Lone Survivors

“Now, I was going to have a chat to him once he woke up and then give him some drugs to knock him out for a while, but he refused, said he wanted to talk to you,” Hershel explained as we entered the house together and headed towards the room where Daryl was being kept. “I’ll be waiting in the kitchen when you’re done.” I nodded slightly at him, took in a deep breath to steady myself, then entered the room. Daryl was sprawled out similar to how I had left him, the bandage on his head soaked with blood and his eyes half glazed over.

“Mandy?” he asked quietly as I shut the door behind myself.

“Yeah, I’m here…” I whispered back. In a few seconds, I was seated on the bed next to him.

“You’re the one who saved my ass back there?” Daryl scarcely asked, his voice so much rougher than it usually was.

“Yeah… Just some basic first aid I learned once the world turned to shit,” I grumbled in response, earning the tiniest of smiles from him.

“I appreciate it.”

“Well don’t worry ‘bout it. Just rest up, ‘kay?” I told him and I got a grunt in reply.

“I don’t ever do this but… I’ll repay you…. when I’m better… Promise…” Daryl breathed and I grinned. The defences had been lowered and there was a kind person underneath.

“It’s fine, Daryl. Just think ‘bout healin’ up,” I urged him as I looked down into my lap. Honestly, I was far more concerned about his health. He was a key member in the group; that was obvious. I wasn’t. He needed to live and not worry about me. If I died, no one would care. If he did, everyone else would too. A low grunt of pain snapped me out of my depressing thoughts and I glanced back at Daryl. His face was wincing, as if trying to hold back the pain.

“I- I-” Daryl stuttered.

“I’ll get Hershel,” I told him quietly before leaving and doing what I had said. I exited the house and Andrea rushed up to me. She pummelled me with questions about Daryl’s health and if he had said anything about her, expressing the whole time how sorry she was. The way she made a few remarks it almost would appear that she was scared of Daryl, though that confused me. The man I had seen just before, though injured, was kind. He wouldn’t hurt Andrea for a mistake, surely…

As I lay in my tent, attempting to sleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl and his injuries. Today seemed unreal, and not in a good way. I pondered about how I could aid his recovery, and only came up with the idea of massaging him when he needed it. My massages were good; it was a well-known fact in the group now. Perhaps it would be sufficient to show my gratitude for his contributions to the group and help him recover?