Status: In Progress

The Darkest Storm

Voice Memo

The small fire’s embers pop loudly in the quiet darkness. It marks the first night since the attack on the prison. Daryl stares into its orange and yellow hues, drowsy and dull. His chest aches. He feels only the grass, the small comfort of the flames, and the muted moonlight, not himself. He is numb at his core.

Beth sits across from him, huddled against a log and wrapping her arms around her knees. She’s talking to him, but her voice is muffled. He asks himself if he’s dreaming…that maybe at any moment, Darcy will wake him and this will all just be over.

But, no. The pain he feels, that pushes him towards the familiar brink of despair, is too real.

She’s really gone this time. Her soft touch will never again wake him. He will never smile at her smile. He will never watch her saunter through the woods by his side…she will only fade away forever. And it will be until he says her name for the last time will she ever truly be gone. Daryl isn’t sure though, if he could ever stop.

So for now, her name is repeated. Her voice is replayed. Her image is refocused. He will not let himself forget any detail. She was all too important, too significant to let all of her perfections and imperfections alike to be overlooked so quickly.

Beth stares and puts more emphasis in her voice, “We should do somethin’. We aren’t the only survivors. We can’t be. Rick, Michonne, they could be out here.”

The familiar names flicker his blue gaze up and over to the small, blonde girl. A purple bruise outlines the bottom of his right eye – exhaustion and severe despondency highlight them both. His bright blue irises have faded into gray.

“Maggie and Glenn could have made it out of A block.” Beth watches his eyes fall again, seeing the doubt as a result of her words. “They could’ve.” She presses. With no bite, she stands. “You’re a tracker. You can track.”

Daryl still doesn’t move, “Come on.” Her voice cracks. “The sun will be up soon. If we head out now, we can –“ He’s gone, if only for a moment. His mind has wandered, focusing back on the fire and ignoring the girl and her mumbles. He’s only focusing on trying to wake up.

“Fine.” She moves towards his knife. “If you won’t track, I will.”

Her frail body disappears into the woods as Daryl still sits in sync with the fire. It wasn’t fair. All of this that was happening to them just wasn’t fair. How could she have not survived? How could any of them back there, just be gone?

Daryl’s eyes move to where Beth left. There was nothing left to remind him of the others except her, and if anything were to happen to the small girl, he knew he would never forgive himself. He slowly gets up, kicks dirt onto the fire, and follows.

-

Second Day

Right now, it feels as if her body has died beneath her and is now being dragged around with her mind. Blood is crusted underneath her broken and chipped fingernails. Her eyes, however much light that’s left in them, cannot be seen by even a glimpse. They stare ahead into an empty abyss, transfixed by the small flame that flicks to life by the rusted spark wheel of a familiar token; a golden lighter that resembles the life she isn’t ready to let go just yet.

Darcy sits by a stream, a small freshet barely trickling past her as she has her back up against a tree, shielding her for the time being. She’s been at this spot for several hours. Sweat drips from her hairline where once the morning dew hovered. The amount isn’t enough to cut through the blood and dirt coating her skin.

The care left in her body isn’t enough to even consider washing herself in the water before her. Instead, she merely sits; twisting her thumb along the wheel of the familiar lighter, watching the flame reignite itself again and again hoping it will never go out.

A sudden snap amongst the forest floor causes Darcy to clamp the lighter shut and sit as motionless as the tree’s roots beneath her. She shifts herself just slightly, turning her gaze over her shoulder and past the vast amounts of trees and brush only to find absolutely nothing creeping in and out of their paths.

When a minute has passed, Darcy sits herself comfortably in her previous position. She takes out the lighter; ready to forget about the end of the world again when suddenly – it doesn’t light.

At first, Darcy thinks it to be because of the soreness on the base of her thumb. It’s suddenly throbbing. As she looks at it, the wheel marks of the lighter have etched each ridge perfectly into her skin and have rubbed it raw. She brings her thumb to her mouth and sucks the area for a second, before giving the lighter another try – but it still doesn’t light, not even a hint of a spark is given off.

