The Darkest Storm

Darcy stands in the shadow of a large oak tree at the far end of the street from the building they’ve been searching for all along. It is unnervingly quiet in the air around them, and just like back at the service station, Darcy has a sudden sense of consciousness of the problems they may face by the way everything stands utterly still.

There are no bodies, and no walkers. Typically in a once crowded inhabited area such as this, there were bound to be some inclination of a reanimated take-over. Even if they stood in a smaller town, the erratic and ambulant steps of walkers would have brought at least something here. The only thing that shows otherwise is the smell that rises in the air; hot and humid, like foul water, rotting plants, and decay.

“Feels like we’re gettin’ closer.” Daryl squints over the brick buildings of the campus, then the environs of the burg. The thick patches of greenery have slowly overcome the structures; taking back the land that was once it’s to begin with.

A wave of uncertainty overcomes Darcy with each step. It’s strange to think how accustomed they have become in the world around them. They saw this all the time, the warnings, the vacancy, and death itself. Something was lurking around these stranded hallways and corners of the buildings they were about to enter. Not only are they expecting it; they can feel it.

“Don’ like the looks of this place.” Tyresse talks with susurration, also taking note of the off-key ambiance the entire group was feeling.

Darcy steps slowly and with a quiet pace with her bow pointed downwards. The feathers from her arrow are no longer soft and colorful, but crusted and frayed. She taps her thumb at the nock while her fingers bend over the serving, scanning with curious and alert eyes to evade any surprises, and absentmindedly listening to the repetitive, in-sync steps she makes in the gravel beneath her boots.

But as she takes another step forward, an unrecognizable crunch is heard. Darcy lifts her right foot up slightly when her eyes lock on the sudden foul sight of broken bone and a sparge path of blood and bits of something she can only guess is human. Then, trickling her stare back up in front of her, she follows a clear sequence that tells her exactly what happened.

It was a series of unfortunate concatenations for this poor soul. From what she can tell, this person had run, bled, fallen facedown – the face mark is still imprinted in the dirt – then without suffocating, without bleeding to death, they’d lain there for some time and then gotten up and started walking again.

Darcy keeps her eyes on the tracks and suddenly the presence of Daryl is next to her. Both trackers have their eyes glued intently to the footprints that have now changed. They are slower, closer together. The right foot was dragging and sprinkled with fluid. Not blood, not human, but droplets of hard, black, crusted ooze that the hunters immediately recognize as walker blood.

“The building we want is just up ahead.” Tyresse holds the map out in front of him, trailing the pathway with his finger meticulously.

Inside, the trail stops short. A walker is just hidden by the shadows, out of reach for the sun’s rays to illuminate. It is on his knees in front of another corpse, hands brought up to his mouth with a hunk of flesh wedged between its fingers. They watch for a moment, seeing the intestines stretch back and forth from body to teeth.

Daryl raises his crossbow and the twang of the arrow stops everything. He temporarily has ended the sight in front of them, and Darcy remains unphased. She’s seen it all before, but when she turns around to glance back outside, her eyes set on Bob. He stares intently, a frown clouding his features. His nostrils flare and his eyes sink.

It’s funny, in war, they teach you how to resist the enemy, how to protect your mind and spirit against their tactics and wit, maybe even their strength. They never teach you how to resist your own people. And in this case, which is everyday, their people are the survivors that have made it this far being destroyed by the dead.

“Alright.” Daryl sighs, raising up his bow and facing the group. “Bob go on with Darc and Michonne. Ty, you’re comin’ with me, I got a separate list we can scrounge for without Bob’s help. You get lost or somethin’ happens, holler. Let’s make this quick.”

-

Darcy rummages through drawers and lower cabinets as Michonne and Bob search the main hold cupboards. She slips a few canisters carefully into her bag and pulls her brown locks up into her hair band before foraying further into the cupboard, swiping away chunks of broken glass from the broken barrier in the process.

Three times she’s read these labels, hoping to check and re-check them in case she missed something. She throws a few more things in her pack that may become useful while exhaling slowly and grimly at the lack of air flowing through the room. It is this and the stress of time that has made the air completely dense and exhausting. It is times like these she truly misses air conditioning, or even something simpler such as a battery-powered, pocket fan.

