Chapter 28 - Daryl

We cut through the trees for a while longer, but the trail was rough. Uneven. Slow.

Rosita eventually looped back from ahead and motioned to the left. "Tracks are just up that rise. We'd be back by now if we'd stayed on 'em."

I shot her a look. She raised an eyebrow right back—challenge clear in her face, but no smugness this time. Just facts.

I didn't say anything.

Didn't want to admit she was right.

But I glanced at Denise.

She looked pale. Shoulders hunched, eyes down. Still clutching her pack like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

I sighed through my nose and turned toward the ridge.

Didn't say a damn word.

When we hit the tracks again, I felt it in my gut right away. That open line of sight, those long metal rails stretching into nowhere. Too exposed. Too familiar. Too much.

My boots hit the gravel and every step echoed louder than it should've. The wind blew just right and I could almost hear the sounds from then—chains rattling, Glenn gasping beside me, Rick's voice shaking with rage.

I kept walking.

Didn't let my pace falter.

We moved fast. Faster than we would've in the trees.

That was the point.

Rosita took the front, scanning ahead. Denise walked beside me now, her face still pale but a little more focused. Maybe she felt safer out in the open. Maybe she didn't feel anything at all right now.

"You okay on your feet?" I asked her.

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

She wasn't. Not really. But she was pushing through.

That counted for something.

I shifted the rifle across my chest and scanned the tree line, tension prickling across the back of my neck. My steps were steady, but inside? My nerves were strung tight.

I hated this.

Hated the tracks. Hated the silence. Hated the way the woods looked at us now—like they knew something we didn't.

I just wanted to get back.

Get Denise home.

Get back to Ella.

To Ian's wild energy and Ruby's quiet eyes and the sound of Ella laughing in the kitchen.

I didn't say that, though.

Just kept walking.

Eyes sharp.

Finger near the trigger.

Something in the air had shifted.

And I didn't like it one damn bit.

Eventually Denise started to slow down. Not winded—just distracted.

Rosita and I kept pace, boots hitting the tracks in sync, eyes on the path ahead. We didn't notice Denise had stopped until her voice echoed down the line behind us.

"GUYS!"

She sounded too far off. Too far for comfort.

Rosita and I spun at the same time.

Denise was crouched near a drainage tunnel off the side of the tracks, practically bouncing. "There's a cooler in here!"

Rosita groaned and stopped dead in her tracks, hands on her hips.

"There could be something good in it!" Denise called, voice echoing off the concrete.

"We got what we came for!" Rosita shouted back.

"Ain't worth the trouble," I muttered, waving her forward. "C'mon. Let's get back home."

Didn't want her messin' around near dark holes in the ground. Didn't want her wandering off, period.

I started walking again, Rosita at my side, eyes scanning the trees.

Then I heard it.

The growl.

And the cussing.

My gut clenched.

"Shit—"

We ran.

By the time we got there, Denise was on the ground. The walker had her pinned, snapping at her neck. She was kicking and clawing, knife gripped tight—but she wasn't screaming.

She was fighting.

"Back off!" she yelled as we moved in.

She rolled, grunting, and ended up on top, driving her blade through its forehead with a messy, wet crack.

It dropped.

Dead.

Denise stood up slow, hair wild, her glasses gone.

She bent over, bracing her hands on her knees—and puked all over the damn place.

"Oatmeal," I muttered, disgust curling in my gut.

She groaned and reached for her glasses in the dirt, smeared them off on her shirt like it didn't matter, like she wasn't still shaking.

My temper snapped.

"What the fuck," I growled. "What the fuck were you thinkin'?"

Denise didn't look at me. Just popped the lid on that damn cooler and reached inside.

She pulled out a pack of soda—dusty, dented, half-warm. One can was bright orange.

She stared at it like it was gold.

"Hot damn," she whispered.

My jaw locked.

"You could've died right there," I snapped. "You know that? All for a fuckin' can of soda?"

"Who gives a shit, Daryl?" she yelled back, finally looking at me. "You could've died killing those Saviors—both of you! But you did it anyway!"

My chest tightened.

"You think killin' people is the same as takin' on a walker for a goddamn soda?" I stepped closer, hands clenched. "Are you bein' serious right now?"

"You want to live, you take chances!" she shouted. "That's what this was. That's what this whole thing is!"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "That wasn't a chance, that was stupid."

She started walking.

Fast. Like if she didn't keep moving, she'd break down right there.

