Chapter 17 - Ella

I fired my arrow at the man when Daryl went down, the bolt whistling through the air with deadly intent. But my aim was off, and I only managed to nick his skin as he scrambled to react. Before I could nock another arrow, I heard a sickening thud as Daryl hit the ground hard, the sound of his body hitting the dirt echoing in my ears. My heart raced, panic setting in, but I forced myself to stay focused. I stepped in front of Daryl's unconscious form, positioning myself as a barrier between him and the threat. My hands were steady as I reached for another arrow, but then the click of a gun's hammer being pulled back froze me in place.

"Drop it," the man commanded, his voice cold and demanding, and my heart skipped a beat.

I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, the pressure of the barrel aimed directly at my chest. My finger twitched, instinct urging me to fight, but I forced myself to stay calm. I was calculating, measuring the distance between us, weighing my chances. How fast could I draw my bow? How quickly could I release another shot before he pulled the trigger?

The man inched forward, his gun never wavering, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger. My throat went dry. One wrong move, and he'd shoot. My eyes darted to Daryl, still lying motionless, and a knot twisted in my stomach.

"I said drop it!" the man shouted, his voice more forceful this time, and I knew I had no choice. My hand loosened around the bow as I slowly lowered it, feeling the weight of the weapon slip from my fingers. I tossed my quiver down next to it, the arrows clattering on the ground, a small sound that seemed deafening in the tense silence.

"Gun and knife too," he barked, and I swallowed hard, my gut twisting with the realization of how vulnerable we were.

Reluctantly, I unclipped my knife from my belt and dropped it to the dirt. The metal blade made a faint thud as it hit the ground, echoing louder than I wanted. I could feel the weight of my surrender heavy in the air, but I wasn't about to let Daryl and me die for this. Not now.

I took a deep breath and raised my hands slowly, keeping my eyes on the man in front of me, the barrel of the gun still pointed at my chest. My mind raced—if I made one more move too quickly, it could be over for both of us.

"Please," I said, my voice shaky but pleading. "We're just trying to get back to our people. We have a little boy and a baby. They need us."

I saw the women exchange a glance. The taller one, the one with the dark hair, looked hesitant, but the man just shook his head, his expression hardening. Without warning, he stepped forward and struck me in the back of the head. The blow came so fast, I didn't have time to brace for it. Pain exploded in my skull, my vision flashing white as the world around me spun and blurred. My knees buckled, and I crumpled to the ground, the ground coming up to meet me with brutal force.

Everything went black.

The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was the sound of Daryl's name on my lips, but it was already too late.

"Hey," a male voice called out, jolting me awake. I felt myself being shaken from the haze of sleep. "Get up. We need to get moving."

I blinked rapidly, squinting against the blinding sunlight. My head was foggy, and the world felt like it was spinning.

"Ruby?" I whispered, still disoriented. "Where's—Where's Ruby? Where's Ian?"

"Get the hell up," the voice demanded again. I heard the unmistakable click of a gun, and when I forced my eyes open, the wiry man in front of me came into focus. Panic surged through me, flooding my veins. But before I could react, a warm hand slid onto my thigh, halting my racing thoughts. My ribs ached and burned from the crash, but I pushed away the pain, shoving it down as far as I could.

"Stop touching her," the man's voice growled from behind me, the pressure on my thigh enough to make me freeze.

The man in front of us was tall, lanky, with shaggy, dirty blonde hair that was swept away from his face. He had a hard, cold look in his eyes as he studied us, sizing us up.

"Here's the deal," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You two don't say a word, we won't kill you. Got it?"

"We ain't who you think we are," Daryl rasped from beside me, his voice rough with sleep and tension.

The man's gaze flicked to Daryl, and without a second's hesitation, he moved his gun, pressing it against Daryl's head. "Say something else," the man sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "Go ahead."

Daryl didn't flinch, his eyes locked on the man's. His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. The silence hung heavy, thick with the tension between them. I could feel my heart pounding, the fear and adrenaline surging through me.