“Anything ending in ‘-cillin, ‘ or ‘-cin.’ C-I-N. Grab it.” Bob tells them. He twists and turns each bottle searching for readable tags. “We’ll dissolve the pills in the IV’s, put ‘em right into the blood stream. Dosage will be tricky but considering the time we lost…”

Darcy rubs her trepidatious eyes and tries to sort out her mental bearings. They’ve all been worried about the recent events back at the prison, but then anxiety wasn’t new to any of them. After surviving by hiding away from what was beyond the fences for so long, none of them really expected that what was also inside the prison was a potential threat.

She sighs, utterly confused by the labels she reads, her shoulders sagging as she glances down at the tag and finds nothing of Bob has told her to look for. Carelessly, Darcy tosses it over her shoulder and listens as the cap breaks and empties the pills as they begin to bounce and roll around the tiled floor like beads.

It was a few minutes later, as Daryl and Tyresse return from the room across the hall, that the three have just finished scrounging for anything left on the shelves.

Darcy has her bag set on top of a desk and zips it up. “How’d you do?” She asks.

“Bags, tubes, clamps, connectors. Everything on the list.” Ty nods.

“What about ya’ll?” Daryl places his bag over his shoulder.

“Yeah, we got it all.” Bob says.

“Yeah,” Michonne shines her light on the cabinets. “We’re good.”

“Alright, le’s roll.” Daryl lifts his crossbow off the table and turns out of the room. He leads the group down the stranded, dark hallways of the clinic, shining his flashlight in and out of rooms quickly in case anything should be waiting to jump out of them that they aren’t already expecting.

Darcy watches the light when it flows over the exit sign. Taking in a deep breath, she notices just then how on edge she is. Her heartbeat has risen, and so has her intake of breath. She almost steps into Tyresse in front of her a few times, wishing Daryl would lead them out of there faster.

Daryl looks back through the open doorway where the rest of the group still waits for a signal and lowers his voice to a frantic whisper. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up.”

And just like that, the world has come crashing down on them yet again. Darcy drops her grasp on Tyresse’s arm in shock, glancing inside the doorway resting askew on its hinges. She thought she saw something moving behind the curtains, and sooner than anyone could have realized, walkers seem to sprout out at them from all corners.

Darcy jumps forward, glancing over her shoulder and seeing walkers coming from behind the group as well. Her face instantly drains of all color. “We have to move!”

Michonne begins pushing the group towards a separate hall, but is forced to duck inside another from the close sounds of moans to her left. Behind her, Daryl has doubled back and is quickly shoving a frantic and heavily weighed down Tyresse and Darcy ahead of him, roaring up at Bob to ‘move his scrawny ass,’ as the corpses lurch themselves behind him.

-

The more Darcy blinks into the darkness, the more she begins to make out the shapes and figures of the odds and ends inside the room. Bob’s flashlight flickers on towards the end of the hallway, and it grows quieter with each passing second.

“Hey!” Bob whispers hoarsely from the back. “Door’s busted!”

Daryl growls in frustration, “Ah. Hold up.” Handing Darcy his bag, she hoists it over her shoulder and, now more heavily weighed down than ever, led the way back to the opposite end of the hall.

Darcy moves the bag’s strap to lie across her body so she could hold her bow and looks toward Michonne. She bobs her head, “There.”

A door is in the middle of the east wall, slightly slanted from its bent and strained hinges. She and Michonne exchange another glance before tugging loosely on the chains.

The echo produced from the clattering of the rusted metal catenulate sets off a chain reaction. More movements begin flickering in and around the separate inside rooms of the hall, and a crash from the other side of the door Darcy and Michonne stand in front of sounds faintly like a stack of metal cages being knocked over. In a manner of seconds, flesh-ridden, bony fingers lace themselves around the frame of the door.

“How many?” Daryl, whose arrival until that point has gone unnoticed, speaks with a calm determination as he steps forward from helping Bob and Tyresse with the barricade.

Michonne’s eyes snap back up to his face from where she’s been peering through the small opening. “I can’t tell.”

“Shit.” Darcy says sharply. She shifts her stance, spinning on her toes while stretching her bow back behind them, towards the now toppling-over wall of chairs set to hold the door closed.

“We can take ‘em!” Tyresse yells.

“No!” Bob holds him back. “They’re infected! Same as at the prison! We fire at ‘em, get their blood on us, breath it in…we didn’t come all this way to get sick!”

Tyresse leans forward and points with his hammer, “How do we know the ones in there are any different?”

“We don’t.” Michonne is still trying to count, but it’s no use.

“Well, it’s gotta change sometime.” Daryl grabs a chair and snaps one of its legs off before he weaves it into the chain that holds the door.