Rosita and I fell in behind her, still reeling.

"Are you seriously that stupid?" Rosita snapped, voice cutting.

Denise whipped around, eyes glassy, but burning hot. She had her back to the woods now, arms tight, soda can clenched in her fist like it was a weapon.

"Are you?!" she snapped. "Do you have any idea what that was to me? What this whole thing is?!"

We didn't answer.

Not yet.

"I have training in this shit," Denise was saying. Her voice shook, but her eyes were clear. "It's not like surgery, or stitches where I make it all up as I go."

She pointed right at me, unflinching. "I asked you to come because you remind me of my brother. You're brave, and you make me feel safe."

She turned to Rosita. "And I asked you because you're alone. Probably for the first time ever. But you're stronger than you think. And that gives me hope that I can be strong too."

My stomach twisted. She wasn't wrong.

Denise looked down the tracks. Didn't put her glasses back on. She looked older without them. Worn.

"I could've gone with Tara and Heath," she whispered. "Could've told Tara I loved her. But I didn't. Because I was scared. I'm always scared. And that's what's so fucking stupid—not coming out here. That's what makes me sick."

She turned to face us again, hands still clenched around that damn soda can.

"You guys aren't even trying," she said. "You're strong. And smart. And really good people."

She took a breath. One more.

"And if you don't wake—"

Thunk.

The arrow hit her clean through the head. Back of the skull, tip out the eye.

She stayed standing.

My world stopped moving.

Denise kept talking, kept breathing like her body hadn't realized yet.

"Up. And... face... your..."

She dropped.

I caught her.

My arms wrapped around her before I even realized what I was doing, lowering her to the tracks like it mattered. Like I could still fix it.

But she was gone.

Just like that.

I raised my gun, teeth clenched, eyes scanning.

And they came out of the trees.

Everything slowed.

Footsteps. Leaves crunching. The snap of a twig.

Then—

Fucking Dwight.

He shoved Eugene forward like a rag doll. Arms bound behind his back, eyes wide with fear.

Dwight's face was burned now—charred, shiny, ruined. Just like he deserved. But he was still grinning.

And he was holding my goddamn crossbow.

My jaw locked. My vision tunneled.

That was mine.

That bastard had no right.

Rosita and I traded a glance. She gave a slight shake of her head. We lowered our guns.

Didn't have a choice.

Dwight raised my crossbow casually, as if he hadn't just murdered someone. As if he wasn't standing there wearing someone else's weapon, like it fit.

"Well, hell," he said, voice smug as ever. "You got something to say to me? You gonna clear the air?"

I said nothing.

Didn't trust myself to speak.

Didn't trust myself not to rip his throat out with my teeth.

"You gonna step up on your high horse?" he taunted. "No, you don't talk much, huh? You let that little bitch of yours do the talking."

I moved.

Didn't even think. Just surged forward like instinct.

Rosita grabbed my wrist, yanked me back hard.

"Don't," she hissed.

I let her stop me.

Barely.

Dwight gestured to his goons. They moved in, stripped us fast. Bags, weapons, anything useful. I let it happen, fingers twitching.

Then he lifted my crossbow again, admiring it like a toy.

"Still gettin' the hang of her," he said. "Kicks like a bitch, but—"

"I shoulda killed you," I growled, voice low and dangerous.

Dwight cupped his ear—what was left of it. Melted flesh, ruined cartilage, the mark of someone who'd survived something they shouldn't have.

"What's that?" he asked, mock-leaning in. "Didn't quite catch that."

"I should've killed you," I repeated, eyes locked on his. "When I had the chance."

Dwight just shrugged. That stupid grin still pulling at his mouth.

"Yeah, probably. So, here we are."

He tilted his head toward Denise's body. "Kind of begs the question, huh? Who brought this on who?"

He paused, smiling wider now. "You'll just have to take my word for it—but she wasn't even the one I was aiming for."

My chest tightened.

Dwight chuckled, lifting the crossbow again like it was some kind of joke.

"Like I said, she kicks like a bitch. Nothing personal."

I didn't blink.

Didn't breathe.

Didn't speak.

Because if I opened my mouth, I was gonna scream.

And if I moved, I was gonna kill him.

But not fast.

Slow.

"Look," Dwight said, voice slick with that fake-charm bullshit, "this ain't how we like to start business arrangements, but—you pricks kinda set the tone, didn't you?"

