Chapter 25 - Daryl

Out back, behind the compound, was a wide gravel yard lined with rows of cars. Some were rusted through, others looked like they'd been salvaged straight from a junkyard, but in the golden haze of morning light, it almost looked peaceful.

We stood together as Tara and Heath loaded up into one of the trucks and headed out for a long two-week run. Tara waved from the window with a tired smile as the engine roared to life and they drove off down the overgrown path, swallowed by trees.

Rick moved to the back gate, Michonne close at his side. I watched them—how naturally they moved together, like they didn't even realize they were leaning into each other. Like comfort was just instinct.

"Stop staring," Ella said dryly beside me, raising an eyebrow. "You're gonna make it weird."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, grabbing her hand and pulling her in. Our fingers laced together easily, her body settling against mine like she belonged there—which, hell, she did. She always did.

"It's just strange," I muttered. "Didn't see that one comin'."

She snorted. "Please. People said the same thing about us. Probably thought I had a thing for senior citizens."

I shot her a look, already grinning. "I ain't that old."

"You've got, like, what—twelve years on me?" she teased, bumping her hip into mine. "I was still in diapers when you were getting your learner's permit."

"Keep talkin', smartass," I muttered, tugging her closer until she was nearly flush against me.

Her smile didn't fade. "It's okay, baby. You're like, apocalypse hot. All rugged and weathered... like a sexy old leather couch."

I groaned. "You're lucky I like you."

She batted her lashes at me. "You love me."

"Unfortunately."

She laughed—that soft, honeyed sound I'd have chased through fire just to hear again. And yeah, I did love her. More than I'd ever thought possible, even while she was roasting my ass about crow's feet and back pain.

I let my hands slide down her back, leaning in close. "One more old man joke and I'm remindin' you how much stamina I've got."

Her brows shot up. "That a threat or a promise?"

"Depends on how quiet you can be."

Before she could fire back, the sharp rumble of a motorcycle cut through the morning.

We both turned at once.

Across the yard, a Savior swung a leg over a familiar bike, hands gripping the handlebars like they were his.

Daryl's entire body tensed beside me.

The bastard kicked the stand up and revved the throttle.

My bike.

The bike that bastard Dwight had stolen from me.

The sound turned into a snarl in my ears.

Ella stiffened beside me, already reaching for her bow. "Daryl..."

"I see him," I said, my voice low, cold.

He was halfway across the yard when the fire inside me caught.

Without thinking, I tore myself away from Ella, rage snapping through me like a whip. I raised my gun and fired.

The bike wobbled violently as the shot tore past the rider's arm, forcing him to veer off. He lost control, the bike skidding and toppling onto its side. Metal scraped against gravel in a scream of sound.

I was on him before he could even crawl out from under the wreck.

I tackled him hard, driving us both to the ground. My fists flew before he could speak, before he could breathe. I slammed one into his jaw, then another into his nose—bone cracked under my knuckles. Blood exploded from his face, spraying across the gravel.

He grunted, tried to twist away, and I hit him again. His teeth sliced into my knuckle on the next blow, tearing skin. I didn't stop.

"Where the hell'd you get my bike?" I snarled, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him upright just to slam his head back against the dirt. "Who gave it to you?"

He wheezed, blood bubbling at his lips. "Do it," he spat, looking past me with wild eyes. "Kill me. Like you did to all the rest."

I heard it then—a metallic click behind me.

A gun cocking.

I stilled.

I didn't turn, not yet. My eyes flicked to the ground—and there it was. A walkie, lying just a few feet from my knee.

The radio crackled to life, static fizzing, then a woman's voice cut through—cold and detached.

"Lower your gun, prick."

Silence.

Another crackle.

"You. With the Colt Python. All of you. Lower your weapons right now."

I drew back slowly, breathing hard, fury still pulsing in my chest. I aimed my gun at the bastard's head, my finger twitching on the trigger, but I looked up—searching.

Ella stood behind Rick, bow drawn tight, her small hands steady, but her eyes wide with alarm. She scanned the treeline, trying to place the voice, trying to see her.

She was scared.

And that cut through everything else.

Rick lowered his gun slightly, brow furrowed. He stooped, picked up the walkie, and pressed the button.

"Come on out," he said evenly. "Let's talk."

The woman laughed. The sound was cold, hollow—something that didn't come from a person but a threat made flesh.

"We're not coming out," she said. "But we will talk."

A pause.

"We've got a Carol and a Maggie. I'm thinking that might be something you want to chat about."

A brief silence fell over the field.

I glanced at Glenn. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. His shoulders were bunched up to his ears, rage and panic twisting his face. I knew exactly what he was feeling.

Ella stood just behind Rick, spine straight, face carved from worry. Her eyes were wide, searching, lips pressed into a tight line. Maggie wasn't just her friend—she loved her. And Maggie was pregnant.