The group readies itself, stepping back and taking out what weapons they could hold with everything else on their backs. Daryl looks to each and every one of them as he grips the wood tighter in the growing garboil.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Do it!” Tyresse yells.

When Daryl breaks the lock, three walkers come out from the other side. For the first time, Darcy thinks the universe is on their side. They are quickly killed off; their severed heads roll and bounce onto the floor from Michonne’s katana.

One of Darcy’s arrows breeze through the small space between Michonne and Daryl, piercing the last walker down the hall before they even had a chance to bring their heads up at the sight. They freeze, two pairs of eyes locked open in fear as they both held their breath for only a moment.

The gentle wind the arrow gives off had tossed Daryl’s hair just slightly beside his temple. He turns, leaning back on his feet and breathing heavily as he regains his stamina. It had been close, but the determined look she gives followed by a solid nod tells him her timing and aim is nothing short of perfection.

“Go!” Darcy yells, pushing them forward to get them moving.

The hallways are blocked, with no ulterior way out besides going deeper inside the clinic at a rate that is more than unfavorable. They climb the stairs with Daryl in front, then step in and out of corridors until a passage is finally clear for them to run. Darcy keeps a sharp eye out for anything that hides within the shadows as they continue their trek upward, but nothing is there.

Michonne takes the lead once upstairs, slicing through the dense bodies that emerge from the classes with her katana. But by the time the group reaches the end of the way, they come to find all exit doors are locked.

“We don’t have an exit!” Michonne spins around after jiggling the metal handle, stopping in her tracks halfway when she sees the continuously growing herd behind them all.

“I can hold them off.” Darcy reaches her bags out to Tyresse who takes them gladly.

Darcy raises her bow, warding off any attackers from the window ledge behind her, but her eyes scan the hall and it seems when she takes down one, three more appear. Soon, the pack becomes so overwhelming she compares the time it will take to send an arrow through their brains versus the time their fingers clasp around her skin.

The sound of the window collapsing behind her brings her to a halt. As she turns to check, a solid hand encloses around her collar and tugs her backwards so quickly that she stumbles over her own feet. It’s Tyresse, pulling her through the window that is evidently their only escape. She looks up as he gives Daryl her hand and wrenches her onto the balcony.

“Jump down to the walkway below. Go! Go! Go!” Daryl rushes. Darcy quickly hurries out the window before she feels he may throw her and sucks in a sharp breath when her eyes land on yet another swarm of walkers just underneath the paseo.

For a horrifying second, there seems to be no barrier that separates her from the dead, but eventually she falls against the stone-pebbled roof of the outbuilding with a thud. She doesn’t have much time to think or catch her breath as she scrambles quickly along the roof as Daryl lands next to her only a split second later.

Daryl grabs her arm again to hoist her to her feet and jostles across the walkway, kicking some of the dead leaves to the reaching hands below where they are lost within the bodies. She feels the whole roof jolt beneath her as Tyresse lands behind them, and then Bob.

Darcy has looked over her shoulder just in time to see Bob has slipped, landing on his feet but stumbled forward, almost toppling off the other side. He now lays facedown across the way while his bag, still latched around his wrist, falls over the ledge and into the hands of the corpses. She doubles-back over, instantly dropping her bags down at her feet and clutches onto Bob’s collar.

“Bob let it go!” Michonne holds onto his leg.

“Let the bag go, man!”

Despite the calls from the others who now have joined the tug-of-war, Bob refuses to let the bag go. Darcy can see it in his features; the way he bites down on his lip, the way his eyes are narrowed, the overall desperation of needing what was inside this bag.

“For fucks sake, Bob!” Darcy hisses, giving him another urgent tug. With shaking legs, the force is immediately withheld and she drops to the roof as the bag flies next to her with a hollow ‘clunk.’

Everyone stops, and stares. Darcy shuffles towards the bag, all of a sudden intrigued at how light it actually seems. Reaching her hand in, she feels the unevenness of a liquid sloshing around inside a bottle. She blinks in question, pulling out the helping of wine and reading the label in her hands to in fact make sure her eyes aren’t lying to her. With narrowed eyes she scrambles to stand and get out of reach from Bob who tries to take it from her.

“The hell is this?” Darcy snaps, compressing her eyebrows together and holding out a hand to have him stand back. Daryl appears by her side and she shows him the label as they exchange a glance.

“Got no meds in your bag?” Daryl asks. “Just this?”