My grip on the strap of my empty pack tightened.

Rosita didn't flinch. "What do you want?"

Dwight turned his head slow, like a vulture stretching its neck. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't catch your name. I'm D. Or Dwight. You can call me either."

Rosita didn't answer.

He grinned wider, like he thought that made him hot shit. "So what's your name?"

"Rosita." She rolled the R like a bullet.

Dwight tried to mimic it. Came out flat. Limp. "Well, Rosita," he dragged it out all wrong, "it's not what I want. It's what you two are gonna do."

He yanked Eugene forward by the collar. "You're gonna let us into your cozy little fortress. We'll take what we want. Who we want. Or else..."

He leaned in close to Eugene's ear, too close. "We blow his brains out. Then hers. Then yours," he said to me, his grin widening. "I don't want it to come to that. We try to start with just one. Maximum impact, you know?"

My jaw locked.

Eugene looked like he was about to pass out. Chest heaving, eyes wide.

Then, somehow, he spoke.

"You wanna kill someone?" he panted. "Start with our companion hiding behind those barrels."

He jerked his chin toward a stack of rusted metal barrels a few yards away.

My eyebrows shot up. What the hell?

I didn't have a companion hiding behind barrels. What was he—?

"Check it," Dwight ordered, motioning one of his guys toward the barrels.

And just then, Eugene looked at me.

One look.

And lunged.

He bit Dwight.

Right in the crotch.

I mean full-on chomped his dick.

Dwight let out a scream that split the air. "WHAT THE—GET HIM OFF!"

Eugene had his teeth locked in, growling like a feral possum. The sound he made was ungodly.

And I—

I flinched.

My own balls crawled back up into my body like they wanted to go home.

But I moved. Fast.

Gunfire cracked through the trees as someone started firing—cover from our actual backup. That was Eugene's plan. That crazy son of a bitch knew what he was doing.

I didn't wait.

Snatched the knife off the nearest goon's belt and slit his throat clean. He dropped, gurgling. I grabbed his gun next, aimed, and unleashed hell.

Rosita was already moving, picking off targets like it was second nature.

Walkers came shambling out of the woods, drawn by the noise. Perfect timing.

Dwight was still shrieking, hunched over, blood pouring through his fingers as he finally ripped Eugene off his junk.

Eugene flopped backwards onto the tracks, still tied up and knocked his head on the track, hard.

"FALL BACK!" Dwight screamed, clutching his bloody crotch like it might fall off if he let go. "FALL BACK!"

He crawled for the trees, dragging himself like roadkill, still howling.

That's when the shots really started flying.

Controlled bursts—clean, brutal. Taking out two of Dwight's guys like they were paper targets.

I knew that sound.

Abraham.

From the tree line behind the barrels, he stepped out like some red-headed avenging angel, gun raised and mouth curled into that half-cocked grin he wore when shit was about to get biblical.

"Did I miss the memo on the ball-biting?" he called, firing again and dropping another Savior. "Hell of a move, Eugene."

Eugene wheezed from the tracks, still unconcious.

I didn't stop to celebrate.

I grabbed the knife from a fallen body and started cutting Eugene free, he had been knocked on the head pretty ahrd, but he was breathing. Rosita laid down cover fire, moving with me like we'd done it a hundred times before.

I caught sight of my crossbow on the tracks—just sitting there like a piece of me had been waiting to be whole again.

I ran for it, slung it across my back, and turned toward the trees.

I wanted Dwight.

Wanted him bad.

But we had to move.

Rosita grabbed Eugene's arms. I grabbed his legs.

I glanced back once—just once—at Denise's body.

The rage boiled up in my throat again. But I swallowed it.

There wasn't time to mourn.

Not yet.

We carried Eugene down the tracks, Abraham at our backs, guns hot, the world still reeling from everything we'd just left behind.

But I wasn't done.

Not by a long shot.

We got Eugene back to Alexandria and hauled his limp ass straight to the infirmary.

Didn't even see Ella.

Didn't wanna.

Not yet.

Not like this—covered in blood, Denise's death still sitting heavy in my gut like a weight I couldn't shake.

Rosita and I stuck close to Eugene while he lay there on the cot, eyes glassy, mumbling nonsense between bouts of groaning. His head was split just enough to be worrisome, but not enough to kill him. We patched him up best we could.

Didn't have Denise anymore.

Our only damn doctor was gone.