If someone had taken Ella when she was carrying Ruby, I wouldn't have been able to think straight. I'd have gone feral. Nothing would've stopped me from burning the whole damn world down.

The walkie crackled again.

"Now," the woman's voice came through, calm and cruel. "We're going to work this out. And it's gonna go our way."

Rick's eyes narrowed. He lifted the walkie, thumb pressing the button. "Get him up! Now!"

I hauled the Savior to his feet, gripping the back of his jacket tight enough to make my fingers ache. Glenn moved in, pressing the cold barrel of his pistol to the guy's skull.

"We have one of yours," Rick said into the walkie. "We'll trade."

A beat of silence.

"I'm listening," the woman replied.

"First," Rick growled, "I want to talk to Maggie and Carol. I need to know they're okay."

We all stood there, breath held, ears straining for the sound.

"Rick, it's Carol, I'm b—"

The transmission cut out like a snapped wire.

"Rick, it's Maggie. We're both okay. We'll fig—"

Another harsh cutoff. Static filled the space where her voice should've been.

I looked over at Ella. Her jaw was tight, eyes glassy, but I could see the storm rising just beneath the surface. The simmering fury. The helplessness she hated more than anything else.

The woman's voice returned, smooth and cold. "You got your proof. Let's talk."

Rick didn't move. His stare drilled into the walkie like he could drag her through it.

"This is the deal," he said slowly. "You let my people go, you get your guy back. You all walk away alive."

The woman scoffed. "Two for one? That's a shitty trade, don't you think?"

"You don't have a choice," Rick shot back, his voice sharp and cutting. "If you did, you'd've pulled the trigger already."

A long silence stretched out like wire.

Rick's eyes swept over the group, then landed on me. "They're too quiet," he muttered. "I don't like this."

He brought the walkie back to his mouth. "I know you're talking it over. But this is a fair trade. You come out, we do this clean, and everybody walks."

More silence.

The kind that prickles at the back of your neck.

The kind that means something's coming.

Rick's voice hardened. "Do we have a deal or not?"

A breath.

Then the woman said, "We'll get back to you."

The walkie went dead.

It had been over an hour.

Still no damn word.

We'd cleared the compound top to bottom—every cell, every hallway, every locked room with blood on the floor. Maggie and Carol weren't there.

And somehow, that was worse.

After we hit the armory and regrouped, I picked up the trail. A few boot prints heading north through the brush—light and fast, like someone was being pushed hard. I followed them. Rick was at my back. We moved quick, silent, tight formation.

They led us to another compound.

This one looked older, built before the world went to shit—maybe some kind of factory. Rusted brick walls, tall windows blacked out with grime. Thick metal doors that stayed shut. Not fortified like the other place. But still quiet. Still wrong.

Now we waited.

Waited for that woman to come back on the walkie. Waited for someone to give us something. Glenn was pacing so hard I thought he might dig a trench. There was no stopping him—he was a man coming undone by the second.

Ella was tense too, twitchy in her own way, but she was steadier when she was close to me.

So she stayed by my side.

She was perched on the edge of my bike now, one leg curled under her, the other resting on the peg. Her eyes were locked on the treeline, a thousand miles away. Wind tugged at a few strands of her hair, catching in the curve of her cheek.

She didn't notice me watching.

I always watched her.

There was something about the way her face softened when she wasn't thinking, when her guard dropped just enough to let the weight of it all show. She looked like peace. Like strength. Like everything I'd ever wanted and didn't think I deserved.

Years had passed, but it didn't matter. I fell harder every damn day.

And now Maggie was gone. Carol, too. And Ella—she was holding it together for everyone else. For Glenn. For Rick. For me.

But I could see it.

The storm was coming.

And if something happened to Maggie... if something happened to Carol—there'd be no stopping Glenn.

Hell, if it were Ella in there—I wouldn't wait for the damn signal. I'd rip the place apart with my bare hands.

But for now, we waited.

Waited for that voice to come back over the walkie.

Waited for the go-ahead.

Waited to strike.

The walkie crackled nearby, the woman's voice coming through in waves—taunting, smug, still trying to run the show.

I didn't care.

I wasn't listening.

We weren't moving 'til Rick said so, and until then, I was focused on her.

Ella still sat on my bike, her gaze flicking toward the treeline like she was trying to see through it. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her quiver strap, over and over again. A nervous habit. She was wound tight, like a string about to snap.

I stepped in close and rested my hand on her knee.

She flinched—just a little—then looked at me.

That was all it took.

Her shoulders loosened. Her hand stopped fidgeting. She reached out and tugged me closer by the belt loop, guiding me into the space between her legs. I didn't fight it. I never did.

"You good?" I asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She looked at me for a long moment. "No."

I gave a single nod. "Yeah. Me neither."

Her lips curved—not into a smile, not really—but something softer. Sad. Honest.

"I hate waiting," she murmured. "Hate not knowing."