Darcy furrows her brows as she caresses her thumb over the wheel again and again, but having no luck in her desperation to get at least a flicker to come out of the only damn thing keeping her together.

A deep growl emits from her throat followed by a hoarse scream. She whips the item across the stream, watching it land in a heap of leaves that bounce from its impact and hide underneath.

She sits herself back forcibly against the bark with clenched eyes. She brings her knees to her chest and rests her cheek against them. One by one she counts her breathing, trying to steady the tears that threaten to fall. Although, she is quite sure all that she has to cry out has completely left her body.

After a moment, Darcy lays out her legs and rests her head against the tree. Staring at the spot where it’s landed, she chews on her bottom lip aggravated at herself that not having it in her grasp is bothering her so much. It rushes in like wildfire and burns in her chest at the thought of leaving it behind.

Sighing heavily, she forces herself to stand and strides through the water towards the lighter, fishing it out of the dried, cracked leaves and putting it in her pocket once more.

Another piercing ‘snap’ in front of her brings her head up. She stops and blinks with her fingers still midway in her pocket. She brings herself back to the present and her mouth is dropped slightly open. She begins to scan her surroundings patiently.

A glimpse of a black jacket and a head of gray hair is just there, up ahead behind a tree. She stays still, not out of fear, but in curiosity. Casually, she leans on her left leg and tilts her head to watch him as he pulls out a carton of cigarettes and inhale the pleasurable escape. She doesn’t recognize him, and when another body with a heavy assault rifle passes the first man, that’s her warning.

It’s time to go. She turns and takes slow, quiet steps. Her feet weave in and out in no particular pattern. She avoids the twigs and leaves beneath her as best as she can. When she takes another wide step, she throws a quick glance over her shoulder, thankful they hadn’t sensed her presence. The first sign of good luck she’s had since the start of this shit-show.

She pushes through the thick brush that marks a break in the woods, and suddenly her boots clonk on hard metal that almost make her lose her bearings and falter. Her surroundings nonetheless swirl as she tries to sort herself out once again due to the last 48 hours.

A railroad provides a point of reference to how far she is from the prison – it seems yesterday and today’s antics kept her running in circles until now. A pain stabs at her left temple and she presses her fingers gently against it – the blast back at the prison is still wearing on her heavily.

Her eyes gaze up towards the sky - smoke mixed with heavy gray and speckles of black weave up and over the tree line. Burning. Darcy thinks numbly. Still burning. For a moment she’s lost in the movement above her – but then a choking snarl reaches her ears just a short distance beyond the bridge.

She cannot see beyond the bridge at the source, but something new that diverts her mind is nailed to the rotting mortar. It makes her ignore the growing sound, the sound that could only be a reanimated corpse, and steps lightly over the railroad crossing and towards the sign.

Terminus. Darcy runs her fingers over the map, still intact and sealed for protection. Her eyes dart over the trails marked for guidance, and then leans back towards the railway that stretches for miles and miles in the starred location’s direction. She knew that around the next group of trees there would be a view of what her mind could only picture to be a white plain and another safe haven resting beneath a bright blue sky as her new hope for survival.

In rapture of that thought, Darcy puts on a small, genuine smile and steps back onto the tracks. She moves around the brick bridge and peers around the corner. A heap of mangled bodies and parts detached from their owners are in a small pile on a dirt hill.

She doesn’t dwindle for very long. It’s imperative now for her to keep moving. Besides, a walker is awakening amongst the group and she hears rustling in the woods behind him. She doesn’t sense any immediate threat, but she doesn’t take the chance in waiting around too long to see what’s about to come out of the trees.

Instead she picks up her pace towards that stretch of land she pictures, just throwing one glance over her shoulder at the walker wearing a green plaid shirt, lunging itself into the woods at God knows what.
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Gosh, readers...I'm so sorry. I had a ton of directions I was fighting about going and none of them seemed solid enough and honestly - I just haven't had the time nor energy to write lately. I feel so rusty and blah.

Anyways, enough with my Negative Nancy ways - I hope you enjoy this long awaited chapter.

Jane