The man didn't wait for a response. With a swift, forceful movement, he yanked us both to our feet. My legs wobbled from the sudden pull, and Daryl growled under his breath in displeasure as the man touched me, his fingers brushing against my arm. But neither of us said anything. We stayed silent, letting the tension build between us and the man.

"Follow them," the man commanded, his voice sharp.

We started moving through the forest, the sound of our footsteps muffled by the burned earth beneath us. The trees surrounding us were charred husks, their leaves blackened and crispy from the fire that had ravaged the forest. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and ash.

The dark-haired woman in front of us pulled a water bottle from her bag and handed it to the blonde woman beside her. "Here," she said, her voice calm despite the chaos of the situation. "Drink the rest."

The blonde woman hesitated, eyeing the bottle for a moment. "We should save it," she said, her tone laced with concern.

"We'll find more," the dark-haired woman insisted, her voice firm. "You're supposed to stay hydrated. It all works together."

The blonde woman sighed but took the bottle, taking a long, slow drink. She passed it back to her friend with a resigned look, and I watched as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

I glanced at Daryl, his gaze trained on the path ahead, but I could see the tension in the set of his jaw. He was still staying close to me, never letting me out of his reach. We moved forward together, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words.

As we continued walking, I couldn't help but notice the bodies scattered throughout the forest. The charred remains of people who hadn't been able to escape the fire. They were burnt beyond recognition, their bodies blackened and twisted, a grim reminder of the destruction that had torn through this place.

The dark-haired woman offered the water bottle to Daryl, holding it out with a weary but determined look. "Have it."

Daryl just scoffed and walked around her, clearly uninterested. But the wiry man was quicker, snatching the bottle from her hand with a tight grip. "We don't need you falling over," he said, eyeing us both with suspicion.

Daryl shook his head in frustration. "Give it to her," he said, nodding in my direction. "We have a baby. She needs to keep her milk supply up, or she'll lose it."

The three strangers exchanged another look, confusion furrowing their brows.

"What do you mean?" The man asked, his tone skeptical.

I rolled my eyes and sighed dramatically. "He means I'm breastfeeding, genius," I snapped, my sarcasm thick. "I have a baby, and I need to stay hydrated, or my milk supply will dry up. You've already kept me from her for an entire night. If it isn't already dwindling, it will without the water."

"You have a baby?" The man asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.

"That's what I just said, isn't it?" I shot back, reaching for the water bottle. My nerves were fraying, my body was riddled with pain and my patience was running thin. All I could think about was my kids, especially Ruby. I missed her so much it ached.

The man blinked but didn't say anything more as I took the water and drank deeply. I felt the cool liquid slide down my throat, but it did little to calm the anger bubbling in my chest.

"Where were you two stationed?" he asked suddenly, his tone still probing. "How'd you get a weapon?"

I glanced at Daryl, then turned my gaze back to the man, my eyes narrowing. "In case you hadn't noticed," I snapped, "it's the fucking apocalypse. You need weapons to survive, unless you want to end up as walker food." I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Not exactly rocket science."

The man didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "How do you have a baby?" he asked, leaning in closer, his eyes still filled with suspicion.

I couldn't help the snort of laughter that bubbled up, despite the tension. "Well, you see, when a man and a woman love each other very much—"

Daryl kicked my boot, a silent warning, but I didn't stop. I had to keep my sarcasm sharp, it was the only thing keeping me from completely losing it.

"Stop!" the man growled, his frustration evident.

I leaned in, a wicked smile creeping up my face. "We fucked, and nine months later, out popped a baby." I seethed, my voice rising. "We have a son too. We just want to get back to them, but then you assholes showed up and knocked us out!"

The man stared at me, his confusion growing. "She wasn't one of the wives?" he asked the dark-haired woman.

She shook her head, her face blank as she looked between the man and us.

"Where were you stationed? At one of the outposts?" the man asked again, still trying to make sense of our answers.

Daryl's voice cut through, calm but firm. "What outpost?"

