Chapter 55 - Ella & Daryl

I was on my knees in the grass, helping Ian and another Hilltop kid stack small rocks into a crooked little tower when I heard the gate clang open.

Ruby was in my lap, drooling on my shirt, her fists curled into my collar. She'd just started cutting her top teeth and was in one of those moods where she needed to be glued to me or she'd start shrieking like a banshee. I'd gotten good at doing everything one-handed.

Ian looked up, squinting toward the noise. "Is that Aunt Maggie?"

My stomach flipped, and I stood quickly—too quickly. The world tilted for a second before it righted itself. Ruby whined, clinging tighter. I pressed a kiss to her cheek, bouncing her gently as I scanned the group coming in through the gate.

There they were. Maggie and Enid.

"C'mon, buddy," I said, grabbing Ian's hand with my free one. "Let's go say hi."

Ian took off running with a happy yell, but I didn't have it in me to yell after him. I was too relieved to see Maggie walking under her own power. She looked tired, but there was color in her cheeks, her hand resting protectively over her bump as Enid walked beside her, talking low and fast.

Ian barreled into Maggie like a little missile, wrapping his arms around her legs. "Aunt Maggie! You're back!"

She laughed, bending carefully to hug him. "Hey, you little wild thing. You been taking care of your mama for me?"

Ian puffed out his chest. "I've been helping Miss Janet pull weeds and I protected Mommy when she puked."

Maggie blinked. "She—puked?"

I shot Ian a sharp look, my cheeks heating. "It's nothing," I said quickly. "Just travel sickness. Nothing to worry about."

"Sure," Maggie said slowly, eyes glinting with mischief. "We'll go with that."

Enid reached us next and let out a breathless laugh at the sight of Ruby still glued to my chest. "She hasn't let go of you all day?"

"Nope," I said, brushing Ruby's curls back. "Not unless you count the twenty seconds she let Ian hug her, and then decided she was being betrayed and screamed until she was back in my arms."

"She's got good taste," Enid said, gently tickling Ruby's side. "She knows you're the good stuff."

Maggie slipped her arm through mine, careful of Ruby. "C'mon, let's go sit. I wanna hear everything I missed—every tantrum, every snack emergency, and all the times Ian said something completely unfiltered."

"Oh, you'll be here a while," I laughed, letting her pull me toward the main house.

Ian chattered beside us, filling Maggie in on everything from his missing tooth to how many times Ruby "almost said a word." And for the first time all day, I let myself just enjoy the moment—sun on my face, baby on my hip, my boy talking a mile a minute, and my people safe beside me.

The only thing missing was Daryl.

Maggie and I settled down in the grass, soaking in the sun as we caught up on the day. Enid had been sent off to do gate duty, which left the two of us with a rare moment of peace. I told her about the kids, how Ian had lost a tooth and was now obsessed with the tooth fairy, how Ruby had finally figured out how to crawl forward instead of backward. Maggie smiled at all the right parts, her hand resting on her belly in that protective, subconscious way.

She filled me in on what happened at the Saviors' sanctuary. According to her, everything had gone smoothly. Explosions, gunfire, an overwhelming show of force. I hated the image of Daryl in the middle of it.

"Did you see him?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager, watching Ruby shuffle on her knees a few feet away. Crawling was getting easier for her, faster too. She'd be running before I knew it.

Maggie shook her head. "No, he was still with Morgan, Tara, and Carol. Bomb squad duties."

My stomach flipped, and I rubbed a hand over my still-flat belly. I hated being apart, hated not knowing if he was okay.

A sharp blare of a car horn echoed down the road.

Maggie and Enid exchanged a look, tension snapping through the quiet like a rubber band.

Enid lifted the binoculars hanging from her neck, frowning deeply. "It's him," she muttered.

The sound of tires grinding against the dirt grew louder, followed by the jarring slam of a car door. Then came the familiar, grating voice we'd all hoped never to hear again.

"Hey! Hello! Open up!"

Gregory.

I stood, scooping Ruby into my arms as Maggie rose beside me. Her jaw was tight, her eyes already hard.

"I need some help, dammit! I've been through hell!" Gregory called, pounding on the gate like a man who hadn't just betrayed us to the enemy. "I know you can hear me!"

