She'd seen friends fall, she'd lost enough in the space of time between the world going crazy and right then that it wasn't new or unnatural. She'd lost Mike, lost Andre, lost Andrea. They were each and every one still the blade sinking deeper and deeper into her heart as loss after loss piled up.
But this felt different.
The darkness was cloying, and even as Daryl choked and was dropped, the monsters just converging in swarms, Michonne could do nothing but swing her katana. She felt the rage and grief and anger and pain just build and seep out, hot tears on her cheeks as her blade sliced through whatever was thrown at her. Almost waiting for the large pyramid headed monster to take her next.
But it never did.
As energy started to wane, Michonne heard the blare of the siren again, the monster with the knife already having vanished after impaling Daryl, and slowly the other creatures pulled back. The swarm dispersed and the fog thinned until Michonne could see clearly again. And she really didn't want to.
Collapsing against the side of a building, Michonne let a single sob bubble up, drawing her legs to her chest as she rested her sword over her calves and dropped her forehead to her knees. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. None of this was supposed to happen.
Wallowing for a moment or two longer, she pulled herself together enough to climb to her feet, knowing that she was too far away from the hotel to drag or carry Daryl now, not wanting to go to the hospital -his gut was wide open, his chest practically-- there was nothing they'd be able to do now.
Punching her fist through the glass door of one of the shops, Michonne unlocked the door and kicked it open, wiping her now bloody hand on her shirt before pushing forward, habit making her sweep the area before she sheathed her sword and went back to the street. She had to close her eyes as she grabbed Daryl's body under both arms, stumbling backwards into the shop and gritting her teeth at the pain in her hand.
Getting him inside, she blocked off the door, slowly sliding down to sit against it and crying silently onto her knees.
She'd need to call Rick. Call Hershel and Glenn. But she just needed a damn minute to blame herself first.