I stood near the window, staring out at the street. Watching the light shift over the houses, waiting for Rick to show.

Didn't wanna talk.

Didn't wanna think.

Rosita said something about the meds we managed to bring back—how we needed to log them, divvy 'em up. I heard her, but all I could think about was Denise's body still lying out there. All that risk, all that hope, gone in a second.

And it was on me.

Door creaked open behind me.

Abraham walked in like a soldier fresh off the battlefield—shoulders back, eyes locked in.

"Rick's on his way," he said, moving to Eugene's side.

I didn't turn. Just kept looking out the window, jaw tight.

Then Eugene coughed.

We all looked over like he'd said something profound.

His eyes were still cloudy, but he was focused.

"I was not tryin' to get you killed," he muttered, staring up at Abraham. "I was just lookin' for a moment."

Abraham gave this slow, dramatic sigh. "Well, you found it alright."

There was a pause.

Then Eugene squinted, all serious-like. "Do you apologize for questioning my skills?"

I blinked.

Abraham blinked.

And then he nodded. Serious as death.

"I apologize," he said solemnly. "You sure do know how to bite a dick, Eugene. I mean that with the utmost respect."

I choked on air.

Bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing.

Also had to shift a bit so I didn't accidentally grab my own crotch from sheer sympathetic pain. Because goddamn.

That image was never leaving me.

Eugene just nodded back like this was a military promotion.

"Welcome to phase two," Abraham added, real grave-like.

"Don't need to welcome me," Eugene replied. "I've been here for a while."

Silence.

Rosita blinked like she was questioning her entire existence.

I stared at them both, absolutely fucking done.

I looked back out the window.

Still grieving.

Still pissed.

But... yeah.

That was the dumbest shit I'd ever seen.

And somehow, that meant we were still alive.

By the time I left the infirmary, the sun was starting to go down.

Everything felt too quiet.

Rosita stayed behind with Eugene, still fussin' over the bandages even though he was already bragging about "strategic gnaw placement" like it was a goddamn science project.

Abraham gave me a nod. No words. Didn't need any.

I walked home alone.

Back stiff. Boots heavy.

My hands were still covered in blood—some mine, some not. Didn't bother washing up. Just needed to get back. Just needed her.

I turned the corner onto our street and spotted the house.

Warm light in the windows. Smoke curling up from the chimney.

Safe.

Home.

I stepped up onto the porch and paused.

My heart was pounding harder now than it had all day.

Not from fear.

From everything else.

I opened the door.

She was there.

Standing in the kitchen, back turned, hair pulled up in that messy knot she always made when she was tired but still trying. Ruby was on her hip, thumb in her mouth, eyes wide. Ian was sitting cross-legged on the floor, zooming a broken toy truck across the rug with full engine sound effects.

And just like that—

The air came back into my lungs.

Ella turned.

Saw me.

And froze.

Her eyes swept over me—sweat, blood, dirt, pain. All of it written clear across my face.

She handed Ruby off to Ian like it was instinct. Crossed the room fast.

Didn't ask.

Didn't speak.

Just threw her arms around me, tight.

I dropped everything I was carrying.

Arms went around her like I'd die if I didn't hold her close enough. My face buried in her neck, breath hitching.

She didn't flinch at the smell, at the blood, at how wrecked I felt.

She just held me tighter.

"I got you," she whispered.

"I'm okay," I rasped, even though I wasn't.

She pulled back, cupped my face with both hands. Her eyes searched mine, soft and fierce and everything.

I saw the moment she realized what I wasn't saying.

Her jaw trembled.

"Who?" she asked quietly.

I swallowed hard. "Denise."

Ella closed her eyes, just for a second.

When she opened them, she didn't cry.

She just nodded. And pulled me into another hug like she knew I couldn't stand to talk about it yet.

Ian tugged on my pants leg.

"Dad," he said. "You're dirty."

I huffed out something that might have been a laugh. Dropped to my knees and pulled him into a hug too. He giggled, wriggling in my arms, but hugged me back tight.

Ruby leaned her little cheek against my shoulder, still sucking her thumb, watching me with those wide, solemn eyes like she knew too.

I held them all.

Held everything.

And for the first time in hours, I let myself breathe.

The kids were finally asleep.

Ruby went first—out cold in Ella's arms the moment she was full and changed. Her little chest rose and fell slow and even, fingers curled in her sleep, soft sighs pressing against Ella's collarbone. She was perfect. Untouched by the world.