Maggie nodded once toward Kal, who stood on lookout. The gates creaked open just enough for us to see him — rumpled suit, dirt on his shoes, sweat soaking through his collar. He looked like a kicked dog, but his expression flickered with that same arrogant smirk as soon as he spotted us.

"What's the holdup? Gate broken?" he asked, peering through the narrow opening. His eyes landed on me for half a second before darting away. "I told them to oil that thing—"

He cut off when Maggie didn't say a word. Her silence said enough. Her hands were still and curled into fists at her sides.

Gregory followed her gaze toward the car behind him.

"What are you doing with Gabriel's car?" Maggie asked, voice flat.

"I'm sorry, who?" Gregory blinked, glancing back at the car. "It was just sitting there. I needed a way out!"

"And what exactly are you doing here?"

He scoffed, indignant. "I live here! I built this place from the ground up! You weren't here for that. Some of us didn't just waltz in looking for handouts—"

"Shut up, Gregory," Maggie snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. "You're gonna stand there and act like you didn't sell us out to Negan?"

"I was working for us!" Gregory barked. "In the name of peace and sanity!"

"You threatened to kick people out," Maggie shot back, eyes blazing.

"I tried to save lives! Those people are cannon fodder now!"

"They're fighting for something better." Her voice didn't waver.

"The whole 'throwing out families' bit was all Negan! I had nothing to do with it!" Gregory looked around desperately, trying to find someone—anyone—who might believe him. "I went to them in the interest of furthering good faith diplomacy. Some might even call that heroic."

Maggie's laugh was cold. "Don't act like you went there for anyone but yourself. You went to warn Negan about our plans. That's what you told Kal when you dragged him with you."

Gregory's face paled. "Kal's delusional."

Kal leaned over the wall from the lookout post, glaring. "What the fuck, man?"

Gregory flinched. "Kal! Hey, c'mon—don't be like that! You know how dramatic you can be! Like that thing with the pancakes—"

"You mean when you stole pancakes from a little girl?"

"I did not eat those pancakes!" Gregory wailed, rubbing a hand over his sweaty scalp. He turned back to Maggie, his desperation mounting. "Look, for what it's worth, I did no harm to your cause. Negan already knew everything by the time I got there."

"Goodbye, Gregory." Maggie turned away.

Enid and I followed, Ruby squirming in my arms.

"Wait!" Gregory called, pressing his face to the narrow opening in the gate. "I went there because I was scared, okay? I knew you were going to fight, and I didn't want to be complicit. I didn't think you could win. But I see it now—we have a chance. I was wrong. I'm sorry!"

He kept rambling, sobbing now, calling out to Maggie like a man begging for salvation. But my eyes stayed on her—on the steel in her spine, the calm fire in her face.

She turned back toward the gate, gave a curt nod to Kal and Enid.

"Let him in."

Gregory's apologise fell on deaf ears as Kal's face paled and he turned to look at us from his post. "Uh, Maggie?"

The gates opened, and there was Jesus and the rest of his team, plus a whole team of prisoners, Saviors.

"We are not letting them in here!" Gregory shouted. "Those people are killers! Monsters! We would be putting this entire colony at risk!"

Ian stood in front of me, his little hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife Daryl had given him. A small thing, but still sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to kill.

"Don't worry Mommy," Ian said, his voice lower than I'd ever heard it. "I'll protect you and Ruby."

My heart fluttered with a rush of warmth and love. The fact that my five year old thought he could protect me was cute, and so sweet.

"Remember what I taught you,"I warned him, keeping my voice low as well, my eyes trained on Maggie and Jesus as they discussed. "Keep your hand on the hilt, but don't draw it unless you plan to use it. Understood?"