"I know."

"If it were me in there..."

"I'd already be in the damn building," I said, voice rough. "Don't care who was in my way."

She nodded, eyes flickering. "Same."

We stood there like that—close, warm, steady in the middle of the storm. Her arms looped around my neck. Mine settled at her waist. I leaned in until our foreheads touched, and the noise around us faded.

"I keep thinking about Ian," she whispered. "How I'd explain it to him if... if Maggie doesn't come back. If something goes wrong. You know how much he loves her and Glenn."

I clenched my jaw. "We ain't gonna let anything happen."

"But you don't know that," she said, voice cracking. "None of us do."

"I know you," I said. "And I know me. We'll fix this."

She closed her eyes for a second, then kissed me. Slow. Deep. Like she needed it to breathe. I kissed her back, hands curling tight around her waist, grounding her the way she always grounded me.

We pulled back just as the walkie spat out more static. The woman was still talking. Still wasting time.

I didn't care what she said.

When Rick gave the signal, we'd move.

But right now... this was ours.

The walkie crackled again, but this time Rick stood up straighter, one hand lifting in a sharp signal.

That was all we needed.

The group moved like a machine—silent, focused, weapons ready. Rick took the lead. I stayed close to Ella, her bow drawn tight, her eyes locked on the tree line ahead like she was already aiming for something.

The factory loomed ahead, bigger than it looked from a distance. Cracked brick, rusted metal doors, soot-stained windows. There was smoke in the air. Thin, rising. Not fresh.

It smelled like something had already burned.

We didn't speak as we approached the front entrance. Glenn's breath was ragged beside me, every step he took just shy of a run. Rick raised a fist to slow us down, but then—

The door creaked open.

Two figures stepped out.

I saw the shape of them before anything else.

Maggie.

Carol.

They stopped just past the threshold, silhouetted in the pale light. Alive. Standing. Unharmed—but not untouched.

Both were splattered in blood. Hands, clothes, hair. Carol's sleeve was torn at the shoulder. Maggie's shirt clung to her stomach where the fabric was soaked through. But it wasn't their blood.

Behind them, inside the factory, the air glowed faint orange.

Smoke rolled out like fog.

Rick ran to them first. "Maggie—Carol—"

"We're okay," Maggie said, her voice hoarse but clear. "We're fine."

Carol's expression was blank. Cold. Her hands still clutched a blood-slicked revolver.

Glenn made a broken sound and sprinted forward, pulling Maggie into his arms. She melted into him, burying her face in his neck. He dropped to his knees with her, both of them shaking.

Ella moved to Carol, one hand reaching out gently. "Are you hurt?"

Carol blinked. It took her a moment. "No," she said. "Not ours."

Rick turned toward the door, staring into the building like he was afraid to ask. "What happened?"

Maggie pulled back from Glenn, her voice calm. Too calm.

"They brought us here," she said. "Tied us up. But they got cocky. Didn't think we'd fight."

She glanced at Carol.

"We waited. We watched. Then we took them out. One by one."

"And the rest?" Rick asked, his voice tight.

"There were more," Carol said. "On the way."

"So we started a fire," Maggie finished. "Sealed the doors. Waited 'til it was done."

My chest tightened as I looked at the two of them—shaking, covered in blood, but standing tall.

I didn't know whether to feel relief or fear.

They hadn't just survived.

They'd ended it.

Smoke drifted up from the factory behind them, curling into the pale morning sky.

The group stood in silence, the weight of it all pressing down like ash.

Carol didn't speak. Maggie leaned into Glenn, eyes open, but far away. Ella stood beside me, her hand gripping mine like it was the only thing tethering her.

Rick stepped back from the front, his gaze sharp. Something had caught his eye. He motioned to Abraham, then to a figure near the treeline.

The Savior.

The one who tried to take off on my bike.

He'd been tied up this whole time, just outside the reach of the firelight. But now, somehow, he was on his knees—bloody, breathing heavy, eyes flicking toward the bike like he was still thinking about running.

Rick walked toward him.

No words. No warning.

Just the sound of boots over gravel.

The Savior looked up, started to speak. "Look, man—I wasn't part of what happened inside. I didn't know—"

Rick raised his Colt Python and shot him clean through the head.

The crack of it echoed through the clearing.

Everyone froze.

The man slumped sideways into the dirt.

Silence swallowed the group again. Not shock. Not outrage.

Just... acceptance.

Rick turned, holstered his weapon, and walked back toward us like nothing happened. His jaw was tight, eyes cold.

"No more warnings," he muttered. "Not after what they did."

I looked at Ella. Her expression didn't change—but I felt her fingers twitch in mine. I wrapped my hand around hers tighter.

Maggie didn't flinch.

Carol didn't blink.

And in that moment, I realized—we weren't the same people who started this fight.

We'd all crossed a line.

And maybe... we weren't looking back.