The man's face darkened, clearly frustrated. "You don't know about the outposts?" His gaze shifted between us, his suspicion growing.

I exchanged a glance with Daryl, a silent understanding passing between us. "I told you," Daryl said, his tone steady. "We ain't who you think we are. We have a group of people, but we don't have any outposts."

"Fuck this, let's keep moving. They're lying," the man muttered, thrusting the water bottle into my hands with a harsh gesture.

I couldn't help it—I snorted again, the irritation flooding my voice. "If you think I'm lying, you should see my stretch marks. Pushing out those big-headed kids sure did a number on me."

"Hey," Daryl warned, though there was no real heat behind his words, at least not aimed at me. "My babies ain't big-headed."

"Yeah?" I chuckled, a teasing smile spreading across my face. "Tell that to my lady parts."

I downed the rest of the water quickly, the coolness of it offering a temporary respite from the raw tension in the air. The man yanked the bottle from my hands, forcing us to keep walking.

With each step, I couldn't shake the thought of Ruby and Ian, their faces burned into my mind. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and the longer we stayed in this strange and hostile situation, the more I realized just how fragile everything truly was.

It became increasingly clear that these strangers were responsible for setting the fire in the forest. Daryl pressed them with questions, trying to understand their motives and how they managed to start the blaze, but I kept silent, lost in my own thoughts.

My mind kept drifting back to my kids, to Ruby especially. My stomach churned with worry. Someone would have had to feed her formula by now. I had expressed enough milk to keep her fed through the night, but it was already the next day, and judging by the sun, it was well into the afternoon. Ruby had started eating some solids, but she still relied mostly on milk. She would for a while yet, just like I did with Ian. I should've been there for her. I should've been the one to comfort her when she was hungry.

I blinked hard, trying to refocus on the situation at hand. We had arrived at a factory, surrounded by semi trucks and a rusted chain-link fence. The area was overrun with walkers, and the strangers, the ones who'd captured us, were now discussing their next move. The dark-haired woman dropped her heavy bag, her hand running through her tangled hair as they debated.

Daryl stood beside me, his presence a solid anchor in the chaos. The rope binding our wrists dug into my skin, but I managed to move my fingers toward his, carefully pulling on the knot. He wasn't as still as I was; his body tensed, but his hands were quick and deft. I pulled until the knot loosened just enough for him to slip his hands free. Without hesitation, he moved to untie me. My heartbeat quickened as we silently strategized, waiting for our moment.

As I glanced at the blonde woman, I noticed how unsteady she was, swaying on her feet. Her words were slurred, her face flushed.

"She's going to collapse," I whispered softly to Daryl, keeping my voice barely audible. "When she does, grab the bag and move."

Daryl gave me a quick nod, his jaw set. His hands moved with practiced precision, and in one swift motion, he grabbed the bag just as the blonde woman crumpled to the grass. We didn't hesitate.

The sound of gunshots followed us as we darted through the woods, the shots echoing around us as the man fired in our direction. I could hear the crack of branches underfoot, the air thick with adrenaline. Daryl shoved me behind a fallen tree, his body pressing against mine as we both collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

The weight of the bag thudded against the dirt as Daryl quickly rifled through it. I could barely catch my breath when I heard him call out.

"Sasha? Abraham? You there?" His voice was hoarse, sharp with urgency.

The static of the walkie crackled but didn't respond.

"Shit," I whispered, my hands trembling. The sweat on my forehead dripped into my eyes, but I wiped it away, trying to focus. Behind us, the low groan of a walker approached, slow but relentless, its eyes dull and hungry. My heart skipped in my chest.

Daryl didn't waste any time. He continued to search through the bag, his movements swift and frantic. He pulled out a crossbow at the last second, the weight of it a slight comfort in my trembling hands.

"Daryl," I murmured, horror rising in my chest. I stared down into the bag, and what I saw made my blood run cold. "Daryl, we have to go back."