Ian crashed shortly after. He fought it, of course—mumbled something about needing to fix a wheel on his truck and tell Dad about a bug he found—but by the time I came back from washing the blood off my hands, he was already knocked out on the couch, curled up under that frayed blanket with the stars on it.

Ella kissed his curls and tucked him in without a word.

Now it was just us.

The quiet wrapped around the house like a second skin. Not silent—never that. The wind brushed against the windows. A cricket somewhere outside kept chirping like it had a job to do. The old floorboard near the kitchen creaked every now and then like it was settling into sleep, too.

I sat on the couch, head tilted back, arms resting across the cushions.

Ella walked over and sat beside me, slow and careful, like she knew the pieces of me were still rearranging themselves.

I didn't move at first.

Didn't know how.

Then she reached up and ran her fingers through my hair.

Gentle. Just once.

And I cracked.

Not tears. Not words.

Just leaned into her, head resting against her shoulder like I was trying to remember how to breathe right. She tilted her head against mine, arms looping around me without hesitation.

We didn't talk.

Didn't need to.

Her warmth seeped into me slow. Soft. Real.

I could smell the faint trace of Ruby's shampoo on her skin. The firewood from the stove. The way she always smelled like safety, even in this goddamn world.

I breathed her in.

Held it there.

Let it anchor me.

Her fingers brushed the back of my neck.

"You're home," she whispered.

I nodded against her shoulder.

For now.

That was enough.

And I stayed there, in the dark, with the weight of her hand and the beat of her heart and the steady rhythm of something I'd almost forgotten how to trust.

Peace.

Even if it was only for a few minutes.

We stayed on the couch.

Lights low. Kids asleep.

The whole house breathing slow around us.

Ella didn't move much. Just kept her arm around my shoulders, fingers tracing slow, absent circles against the back of my neck. Every pass made my muscles loosen a little more, made the tight coil in my chest start to unspool.

I turned my head. Rested my temple against hers.

She tilted her chin, and her lips brushed the corner of my mouth.

Barely there.

But it grounded me.

I turned fully, eyes on her now, and she met me there—no questions, no pity, just her.

Soft. Steady. Everything I needed.

I leaned in and kissed her.

Slow.

Didn't rush it. Didn't need to.

Her hand slid up into my hair, gentle like she was soothing something inside me I couldn't reach. My hand found her waist, pulled her in closer. She went easy, tucking against me like she belonged there.

Another kiss. This one deeper, but still lazy. Still soft.

Her mouth was warm. Familiar. Mine.

I pressed my forehead to hers.

Didn't say anything.

She didn't either.

Just her fingertips brushing down my jaw, across my throat, then back again. Her thumb passed under the collar of my shirt, found bare skin, settled there.

I let my hand wander, splaying against the curve of her hip, then up, just to feel the beat of her heart through her shirt.

Steady. Real.

I closed my eyes.

Her nose nudged against mine, her lips brushing once... twice... slow.

No heat behind it.

Just want.

Just comfort.

Just her.

And I let it happen.

Let myself sink into her, into us.

Because here, in the dark, with her breath on my cheek and her hand in my hair—I remembered what it felt like to be whole.

Even if the rest of the world was breaking.

Her fingers never stopped moving.

Slow patterns on the back of my neck, the curve of my jaw, across the bridge of my shoulder. Like she was memorizing me all over again. Or maybe just making sure I was really here.

I shifted lower on the couch, pulling her with me until we were tangled, chest to chest. My hand curled around her back, palm flat between her shoulder blades. I could feel every breath she took, every exhale that brushed against my throat.

She didn't let go.

Didn't loosen her grip even as I started to sink.

My eyes drifted closed.

The world stayed soft.

She kissed my cheek. Once. Then again.

"Sleep," she whispered.

I couldn't answer—not really. My mouth barely moved.

But I tightened my arms around her.

Because I needed her.

And she knew it.

Her thumb rubbed slow circles against my ribcage, calming me in a way nothing else could.

I listened to the sound of the baby breathing from the next room.

Imagined Ian, limbs sprawled in his sleep, probably dreaming about dinosaurs and dirt.

And I let myself go.

Let myself fall asleep with my face buried in the crook of Ella's neck, her heartbeat thudding steady beneath my hand.

For the first time in a long while...

I didn't dream of death.

I didn't dream of blood.

I just slept.

Held tight in the arms of the woman who brought me back to life.