"Yes, Mommy." Ian said.

~~~Daryl POV

After the kid was shot, Rick and I didn't waste a second. We hauled ass straight to Gavin's outpost, knowing that if we didn't intercept the convoy, those .50-caliber Brownings would make it to the Sanctuary—and that would be game over.

But we were already too late.

By the time we got there, the bastards were pulling out with the guns loaded up in the back of a heavy-duty truck.

I took the bike, crossbow strapped to my back, popping off shots whenever I had a clear view. Rick played it smarter. He drove the jeep like a battering ram, trying to push the Saviors off the road entirely. The convoy was fast—too fast—but only two men were left alive in the truck.

Not for long.

I was just lining up a shot when the tailgate of the truck slammed open and one of the Saviors jumped into the bed. He started assembling the .50 cal, working fast like he knew his life depended on it—and it did. A second later, he opened fire.

Bullets tore through the air like thunder. One clipped the bike—hot metal grazing the handlebar, damn near hitting my hand. I cursed and veered sharply, my bike almost immediately eating asphalt. Road rash lit up my arm in a blaze of pain, but I gritted my teeth and got back up.

I scanned the damage. The bike was scraped up, but still running. Good enough.

I hopped back on, every nerve firing, crouching low over the tank to avoid the line of fire. Rick was weaving through the road up ahead, doing his best to keep the Savior's sights off me. The bastard with the .50 was unrelenting, spraying bullets like a man possessed.

Then Rick jerked the wheel and veered sharply left—drawing the gunner's attention just long enough.

Now.

I squeezed the trigger, and my bullet flew. Clean shot. The gunman dropped like a rock.

The road cleared just for a second as the gunfire stopped, and I eased up on the throttle, keeping pace behind Rick. He gunned forward and tried a pit maneuver—swinging the jeep hard into the truck's rear to spin it off the road. It didn't work. The truck bucked but held steady.

"C'mon, man," I muttered under my breath, gripping the handlebars tighter. The engine roared beneath me like it could hear the frustration in my voice.

Then Rick did something crazy. Which, considering it was Rick, wasn't all that surprising.

He pulled the jeep alongside the truck and jumped—literally jumped into the cab, right through the open window like something out of a damn action movie.

The next second, the truck swerved violently, plowed through the guardrail, and disappeared into the treeline in a crunch of metal and splintering bark.

My heart stalled.

I kicked up the speed, my tires squealing on the pavement. I reached the busted guardrail and slammed to a stop, not bothering with the kickstand as I jumped off. My gun was already in my hand.

"Rick?!" I shouted, scanning the wreckage below.

No movement.

Then I saw it—his head popping up from the busted driver's side window, face bloody but smiling.

"Guns are good," he wheezed, voice rough but steady.

The truck was sideways in the dirt, wedged between two trees, but still intact. And inside?

The motherload.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, breathless with relief and adrenaline. "Guess now we just gotta fish 'em out."

We found the driver crawling through the dirt, dragging himself away from the wreck like a wounded dog. His fingers were caked in blood and mud, digging into the slope of the embankment the truck had rolled down. He wasn't going to make it far—not with the way he was bleeding.

Rick came up behind him, rifle in hand but lowered. His voice was calm. Controlled.

"Your people," Rick asked, "at the chemical plant. Did you win?"

My heart beat a little faster. That was where Ezekiel and the Kingdom fighters had gone. Where Jerry and Carol were supposed to be. I kept my grip tight on the gun, kept my face unreadable, even as nerves twisted in my gut.

The Savior groaned, rolling onto his back. His breaths were ragged, each one rattling like broken glass in his lungs. Blood leaked from his nose, his ears, pooling in the shell of his ear before spilling into the grass.

"No one did," he rasped, voice thin and bubbling.

I stepped closer, keeping my gun trained on him. "The fuck does that mean?"

He didn't answer right away. His lips parted, but all that came out was more blood. I nudged his side with the toe of my boot—hard enough to make him flinch. He whimpered, then coughed again, and I lowered the barrel of my gun to his face.

"What're you talkin' about?" I growled.

His eyes cracked open, just barely.

"Everyone's dead," he wheezed.

"No," I snapped. "Bullshit."

"There's nobody else?" Rick asked, disbelieving. "You're the only one left? Really?"

The guy let out a shaky, blood-flecked laugh. "Me," he coughed. "The King. The axe man. Short-haired crazy lady."

That landed like a punch to the gut. Ezekiel. Jerry. Carol.

