window and let the cold breeze soothe her clammy skin. Out of her peripheral vision, Daryl sat rigidly, his own stare fixed ahead, his knuckles white as they clung to the steering wheel. The atmosphere seemed to grow more oppressive by the second.
In a hushed tone, the Lancaster woman finally dared to break the silence. "So, it was just you and Beth after?"
Daryl's answer was hesitant, as though he had not anticipated—nor particularly wanted—Astrid's initiative. "Yeah," He replied, his voice barely rising above the purring of the engine.
"You save her?" Astrid persisted, all the while her thoughts drifted back to the prison. Beth, though more than capable of dealing with walkers, often steered clear of confrontations with other humans. Astrid had faith in her survival skills, certainly. Yet doubts still crept into her mind about the teen's overall adaptability to how far she could go in this world on her own. She was still only a kid after all.
"She's tough. She saved herself," Daryl corrected. "She's tough. We were out there for a while. 'Til we got cornered. She got out in front of me, and . . . I don't know. She was gone. I went outside to the last place I saw her and saw a car with a white cross on the window drivin' off."
"Like the one up ahead?" Astrid asked, nodding toward the vehicle leading the way.
"Yep."
Astrid gnawed on her lower lip, her eyes briefly drawn to a walker feasting on some obscured prize in the underbrush on the side of the highway. But the distraction could not hold her attention long, for they were quickly hurtling past. With a resigned sigh, she murmured, "Rick's going to wonder where we went."
Daryl's tone dripped with cynicism as he retorted, "Thought you wanted nothin' to do with him anymore. Or am I mixed up? You wanted everythin' to do with him now?"
Astrid's blood ran ice-cold, as a sudden surge of rage and vulnerability clawed at her insides. Her hunter had never spoken to her like that before—not even in the early days when they had first met. It took every ounce of restraint to not immediately fire back. Daryl's words had landed like a low blow, leaving her breathless, as though the very air had been torn from her lungs. Still, she swallowed the pain back down. Because she comprehended that, although Rick had set in motion the events, it was her ill-timed confession that had ignited this bitterness.