Darcy can see it; the heavy rise and fall of Bob’s chest, the certain dead-stare he has whilst looking at the bottle in her callous, dirt covered hands. It wasn’t hard to piece together, she’s known about Daryl’s past and the stories he’s told for her to recognize the signs.

With a snarl, Daryl adds, “You should ‘a kept walkin’ that day.”

The silence from Bob has Darcy look down at the bottle. The clear glass reflects the yellow tint of the liquor, darkening the shine to a deep golden. Just the initial sight of something to drink causes her to swallow back the sudden dryness in her mouth. It is because of this she un-twists the cap and begins to tip the bottle sideways to pour out its contents.

As the liquid is tauntingly placed at the lip, Bob intervenes. “Don’t.” His eyes are still captivated by the chance of a pleasurable, momentary escape.

Darcy glances down at his hand where it has moved in a split second; there is no getting rid of the smirched, and prevaricated view of his character now. Bob’s fingers are holding the grip of his gun. It’s been raised significantly out of his holster in the split seconds that passed.

Darcy knows it was a false move, a threat that wouldn’t be carried out if she had managed to pour the contents to the walkers below. But something stirs inside of her, a hesitation that sends her heart into a frantic state, and from the sudden radiating rage that rises from Daryl beside her; she knows he feels it too.

Daryl snatches the bottle from her hands and twists the top back on. He moves in front of her, blocking any visuals from Bob and herself. Then, as if challenging Bob to take to threat as far as he motioned to, Daryl steps into him so closely that their foreheads meet.

Bob stares at the ground, fumbling on his feet and not daring to open his mouth nor make another move in the slightest. But Daryl is infuriated. He snatches the gun out of Bob’s hands and from the holster entirely, stepping more and more into him that causes them both to take several steps back.

“Just let it go, Daryl. The man’s made his choice.” Tyresse calmly calls out just as Daryl grabs a fistful of Bob’s jacket. “Nothing you can do about it. Just gotta let it go.”

A slight push from Daryl puts space between him and Bob.

“I didn’t want to hurt nobody.” Bob’s voice quivers. “It was just for when it gets quiet.”

Daryl steps forward, slamming the bottle into Bob’s chest. “You take one sip, before those meds get in our people, ‘n I will beat your ass into the ground.”

Bob’s fingers graze the bottle as Daryl lets it go. He turns, walking in a quickened pace and picks up his bag. No one speaks as he passes them, and he doesn’t exchange looks with Darcy either. Not that she minded, she can’t pretend to feel like she doesn’t want to sink back into a corner from the heavy threat that came from Daryl’s mouth.

Tyresse sighs heavily beside her and scratches his head, the first to break the awkward, silent tension. “Alright. C’mon ya’ll. Let’s head home.”

-

Darcy stands just on the edge of the road, squinting her eyes to somewhat shield them from the late afternoon sun. She decided to spend the short hour where the other map their way back to the prison, catching up on her wandering thoughts and acting as watch for the time being.

The decision has everything to do with the blazing fire that seems to still burn between Bob and Daryl, and with the potential risk of running into an apologetic Bob should she venture outside of the make-shift square she made in the dirt by dragging her feet repetitively during her paces.

She supposes she should also extend the feeling of dread to an encounter with Daryl. She still feels strangely off kilter since the scenario on top of the outbuilding – perhaps it was just knowing that at this exact moment, he was avoiding everyone with a deadly stare and a stern, locked jaw, or maybe it was just the thought of Daryl being anything other than the typical merciful being he usually was.

It would be incorrect to say that Darcy was afraid of Daryl because of what happened, but simply placing herself on-guard and trying to not take anything personally if he were to lash out at her when approached.

Not being able to pinpoint the exact feeling she has in the pit of her stomach, she merely glances softly over her shoulder at the opened door of the van, where a familiar brown shoe taps up and down impatiently on the dash.

A cloud of thinning smoke catches her eye, and she looks over to see Bob with the cigarette in his mouth, staring off into the distance most likely replaying the threat from before while his other hand grazes the top of the bottle sticking out of his satchel.

She then becomes suddenly aware of the voices echoing from the front of the van, rising slowly as Darcy brings herself out of her thoughts and into her surroundings. Tyresse and Michonne are arguing while hovering over the map and tracing their thumbs back and fourth over the roads and highways, bumping into each other with their fingers each time they explain their route.

