The Darkest Storm

The trees sway in the wind. Their long needle-covered branches nod in the moving air. She falls into silence. The silence that holds her captive, feeling like a force ready to rush and run and tear into the world.

The world is covered in a fog that clouds only her mind and the air becomes still and heavy. She looks at the trees again. They are moving in a wind she could neither feel nor hear. Numbness. Absolute numbness overtakes her entire body; it’s the only explanation.

Past the wooden planks and metal hinges of the gates that shield their home, the shadows of the men and women standing before them with heavy arms spill over the fields. The reality of his presence consumes her, and she believes it’s the same within the crowd she stands.

The sight is still and disgusting. The Governor stands tall with his hands on his hips and smug smile plastered to his face. It feels like a black hole has opened up inside her and swallowed the cosmos, the entire universe. It was heavy, frightening, and overwhelming – she is unable to adjust.

She is suddenly very aware of her surroundings, as if they are a part of her. She doesn’t dare untwist her fingers from Daryl’s hand. She clutches at it to hold some sense of reality, to come back to her senses and remove the coldness that sweeps through her body and deep within her being.

She watches silently, and waits.

“It’s not up to me!” Rick bellows out in response. “There’s a council now! They run this place!”

“Is Hershel on the council?” The Governor hints.

At the front two men walk abreast with each other instantly. None of them look at or acknowledge the others, or their leader. Their steps resound in the encompassing silence as they pull an unsteady figure from the backseat of a vehicle.

“What about Michonne?” He taunts further. “She on the council, too?”

Another unwavering body is introduced. The two companions are presented to the crowd like trophies, giving Rick no choice but to cooperate for now.

“I don’t make decisions anymore!” Rick yells.

“You’re makin’ the decisions today, Rick.” The Governor says. “Come down here ‘n let’s…let’s have that talk.”

To the others, it may very well appear that his sinister actions are not out of the ordinary whatsoever. But to Darcy, it all was just a never ending haunting of a nightmare she feared would forever be seared into her mind as her uncle.

Perhaps it is this reason why she searched so long and hard for him. She wanted to pull him back, reverse whatever flipped his mind to become this terrifying person that seemed to beset her more than the corpses walking the earth.

The air itself is quiet as Rick ponders things over, but Darcy pays no notice. No, she stares straight at her uncle while he awaits the determined answer. She barely recognizes this steadfast stranger, all dark rimmed eyes and pale, unshaven skin.

Youthful exuberance has been lost before its time, the casual air of superiority replaced by a defeated resignation, which as grown, like moss, over every inch of him. She can see it in his shoulders and stance, no matter how hard he tries to hide it or fool the others, slumped and exhausted, in the grim and despondent set of his mouth – Christ - even his hair, once tamed and coiffed, is now dark and matted and neglected.

Philip Blake, once the progeny of a comfortable, cared-for existence has been reduced to this – this lost, pathetic creature, already too far gone out of his depth, searching for something he shouldn’t be; becoming something he shouldn’t become.

It was then Darcy’s mind flashes to that day on the farm, to Sophia’s funeral. Carol’s words whisper to her on the wind, “That wasn’t my little girl. That was some other…thing.”

When out of the corner of her eye Darcy spots Rick latching his fingers into the fences and heaving it open, she doesn’t bother to stop, to think or consider her actions, for it is far too late for any of that. This will be her last resort, of any of them.

Nowhere else and at no later time will she get this chance, the opportunity she so badly needs; no one else has the power to rid her of her demons, of her uncle’s demons. And so she sets her jaw, determinedly, and steps towards Daryl.

“It’s an ambush.” She says straightforward. “We need our weapons.”

“We can’t take ‘em on.” Daryl whispers. Sasha and Tyresse listen carefully. “We go through the Admin building ‘n into the woods like we planned. We ain’t got the numbers no more.”

“When’s the last time someone checked the stash on the bus?” She asks.

Sasha tilts her head, unsure and unconvinced it’s even worth scrounging. “Day before we hit the Big Spot. We were runnin’ low on rations then, we’re lower now.”

“Yeah, ‘n we’ll manage.” Daryl looks back to the fields. “Things go south, everyone heads for that bus. Let everybody know.”

“What if everybody isn’t on it when things go bad?” Tyresse asks. “How long do we wait?”