I didn't want to believe it. Couldn't believe it.

The man groaned and twisted, clutching at a jagged wound on his side. His blood was thick and dark, soaking through his shirt. His chest heaved like he couldn't get enough air, like his lungs were filling faster than he could empty them.

"You did this," he choked. "My people... your people... all gone..."

His voice thinned out into a whisper, too soft to catch. His eyes fluttered once, twice, and then his hand slipped from his wound and hit the ground with a dull thud.

I stared down at him, silent.

Maybe he was lying. Maybe he wasn't.

Didn't matter.

He was a Savior. That made him the enemy. And the enemy didn't get mercy—not from me.

I turned away without another word, walking back toward the wrecked truck, my boots grinding through the dirt.

If Carol were alive, she'd make it back. If Jerry were alive, he'd fight his way through.

And Ezekiel?

The King always had a way of surviving.

But I'd seen too much, lost too many, to let hope blind me.

We had the guns. The mission went on.

I made it to the truck before Rick, grabbing hold of the bent metal bars that arched over the bed. They were twisted from the crash, but still mostly intact. Inside, the M2 Browning .50 cal machine gun gleamed in the sunlight, scratched but ready to raise hell. Next to it were a few sealed crates, dented but unopened. A stash of weapons and God knows what else, just sitting there, waiting to be put to use.

I yanked at the supplies, one arm braced on the tailgate. Rick came around the truck seconds later, his face drawn and silent. He jumped in beside me, grunting as he helped me haul the heavy gun down to the dirt. I could already feel the weight of it in my hands, like it knew what was coming.

Next, we pulled down one of the other crates. Rick dropped to his knees, pried it open, and froze. I leaned over to get a look, my stomach twisting as I saw what was inside.

Sticks of dynamite. A metal canister of bullets. A coil of fuses packed beside them.

"Well," I said, my voice rough. "Least we can use these now."

Rick looked up from where he crouched beside the box. "What?"

I was already grabbing one of the canvas bags from the truck's back seat, tossing it open. "Think about it," I said, starting to load the explosives in one by one. "There ain't no Kingdom no more."

Rick squinted at me, uneasy. "Yeah..."

"We got the guns," I continued, my voice quiet but hard. "We use the dynamite. Blow open the sanctuary, flood it with walkers. It'll be done. All of it. Could be over by sundown. We get back to our families. Get back home."

My chest ached at that word. Home. Ella's laugh. Ian's smile. Ruby curled up on my chest, warm and safe.

Rick hesitated, picking up one of the fuses and turning it in his hand. "What about the workers Dwight told us about?"

I paused. My jaw clenched.

I didn't want to think about the people stuck in there—forced to serve, trapped behind walls like livestock under Negan's thumb. But I wasn't trying to wipe out innocents. I was trying to protect mine.

I thought through the maps Dwight had handed over, every hallway, every labeled zone. I could see the layout clearly in my mind.

"Map says the workers live on the north side," I told him. "So we hit the south. We time it right, give the workers a window to run. They'll head upstairs, barricade the stairwells, stay safe from the herd."

"And if they don't?" Rick's voice cut through the air like a blade as he pushed to his feet, blood dripping from the cut above his brow. He swiped it away with the back of his hand. "You really want to be responsible for the death of innocent people? Of children?"

"Don't go guiltin' me just 'cause I got kids," I growled, my voice low and sharp. "You know as well as I do—this shit needs to be done. We blow the south side, and the workers and families get a chance to run. We end it today."

Rick stepped forward, his face pinched with worry. "But what if they don't run, Daryl? What if they get caught in the middle? We don't know how it'll go down in there. This ain't a gamble we can afford."

My chest burned with frustration. I could see it, plain as day. A clean strike. An end to all this. I could be back in Alexandria by nightfall—Ella in my arms, Ian asking to see my crossbow, Ruby asleep on my chest. All it took was one move. One big push. And he was standing in my way.

"Daryl," Rick said again, gentler now, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. "Brother, listen to me. There are people in that building who aren't fighters. If we turn them into victims... they become Saviors. We give Negan more power. We flip the whole board in his favor."

He ran a hand over his beard, sighing. "We don't have the Kingdom anymore. If we make a mistake here, if we turn the workers against us? We're done. All of us."

He met my eyes, and for a second, I almost heard him. Almost.