A short whistle escapes Ty’s lip that immediately catches Darcy’s true attention. “Hey ya’ll,” He lifts his head specifically in her direction. “Bring yourself over here and check this out.”

Darcy huffs as she re-shoulders her bow and takes longs strides their way. She passes the passenger side where Daryl sits, tossing her hair up and mumbling to herself something along the lines of: “…Can’t read a dam map by yourself…”

Daryl bites back a grin, flickering his eyes only for a moment up to her frame as she leans over the map with one arm to hold her steady.

“We should stop at some point and pick up a new one,” Darcy mutters with a shake of her head, spreading out the paper of rubbed raw, and torn trails over the van’s hood in it’s entirety.

“That’s where I was traveling, Highway 100.” Tyresse points.

“Then it will take about seven hours to get there.” Michonne sighs.

“We’re gonna need more gas.” Darcy mutters, closing her eyes as she rubs the back of her neck with a sigh. When she opens them, they unconsciously draw themselves towards the figure in the car, fiddling with the stone that he has managed not to lose along the halls back in the clinic.

“But we’ll get there.” Tyresse pats her lightly on her shoulder. She exchanges glances with him and then motions her head subtly towards the car. His eyes trail to Daryl, and he returns the nod and draws out looking at the map much longer than need be to give her time to go over to him.

“Hey.” She mumbles, leaning her forearm against the open door frame of the car. It burns her slightly, but it serves as an odd comfort for the moment.

Daryl grunts in response, too transfixed, or pretends to be, on the jasper stone he’s recovered for someone back at the prison. He sits back into the seat with his feet up on the dashboard. Darcy sighs and leans on her heels before resting both arms on the frame. She watches him toy with the stone in his hands, twisting and turning it about as if he’s memorizing every inch of it.

An irritated breath is released from Daryl’s nostrils. He rests his head back against the seat and turns to her with a flat look, knowing she’s going nowhere until he speaks to her. But she remains still, calm, inviting, just as she always is and will always prove to be. He can’t help but give into her.

“I ain’t sorry ‘bout what happened with Bob.” He tells her.

Darcy immediately scoffs and puts a hand on her hip while she stands away from the car slightly. Her eyes scan the brick building where Bob leans against smoking a cigarette until her gaze lands on the man. He stares off into the nothingness, undoubtedly replaying the terrifying scenario over and over again in his mind.

“Good.” She responds. “I’d be mad if you were.”

“Then why are ya over here?” He asks, focusing back on the jasper.

Darcy shrugs and taps her fingers on the car. “Make sure you’re okay is all.” She shifts her weight on her feet. “And to say he’s not yours to babysit.”

The twiddling of Daryl’s fingers stop for a moment. “Didn’ say he was.”

“Yes, I know.” Darcy nods and watches as she drags her feet through the dirt. She speaks with a low tone. “Tell me if I’m wrong then.”

Daryl waves his hand, “Go on, then.”

“You found him on the road.” Darcy leans closer towards him. “Brought him into the fold…vouched for him.”

“Wha’s your point?” Daryl says sharply.

“He’s not your responsibility.” Darcy says flatly. “Same as the Governor. It’s like you’ve been saying all this time. And it’s the same with Bob.” She looks up to his avoiding face. “What he does or doesn’t do isn’t your fault.”

Daryl blinks his eyes and focuses on her. He gives a twitch for a smile, barely readable, and nods just the same.

“Takin’ highway 100.” Tyresse calls out, opening the door to the van and throwing his pack inside.

“We heard.” Daryl grunts, turning back to the stone.

Darcy quickly, whilst no one is looking, leans in and kisses Daryl’s cheek. She lingers, feeling him tense suddenly while her soft lips brush against his rough stubble. Her heart gives an extra thud as she moves her hand to the opposite cheek, resting her gentle touch against him that makes him close his eyes to embrace it.

She pauses before pulling back completely, stepping aside to let Bob bustle past – his nose might as well have been buried into the dirt by the way he avoided their presence – all the while the two had their eyes completely locked on each other before a very bright shade of pink flushed itself onto Daryl’s cheeks.

Biting down her lip and shaking her head quickly to avoid her own obvious blush, she shuts Daryl’s door and walks over to the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive first.”

All was entirely unnoticeable by the rest of the group. Something so needed and painstakingly obvious of what was on both of their minds as Darcy sits in the seat and twists the keys of the engine whilst feeling a slightly less obvious stare from Daryl next to her.

Everything finally seems like it’s getting back to normal, well, as normal as this kind of world can be.