“As long as we can.”

-

Rick has reached the end of the cobble drive, but it’s too soon to tell how the muffled conversation the two rivals have will turn out. They all know better though, at least for the time being, they just hope Hershel and Michonne will make it out in time.

Darcy holds both of her hands up to shield her eyes from the blaring late afternoon sun. There’s only about an hour left of sunlight, and she very well knows their less than friendly talk won’t hold out for that long.

“Hey.” A heavy tap against her hip adverts her gaze. It’s Daryl, handing her an AK-47 with two others in his hands. Darcy glances quickly at it and, at this close a distance, he can see the tight set of her mouth, the uneasiness in her face and he knows that she is nervous. “Take it. A bow won’t hold up in this fight.”

Darcy has yet to notice up until now, when she takes the gun in her grasp, just how badly her hands are actually shaking. For a moment, she holds on Daryl’s downcast eyes as what he says sink in. He’s right. She’s no fool. The Governor won’t walk away clean from this. Hell, no one will.

The sudden roar of the Governor’s voice is deafening. Darcy has absolutely wiped the rest of the world’s whispers from her mind when she takes her place next to Carl along the fences straining to hear the life-threatening conversation between the two fearless leaders.

“You got maybe about,” The Governor shrugs carelessly, “An hour of sunlight left? I suggest you start packing.”

Darcy peers through her squinting eyes with a visible frown. A slight breeze passes over her yet does nothing to ease her sharp tension. The sight still quiets her. It brings light to what is going to happen, what is already underway, and what was unavoidable.

“We gotta do something.” Carl is restless beside her. He has his weapon raised sticking in between the wires pressing as far as he can through them. His eyes are narrowed, like he’s ready to take the shot.

“Your dad’s got it.” Her voice is so low she almost doesn’t hear herself speak. She hears Daryl’s footsteps growing closer and she knows he can tell she’s on edge. She doesn’t want to show it more by chewing on her nails or lips, so she finds herself gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

“They’re just talking.” Carl presses. “I could kill the Governor right now.”

“From fifty yards?” Daryl scoffs and crouches low against the fences.

“I’m a good shot.” Carl says. “I could end this right now.”

“Yeah, or you could start somethin’ else.” Daryl gives a quick glance in his direction. “Ya gotta trust ‘im.”

Trust? This has nothing to do with trust. They all could be dead, flat-out dead, in an hour. Nervousness seeps into terror as Darcy anticipates what is to come. She holds her weapon in both hands but not in aim. Her fingers obsessively trace the hard ridged lumps on the fore grip as she watches in silent horror Rick trying to defend himself…to defend everyone.

“The longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be for you to get out of here.”

“We can all –“ Rick begins to say, but stops himself short because he looks as though what he’s about to say is too painful for him to get out. He hangs his head, and starts again.

“We can all live together.” His voice is shaky as he tries to weigh out the only option available to him. “There’s enough room for all of us.”

The Governor rolls his eyes, “More than enough. But I don’t think my family would sleep well knowing that you were under the same roof.”

“We’d live in different cellblocks.” Rick waves his hand. “We’d never have to see each other. ‘Till we’re all ready.”

Darcy watches Hershel look over his shoulder to speak to his capturer, “It could work. You know it could.”

“It could ‘a. But it can’t.” The Governor shakes his head. “Not after Woodbury. Not after Darcy.”

Everyone hears him speak her name. At that moment, she wanted to harden her skin and the surfaces of her eyes, throat and lungs, rip free from Earth’s gravity and hurl herself into space. Escape. Escape, fly somewhere to not be a witness or a part of any of this and be gone.

Darcy steps back from the fences once she feels the heated anger rise to her cheeks and sweep throughout her body like an electric charge.

Daryl picks his head up and sees her shift on her feet. “Darcy –“

She bites down her real reply and settles for a dry smile. “I don’t have a clear shot.” She takes another step back and waves her hand to cut him off and descends down the courtyard further along the fence-line.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy.” Rick shakes his head, “Fact is, it’s gonna be a hell of a lot harder than standing here and shootin’ at each other. But I don’t think we have a choice.”

The Governor smiles, “We don’t. You do.”