But then I thought of Ella. Her soft hands on my face. Her tears the night before I left. Her voice whispering come back to me. I thought of Ruby's little fingers, of Ian's missing tooth, of the family waiting for me to finish this damn war.

And I knew.

He was wrong.

We stared each other down, the tension coiled so tight I could feel it hum in my bones. Rick had always been my brother, the one I followed through blood and fire. But right now, he wasn't the man I needed him to be.

"No," I muttered, shoving his shoulder. "You ain't doin' this. But I will."

I turned, already storming away. I didn't need backup. I didn't need permission. I had people depending on me. I had to make this count.

Rick grabbed my shoulder, spinning me back around. I ripped free, chest heaving, jaw clenched so hard it ached.

"There's a plan!" Rick snapped. "Everyone's sticking to it. Don't start going rogue now."

"Not everyone," I barked back. "A lot of our people are dead, Rick."

I turned again, but then I froze. Spun back. Eyes blazing.

"Negan? Those trash people? This whole goddamn war? That's on them," I hissed. "If people die now, it ain't 'cause of me. It's 'cause we didn't end this when we had the chance."

"Daryl—" Rick warned.

"We got our own to protect!" I shouted, stepping in close. "My wife. My kids. Your kids. Michonne. All of 'em! We wait too long, and we lose more."

Rick's eyes darkened. "What would Ella say, huh?"

That hit harder than a bullet.

"What would she say if she heard this plan of yours? What would she think of you playing God, risking lives to get home ten minutes sooner?"

"Don't—" I growled, stepping closer, "—don't bring her into this."

"Why not?" Rick shouted. "Because you know what she'd say. She'd say this ain't the way. That you're better than this. That the man she loves doesn't kill without cause."

I clenched my fists, teeth bared.

"I am doin' this for her!" I roared. "For our kids! For the life we're supposed to be building!"

I turned, storming off—done, finished, couldn't hear one more goddamn word.

But Rick grabbed my shoulder again.

And I snapped.

I spun around and drove my fist into his jaw, hard enough to rattle my own knuckles. Rick hit the ground with a grunt, stunned and bleeding.

"This ain't your damn choice," I spat. My chest was heaving, my vision blurred with heat and fury.

I didn't wait for him to get up—I was already storming off, fuming.

But Rick sprang up and grabbed me again.

So I lost my shit.

I tackled him straight to the dirt, both of us throwing wild punches like kids in a schoolyard brawl. I pulled back, ready to bash his stupid face in—until he ducked at the last second, and my fist smashed into the ground instead. Pain shot up my arm, my knuckles howling, wrist throbbing.

"Goddammit!" I barked, shaking it out as I pulled back again, but Rick was faster. He shoved me off, scrambling to his feet.

He grabbed the canvas bag full of explosives and chucked it into the woods.

I saw red.

Didn't care about the plan anymore. I lunged and wrapped my arm around his neck, squeezing tight. The heat of the fight burned behind my eyes as Rick clawed at my arm, gasping, trying to wedge his hands between my forearm and his throat.

And then—

"Daryl!" he croaked, panic in his voice.

I turned just in time to see flames licking up the side of the overturned truck. The dynamite. The fuses. The whole damn thing was about to go.

"Shit!" I shouted, yanking Rick up with me. I might've been mad, but I wasn't about to let him blow up. I wasn't that much of an asshole.

We both ran like hell, boots slamming into the dirt, until the explosion hit.

The blast tossed us off our feet, a shockwave of heat and noise roaring through the clearing. We hit the ground hard. A second blast went off, then another. Glass shattered. Flames cracked through the air. The truck was gone.

We sat there in the dirt, both breathing hard, covered in grime, staring at the wreckage.

"You're a fuckin' prick," I muttered.

Rick didn't even argue. Just got up and stalked toward his Jeep.

I dusted myself off and walked to my bike, straddling the seat and rolling it toward him. He tried the ignition on the Jeep—nothing but a sputter. Dead.

He grabbed his automatic and stepped into the center of the road.

"There's a plan," he said flatly, like he was explaining it to a toddler. "We stick to it, and it'll work."

"We gotta win," I muttered, my voice low.

"We will," he replied, checking the mag on his rifle. He glanced up at me, all dry sarcasm. "By the way—the chokehold? Illegal. Asshole."

I cracked a small smirk. "Mhm. Yes it is."

Rick looked down the road, then back at his busted ride. "Guess I'm walkin'."

"Yup." I adjusted myself on the bike, gripping the handlebars.

Rick stared at the horizon. "I'll meet you when I'm done with the last play."

"You sure you wanna do it?" I asked, sparing him a glance.

"Yeah. I am."

And with that, I kicked the engine to life and sped off down the road.