Who: Daryl Dixon What: Daryl wakes up from a dream. When: October 12th, very early morning. Where: Daryl's trailer Rating/Warnings: High/Language, death of zombies, and talk about other people dying. Status: Completed Narrative
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Panic drove most people to do irrational things, and right now? Daryl was more than irrational despite the slight hangover he had from the celebration the night before. All he could think about was burying the axe into Jenner's head for not fucking telling them that the CDC was going to explode.
What kind of fucking jackass did that?
He hadn't saved them, he'd doomed them.
They'd held him back, with good reason of course, since Jenner was the only one that could enter any codes that might get them out there. Still, Daryl wasn't keen on waiting. He ran down to the door, axe in hand, and began trying to break the glass. Each time the axe landed, Daryl could feel the jar deep down in his bones, sweat broke out over his forehead, and his arms began to ache. The ache only pissed him off more as it worked its way up to his shoulders. It was going to be a bitch and a half to drive, or do anything else the next day.
Well, that was, if they lived to see another day.
He still didn't understand a lot of what Jenner had said about the virus, only that it reanimated some primal part in the brain. So Daryl could only assume that the walkers they'd been fighting were nothing more than animals that had one thing on their mind; eating.
When the door finally opened, Daryl grabbed his bag and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he pushed forward, only to stop with the rest of the group while some of them stated they were staying. They didn't have time for this shit. If someone wanted to die, then so be it, it was their choice, or that's how Daryl saw it.
They were on the move again, trying to bust through the main windows. His arms were tired, hurting again with each swing of his axe. It seemed impossible until Carol produced a grenade. The sound of the explosion left Daryl's ears ringing, but he didn't have time to think about that, they had to get out now. The smell of decay met his nose the second they passed through the window, the smell familiar and it only caused Daryl to become slightly nauseated. They ran, taking out Walkers along the way. Daryl didn't even hesitate to decapitate one before making a beeline for his truck. Why were they waiting? No one else was coming.
He sat there, fingers gripping the keys tightly, until he saw everyone in the cars in front of him starting to get down. "Shit…" he muttered underneath his breath, lowering himself down into the seat of his truck.
The explosion almost always woke him up, and Daryl sat straight up in the bed. Sweat beaded across his forehead, rolling down along his face. He breathed out slowly, arms stiff and sore as he reached up to wipe the sweat off with the back of his hand. He'd had dreams after they'd left the CDC, but this one liked to re-play over and over for him. Daryl couldn't figure out why, either. Perhaps it was the simple fact that they'd had hope for the first time since this whole ordeal had started.
His mouth felt drier than any desert, and the scent of decaying flesh was still invading his nose. Snorting, Daryl pushed the covers off and rubbed his hands over his face as he got out of bed. There was no way he was going to be able to go back to sleep now, not with his nerves shot and his body as stiff as it was from where he'd kept swinging that damned axe.
Maybe tonight he'd luck out and get a full night's sleep, but somehow? Daryl didn't think luck was on his side anywhere.