“We’re not leaving.” Rick tells him. “You try to force us, we’ll fight back. Like you said…the gunshots will just bring more of ‘em out, they’ll take down the fences and without the fences this place is worthless!”

“Now,” Rick continues. “We can all live in the prison, or none of us can.”

A heartbeat passes and the Governor hops down off the tank with his teeth grinding. He makes his way through the throng of people behind him. Darcy can’t fail to notice this isn’t much of a challenge; the crowd parts in front of him as though he is the wrong end of a magnet, everyone managing to keep their distance even in the tight space they confine into. It is unnerving and daunting all at once.

Nor is she oblivious to the heightened attention he now warrants. Darcy back tracks her steps as if to keep inline with his movements, watching him un-yield Michonne’s prized katana and bring it up to Hershel’s neck.

The entire world seems to have shifted. Everyone holds their breaths, and Darcy clutches on to the fences. Her old drive to press, to force Rick’s hand into stopping this before the unimaginable happens is strong, but she fights the urge. This is no time to push their luck.

Rick falters at the sudden real threat in front of him. He glances around the new army, and points to a girl hiding with widened eyes in the back. “You! You with the ponytail! Is this what you want? Is this what any of you want?”

“What we want, is what you got. Period.” The man in the tank yells. “Time for you to leave, asshole!”

“Look, I fought him before.” Rick points. “And after, we took in his old friends and they’ve become leaders in what we have here. Now, you put down your weapons – walk through those gates – you’re one of us.”

He turns specifically to the Governor, whose features have turn Unexpectantly soft. “We let go of all of it. And nobody dies. Everyone who’s alive right now…everyone who’s made it this far…we’ve all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive! But we can still come back. We’re not too far gone.”

Darcy drops her jaw unconsciously and claws her finger through the fence so tightly she feels them start to loose sense. The blade is being slowly lowered from Hershel’s throat, taunting them all.

“We get to come back.” Rick is also startled by this, “I know we all can change.”

Darcy is frozen to the spot, pressing herself into the fence. It’s working. This can all be over. She is vaguely aware of her own pulse, now deafening in her ears, too transfixed through her teary-eyed grin by the sword going limp in the devil’s hands…

…But it stops short.

All hope for a better tomorrow has vanished as a single word slithers out from the Governor’s lips: Liar.

Not a second later is the blade that glistens in the setting sunlight struck against Hershel’s neck, probing his head to the side in an unnatural fashion that is a instant invitation to the war he’s been looking for.

Darcy is at once deaf and blind to her surroundings, silently begging for the pavement beneath her feet to engulf her entirely, to let her sink into the gray folds until she is no more.

Hershel’s daughters’ cry out but the sounds are muffled, the words unintelligible, and the realization is beating Darcy’s shoulders with a relentless determination that she cannot feel. Her pulse is echoing in her ears making her temples throb; her stomach is twisting into knots, her mouth dry.

She lurches forward, a scream emits from her lungs that takes her a second to understand that it is herself she hears it from. She pushes her rifle through the holes in the fences and fires, blinded by the torment and the furious shame now burning up like bile in her throat.

Her targets spread wildfire, blinded by her own tears she tries to blink away with gritted teeth. The gates are flanked by the enemy, pressing the tank and vehicles forward over the bent metal that they easily cross. Grass, clover, and golden Cherokee roses that once peeked through the white gravel in the driveway are trampled.

A man walking side by side the tank is spotted. When she sees him, she takes a few shots and he is brought down. The hull hatch is opened, and a pointed finger is aimed at her direction. Her sputters stop as she watches. The cannon shifts, and fires.

Darcy watches as the building looming above her shatters. Large pieces of debris and glass fall around her. Dust clouds the air and litters her body in a gray cloud. All the windows she can see that were barred before are now broken. She can see the inside of the cellblock, a broad flight of stairs leading up to the top corridor. The doors were pinched together with a chain and padlock, but now stand ajar, blocks of cement and tile amassed between them.

When she comes too, staggering feet pass her. Walkers. They’ve drawn them out and now trickle through the prison’s walls. The broken bits of brick and cement must have given enough cover for them to overlook where she lay hidden. She keeps still, but looks in the direction they’re walking; towards the gunshots – towards Daryl, the unsuspecting warrior who has his back to the chaos behind him.