"Fuck that," he growled under his breath, his body heaving as he clutched the crossbow tightly. "They tried to kill us, tied us up—"

But he stopped mid-sentence when his eyes landed on something in the bag. His face twisted in disbelief.

A cooler. Labeled 'Insulin. Must be kept cool.'

Daryl's shoulders sagged as he shook his head, a mixture of frustration and helplessness washing over him.

"Motherfucker," he muttered, his voice heavy with anger.

I swallowed hard, my own anger simmering beneath my skin. We couldn't just walk away from this. Not when we could be the only ones who could save whoever this insulin was meant for. But in the same breath, I couldn't shake the image of my kids—their faces burned into my mind.

"We can't just leave it," I said, my voice almost pleading.

Daryl's grip tightened on the crossbow as he stared down at the cooler. His expression was conflicted, torn between the urgency of getting back to our children and the moral pull of what lay in front of us.

He exhaled sharply, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping him. "Yeah, I know," he said, more to himself than to me. "Let's go."

We trudged back through the woods, the damp earth beneath our boots giving way with each step, but our movements were swift, practiced. Daryl was ahead, his crossbow raised and ready, eyes scanning the shadows, alert to every sound. I kept close behind him, my bow clutched tightly in my hands, an arrow nocked, ready to fire at a moment's notice. The weight of the bag slung across Daryl's shoulder was a constant reminder of the stakes—what we had to do, what we had to get back to.

As we neared the treeline, Daryl slowed, his posture tense as he stopped in his tracks. We could hear the murmur of voices ahead, the strangers still waiting in the clearing. They didn't see us yet, but we weren't about to let them get the jump on us this time.

We stepped into the open, the three strangers visible in the distance, gathered in a tight circle. The dark-haired woman was sitting against a tree, the blonde standing nearby, while the man, the one who'd been the most confrontational, was still holding his gun.

"Drop the gun!" Daryl called out, his voice steady but commanding.

The man froze, his fingers twitching around the weapon. For a long moment, the only sound was the rustling of the leaves in the wind. Then, with a reluctant sigh, the man lowered the gun and handed it over to Daryl, his eyes narrowing but offering no protest.

Daryl took the gun, eyeing the man carefully. "Well, we came all this way. What you got for the duffel?" he asked, his tone almost playful, though I could see the tension in his jaw.

I elbowed him sharply, whispering harshly, "Let's just go."

Daryl's expression didn't change. He stepped forward, keeping his crossbow trained on the man. "Hell no," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but firm. "You put me through too much shit just to give it back. What else you got?"

The dark-haired woman stood up slowly, her hand twitching at her side as if she might reach for something, but she didn't. "Nothing," she said, her voice flat. "We don't have anything else."

Daryl tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking to the man who had been carving something earlier. He studied him for a long moment, then asked, "What's that thing you were carving?"

The man hesitated, his eyes shifting nervously. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricate carving—an image of a man, worn and weathered from being handled. "My grandfather taught me how to carve," the man muttered, holding it out, his expression sheepish.

Daryl didn't even blink before he interrupted, his tone cold and uninterested. "Don't care." Without another word, he snatched the carving out of the man's hand and tossed the duffel bag at his feet. "Take it, it's all there."

I watched as the man stared at the bag for a moment before reaching for it. Daryl turned, not waiting for a response. He grabbed my hand, and we started walking away, the sound of the bag hitting the ground echoing faintly behind us.

"Good luck," Daryl called over his shoulder, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're gonna need it."

We hadn't even taken a full step when the woods behind us seemed to come alive. Branches cracked, the sound of an engine growling louder by the second. My pulse quickened as Daryl's grip on my hand tightened, dragging me behind a couple of trees, both of us dropping low to the ground.

We crouched silently, our breath held, waiting as the rumbling engine got closer. I could see the shadows of people moving, their figures outlined against the dimming sky. Through the brush, I spotted the shape of a massive truck, tires crunching the dirt as it made its way through the forest. The engine roared, its noise like a warning, a sign of danger.

