FALLEN ANGEL ➵ DARYL DIXON [1] ✓

Chapter Fifty-Three: Game Over

Chapter 53

Henri looks for the frozen moment, the return of thunder in her ears that makes her childhood anxiety appear and boil again. She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know if Milton is dead or alive, him stationed up against the dark wall in front of her. If only there was a way.

It has been two hours.

Two hours of false hope, two hours of her world getting dimmer and dimmer. Soon, it will be black. A colour she doesn't want to witness soon. If anything, she wants the opposite.

She dreams of her prince charming riding on a white horse to come rescue her, sweeping her of her feet because he's the only one who's strong enough. She wraps the fairytales around her like a warm furry blanket, giving her comfort. If only fairytales were true. Oh, how life would be so much simpler.

Suddenly, Milton coughs brutally, eventually vomitting with the aftermath. His nose runs snot down his face, his ears scream blood. Henri feels horrified.

"S-sorry..." He burbles like a toddler, his voice gnarly and almost has a crunchy tone. Henri nearly laughs at him.

"Don't be so stupid. You've nothing to apologize for," she says alarmed, relieved that he is actually talking to her. "Once we get out of here, which we will, you're coming with me to them."

Milton tilts his head, not having enough energy to reply straight away. "... who's t-them?"

"Kendra, she's part of a group. They're good people, Milton. Just like you. And you're going to be apart of it."

Milton cracks a smile up to Henri who's strapped to the chair on the platform, noticing a pair of rusted pliers behind her. He tries to point, his joints aching. In the end, he spits it out.

"There's- there's... A pair... Of pliers be-behind you. If-if... You should be a-able... To reach them... With y-your right foot..."

Henri almost gasps with relief, twisting her head to look behind her. And sure enough, there they were, just laying on the ground without a care in the world. Henri tears up with joy, immediately slipping of her boot with her left foot to get it off so she will have more grip. Milton sniffs mucus back up his nostrils, the wounds on his back still producing a little bit of blood where The Governor whipped him repeatedly without any mercy. He should of knew The Governor was insane right from the beginning. How did he not see?

She twists her right foot back, using the distance between her two toes to grab ahold of the only chance of getting out of this dark, musty prison they call a room.

"I've got it!" Henri glees, already lifting her leg up to snatch the pliers in her hand, successfully doing so. Now all she needs to do is to try and cut the ropes from around her tied wrists. And time is running out.

For Milton's heart is no longer beating.

🔸🔸🔸

An inviolable promise Daryl made that day at the CDC will always be apart of him. Daryl never forgets, he never breaks. He doesn't ask questions, he just gets on with what has to be done. He will take up an impossible act, not even thinking for a second if it is possible. He would take a leap of faith of a cliff, a fifty percent chance there's jagged spikes at the bottom of the shallow if there's a chance to keep someone safe.

But this is far too much for him, Fava crossing his comfort line that he snaps, putting her tiny feet on the moist, mossy ground.

"Ya can't..." Daryl mutters, shifting his weight side to side, Fava looking up at him.