The automatic’s clip is empty. She sets down the gun quietly to not gather any unwelcoming attention and crouches on her feet. There is a gap after this walker, the one that’s passing her now. She grips her axe tightly, jumping up behind the large chunk of mortar and swinging it hurriedly to bring it down.

Then she pockets her axe and swings her bow off her shoulder. She lets an arrow fly at the next, and the next, bringing them down one by one until only one is a few steps away from her friend.

But the men shooting at Daryl suddenly seemed surprised by her presence and they aim for her instead. Her eyes widen at the realization. She ducks down to avoid the spraying bullets but really has no indication for saving herself because she’s too fixated on the walker now reaching it’s flesh-ridden fingers out towards him.

Darcy aims an arrow and skewers one man right through the heart. Without pausing, she shoulder-rolls forward and comes up on one knee, sending an arrow into the skull of the lone walker who just got his grip on Daryl’s collar. They fall together behind the wooden pallets meant for cover and Darcy sprints towards them.

“Daryl!” She pulls the walker off of his body and he sits up right. She holds onto his upper arm with panicked eyes. “Did it bite you!? Are you okay!?”

“Son of a bitch!” He yells out, rubbing the back of his head. A sputter of bullets is fired over their heads again.

Before he’s up Darcy takes the gun off the ground lying next to him and holds down the trigger blindly. She’s fuming. One man falls and is clearly dead but she continues to hold. The other man watches in horror as he backs up slowly, holding the tank for support and fleeing before she could redirect her anger.

“Stop!” Daryl pushes her arms down and she drops the gun. “Enough, he’s dead.”

“Where is everybody?” She asks frantically as he pulls her down to the ground.

“Dunno.” He reloads the automatic’s clip and is sure to take her hand. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

“Wait!” Darcy points towards the inner courtyard. A baby carrier is being guarded by a small Mika, still rocking slightly and she can see a tiny feet wriggling about. “The girls!”

“They’re headin’ to the bus we can’t get over there, we got no cover –“ Daryl’s words are stopped short at the sight and sound of the prison bus, their only escape, driving off without them.

“I gotta get to them.” Darcy speaks as though it’s a casual conversation while sipping coffee.

“The hell ya are!” Daryl holds her arm so roughly she knows it’ll bruise.

“Let me go!” She tries yanking her arm out of his grasp but it’s no use.

“Ya ain’ gettin’ killed! Not again!” He screams.

“They’re going to die!” She gives a forceful push but still he holds his ground.

“’N so will you if you go out there!”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“IT DOES TO ME!” He bellows out. She stops, and stares. “Ya can’ go. Please.”

Darcy turns and fights back tears, peering over the fallen rubble of the prison and towards the little girls. She then places her hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble she’s always loved and looking at his sky-blue eyes that never seemed to fade.

Bullets still fly around them and blasts hit the buildings one after another but they pay no mind to it all. They don’t know where they others are or if they’ll ever see them again and that’s a possibility that they never want to experience ever again in their lives especially with each other.

But Darcy has to go, she has to save them. Without any warning she leans in and gives him one last kiss. Then, before she turns away she whispers, “I love you, Daryl. I’m sorry, but I love you.”

It’s the sudden shock of her words that make him falter and hesitate before he can stop her. It’s too late; she’s darted through the courtyard for them. She ducks behind the water basins and plants for what little cover they give her, all the while trying to ignore Daryl’s heart-breaking, protestant screams for her to ‘get her ass back here.’ The world is spinning around her and she becomes frantic to reach them.

For a moment, everything seems frozen in time. Then the revving sound of the cannon gears itself and fires another fatal blow in her direction. The shell launches into the tower above her and she’s blown backwards into the air.

The impact with the hard-packed cobble of the drive knocks the wind out of her and she bangs her head. She has nothing to soften the blow. Fortunately, her hands have absentmindedly let go of her bow and the quiver has been pulled off her back enough to avoid her landing on it directly.

But the ground still shakes with the explosion. She can’t hear them. She can’t really hear anything at the moment. She’s barely able to shield her face with her arms as bits of the building are shattered and strewn about her. She lies on her side; barely able to steady her soft breathing when an acrid smoke fills the air.

Darcy only hears the muffled shouts of Daryl calling of her name before everything fades into blackness.