The truck came to a halt, and several people stepped out, their boots crunching the leaves beneath them. One man, taller than the rest, shouted toward the strangers we'd just left. His voice was rough, carrying through the trees.

"Let's end this!" The new man's voice rang out, harsh and demanding. From behind the trees and branches, I could barely make out his outline—dark-washed jeans, cowboy boots, and the hint of a jacket as he stood just out of view, his posture tense. His voice, though, cut through the silence like a whip.

"It's ours. We earned what we took!" The dark-haired woman, Sherry, yelled back, her voice thick with defiance.

"You're gonna return what you took," the new man, Wade, shot back, his tone hard and commanding. "Then you're gonna pay for the gas it took to come out here and for all the time it took these men to get here. It's over. You know the rules."

"Your rules are fucking crazy!" Sherry screamed, her voice cracking under the pressure.

"We're not going back, Wade! We're done kneeling!" The wiry man shouted, his face contorted with anger.

Wade didn't flinch. "Don't change the subject, asshole." He motioned with his hand, and then gave a sharp whistle. The truck rumbled forward, its engine roaring to life, sending vibrations through the ground.

Daryl's eyes flicked around, scanning the woods, looking for any potential way out. His jaw tightened as he made a snap decision, grabbing the blonde woman's arm and yanking her toward him. "This way," he growled, shoving her forward. She stumbled, but Daryl caught her, locking his arm around her waist to steady her as we began to move.

The dark-haired woman and the wiry man darted into the brush, their silhouettes merging with the shadows of the blackened trees, trying to stay out of sight. Daryl pulled my gun from my belt, but I slapped his hand away, my face contorting with frustration. He shot me a look, one that said he wasn't asking for permission. I rolled my eyes and reluctantly nodded. "Fine," I whispered, "but don't expect me to like it."

He handed the gun to the wiry man, who hesitated for a second before taking it without a word. From behind us, the faint crackle of a walkie-talkie came to life, the commands barely audible over the rustling leaves.

The blonde woman collapsed again, muttering nonsense, her voice slurring. "Love you, Sherry," she whispered weakly, her eyes glazing over. "Didn't have to. Didn't have to for me."

Sherry, her expression unreadable, reached into the duffel bag they had been carrying. The rustling of fabric sounded almost too loud in the silence, and I couldn't help but glance over at Daryl. His eyes were narrow as he watched the surroundings, his stance protective. He nodded subtly toward the man moving in our direction, a signal to keep our guard up.

I notched an arrow and drew it back, ready to fire if needed. The man came closer, but before I could release the tension from the string, he suddenly cried out in pain. A walker, appearing from behind a tree, had bitten into his arm, its rotten teeth sinking deep into his flesh. The man shouted in agony, struggling to free himself, but the walker held on tight, twisting its head violently.

The group froze, Daryl's body tensing beside me. Wade appeared from behind the trees, moving swiftly to help the man. He yanked the walker off and, with brutal precision, severed the man's bitten arm with a swift motion. The man screamed in pain as Wade carried him off, shouting into his walkie-talkie as he moved.

Once they were out of sight, the tension in the air shifted. The forest fell silent again, save for the crackle of the walkie. Daryl took a breath, lowering his crossbow, and I did the same with my bow. We exchanged a look, one full of unspoken words, both of us aware that we had narrowly avoided a fight we didn't want.

"We thought you were with them," the wiry man said, his voice tinged with confusion and frustration. "We knocked you out, tied you up, threatened to kill you... Why the hell did you come back?"

I couldn't suppress the bitter laugh that escaped my lips. "Well, for one, we already told you we weren't who you thought we were," I said, my voice cool but sharp. "Second, we found the insulin. We couldn't let your friend die."

The wiry man stared at me for a long moment, the lines on his face softening as if the words made sense to him. Slowly, he nodded.

