When the dead rise to feast on the living, it becomes nearly impossible to keep yourself, and your family, safe from anything.
For Daryl Dixon, that statement couldn't have been more true. As the apocalypse turns the world into a cruel, cruel place...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I was swamped all night and the next morning by injuries in the infirmary. There were several amputations that needed tending to, and even some fresh gunshot wounds that must've been committed by accident. Siddiq and I didn't leave that room until Maggie came in, and basically forced us out. She said she had found some others with medical experience who could take over for at least several hours, so Siddiq and I could finally rest. She, along with everyone else, knew we needed it.
Maggie let me go to her mobile unit to sleep, and I won't deny the fact that, at first, it was refreshing to sleep. I was knocked out cold as soon as my head hit the pillow, but, unfortunately, it didn't stay that way for long.
My peaceful sleep was soon plagued by nightmares, and most of them were about the amazing person I'd lost only three days ago. Images of Carl being bitten and suffering the effects of a slow, painful death wracked my sleep, and it became anything but rewarding. A particularly gruesome image that I found too horrific to even write down eventually scared me awake, and brought me shooting up into a sitting position.
I felt the tears on my cheeks and in my eyes, and, completely frustrated, I swiped them away with my hands. I looked over at the clock hanging on the wall, and saw that it read 2:30 in the afternoon; I had only slept for two hours, and doubted I would be lucky enough to get anymore.
I walked outside to the blazing heat of the day, and saw that, as was normal, most everyone in Hilltop was doing their appointed job. I learned that Rosita, Dianne, and Jesus had gone out on a run to the ammunition hotspot Rosita and I had found to grab more supplies, just in case the Saviors decided to attack again. I was also very glad to find out that Tara was in perfect condition, meaning the bullet she was shot with, by Dwight, I might add, wasn't coated in walker blood. In a way, he had saved her life, and, as much as I hated to admit it, that deserved at least a bit of recognition from our side.
I was helping Lea chop wood outside, avoiding all her comments about how tired and worn down I looked, when Dad started making his way over, and I momentarily stopped to speak with him.
"Thought you were supposed to be in bed," he pointed out, coming and leaning against a wall for one of the nearby mobiles.
I gave him a shrug, reaching back and tying my hair into a low ponytail. "I tried; couldn't sleep for long, though," I said nonchalantly, giving him a reassuring nod.
"How long?" he questioned, squinting at me through the bright sunlight. He was obviously worried about me, and if I was being honest, he had every right to be. I was beginning to get a little worried about myself, too.
"Two hours, give or take," I answered, picking up my ax once again and setting down another piece of log.
"That ain't good, Sid," Dad said condescendingly, and I let out a quiet sigh.