With a deep breath, we started walking again. Sherry and the blonde woman, Tina, followed closely behind us, telling us about the group they had been running from—The Saviors. Their leader, they said, was a brutal man who had taken all the women, calling them his "wives." Sherry had been one of his wives, forced into submission, while Dwight, Sherry's husband, had worked in the compound. They spoke of how dangerous the Saviors were and how the leader made them kneel to show their obedience. Their voices were full of sorrow, but there was a strength behind their words, a quiet defiance.

We continued walking until we came upon a burned-out greenhouse. Sherry and Tina looked around the charred remains, their eyes clouded with memories. Tina bent down and picked up a burnt flower stem from the ashes, her fingers trembling as she touched it. She walked over to the bodies encased in glass, a silent tribute to the past. She knelt down, carefully placing the burnt stem of flowers on the glass.

But before we could even process what was happening, the air was filled with the unmistakable groans of walkers. The glass of the greenhouse shattered as two walkers rose from the wreckage, their decayed bodies jerking to life with an unnatural hunger. Tina screamed as one of the walkers lunged at her, sinking its teeth into her shoulder. I reacted instantly, firing an arrow that sank deep into the first walker's skull. But the second one was already on Tina, tearing into her face with a savage ferocity.

Daryl moved faster than I could track, a blur of motion as he surged forward and drove his knife into the skull of the second walker, saving Tina just in time. But it was too late—Tina was already lost. Blood poured from her wounds, and the world around us fell into chaos.

Tina and Sherry were both crying, their sobs echoing in the stillness of the forest. Sherry's face was streaked with dirt and tears, her expression a mask of sorrow as she hovered over Tina, who was rapidly losing consciousness. I watched Daryl and Dwight step back, giving us space, and my heart twisted. I turned to Daryl, who was standing a few paces away, his expression unreadable. His eyes were focused on the ground, but I could see the tension in his shoulders.

I knelt beside Sherry and Tina, placing a hand on Sherry's trembling shoulder. "It's time," I whispered gently, my voice barely above a murmur. Tina had quieted down, but I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, blood soaking through her clothes. Her life was slipping away with every second, and that would only speed up the change when she died.

Sherry shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her dirt-smeared face. "No," she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking. "She can't... I can't..."

I sighed softly, my heart aching for the woman who had just watched her friend, her sister in this world, fall apart. "It's time," I repeated, my tone firm but compassionate.

Sherry's body shook as she leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Tina's forehead, her lips trembling against the cool skin. She pulled back, staring down at her for a long moment, then slowly, silently, she stood up and walked away.

I pulled my knife from my belt and stood up, walking to Tina's side. Without another word, I slid the blade into the base of her skull. The sound of the knife sinking in echoed briefly in the quiet of the forest, a finality to it that felt unnatural and cruel.

Daryl and Dwight began digging three graves nearby, the sound of shovels hitting dirt the only noise in the otherwise still forest. I sat beside Sherry, who said nothing, her face turned away from the graves. Daryl, ever the pragmatist, didn't seem phased. He turned to Dwight and started asking questions.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Daryl asked.

Dwight paused for a moment before answering. "A few dozen. Why?"

"How many people?" Daryl pressed.

Dwight shifted uncomfortably. "None," he said, his voice tinged with shame.

Daryl nodded as if he understood, then leaned in a little closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why?"

Dwight didn't answer immediately. He stared at the ground, chewing on his lip for a moment before muttering, "Once you kill a person, there's no going back."

Daryl seemed satisfied with the answers, and that was when he began explaining about Alexandria—about our walls, our community, and what they could find there if they decided to join us. He spoke with confidence, the weight of his words not lost on me.

Once the bodies were buried, we turned back toward the bike. Daryl quickly uncovered it and began setting it upright, the motion deliberate as he readied it for us to leave.

"How many friends did you say you had?" Dwight asked, glancing between us.

"We didn't," I replied, my tone clipped.

"Two," Daryl answered, giving a grunt as he hauled the bike up.

"Where are they?" Dwight asked, his eyes scanning the area, his hands nervously gripping the handlebar of his own bike.

"We're gonna find out," Daryl replied, pushing the bike forward, a determined look on his face.

I walked beside him, not bothering to say anything. My thoughts were too tangled, and I didn't want to focus on the unease that gnawed at me. Daryl's pace never faltered.

"How do you know they even got away?" Dwight asked, his voice full of doubt. "How do you know they didn't get taken?"

I paused for a moment, then turned around to face him, my eyes narrowing. "Look," I said, my voice hardening. "We don't know. We're going out on a limb here. But if it comes down to it, we'll head back, drop you two off, and then go back out looking for them. Are you coming or not?"

I turned back around without waiting for a response. Daryl and I both grabbed the bike and began walking down the road, the weight of our thoughts heavy in the air between us.

The sound of a hammer clicking on my pistol caught Daryl's attention. He shook his head, a low growl escaping his lips as I spun around.

"You gotta fucking be kidding me," Daryl muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on Dwight, who was already aiming the gun at me.

"I'm sorry," Dwight said, his voice quieter, but still stern. "Just give us your stuff, and we'll go. Hand over the bows."

I didn't move. Daryl didn't move either. Neither of us was willing to back down.

When neither of us complied, Dwight shot a round into the air, sending the sound echoing through the trees. I jumped slightly, and before I knew it, Dwight had the bike started and revving, heading straight for the trees, ready to make his escape.

Sherry tossed us a couple of bandages. "We're sorry," she called out, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah, you will be, bitch," I snapped, my words sharp and filled with venom. "Better hope I don't find you again."

Daryl glared at them as they sped off, the sound of the bike fading into the distance. He bent down to grab the bandages, his hands tight as he folded them into his jacket.

"We'll find them, won't we?" I asked quietly, breaking the silence between us.

Daryl didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood up and looked down the road, his gaze hard. Finally, after a long pause, he nodded.

"Yeah, we will," he said, his voice low and steady.

We walked through the dense forest until we reached the clearing where we'd first hidden from the people shooting at us. The trees were sparse here, and the ground was soft with the weight of fallen leaves. Daryl moved through it with ease, as if the forest was an old friend, each step purposeful and steady.

I paused for a moment, trying to steady my breath as I followed him. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Daryl didn't even break stride, his eyes scanning the horizon. "There's a truck," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I watched as he moved toward a large, rusted fuel tanker truck parked off to the side, tucked just behind a cluster of trees. The truck had seen better days, but it was intact, and that was all that mattered. Without hesitation, Daryl opened the door and hauled a walker from the cab, its stiff, decaying body dragging against the seat. With one swift motion, he brought his weapon down, putting it out of its misery.

The sound of the truck's engine starting up was almost comforting after everything we'd been through. The engine roared to life, and Daryl swung himself into the driver's seat, motioning for me to get in.

"Let's go," he said, his tone clipped and focused.

I climbed into the passenger side, the seat creaking under my weight. We sped off, the truck's tires crunching over the uneven road as we left the clearing behind.

It wasn't long before we reached the town—the place where everything had gone wrong. Memories of the chaos flooded back, but we had a job to do. We needed to find Sasha and Abraham, and we couldn't afford to waste any more time.

When we found them, the reunion was brief but filled with relief. The four of us exchanged a few words, a few cautious glances, and then we were on the road again, heading toward home.

As we drove, Daryl grabbed the walkie from the dashboard and pressed the button, trying to reach Rick. "Rick? You copy?" he called into the device.

The static on the line crackled in response, a garbled voice barely breaking through the interference.

"Say that again," Daryl said, his eyes flicking over to me as we continued down the winding road. He held the walkie up, waiting for clarity.

There was a brief pause, and then a voice crackled through the static—high-pitched and frantic. I didn't recognize the voice, but the desperation in it made my heart skip a beat.

"Help."

The word echoed in the silence of the truck, sending a chill down my spine. Daryl's grip tightened on the wheel, his jaw setting hard as he processed the plea for help. We weren't out of danger yet—not by a long shot.

"Who the hell is that?" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.