Chasing Amy (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead)

Chapter 20 - Executioner

The rest of the trip back to the house was spent in a stony silence, the kind that made me want to run away as fast as I possibly could.

A lot of time must have passed since we first left the house, as the sky was already turning an orange colour, signalling the beginning of the afternoon. The soft light hit the roof of the giant farmhouse like a blanket of soft golden syrup, leaving a stunning reflection on the rest of the the trees, the grass, and the tips of Daryl's hair.

As we approached the porch, I noticed a familiar man standing against the wooden railing of the veranda. He held the map in his hand between two of his fingers, his palms pressed against the white wood to hold himself up.

Rick seemed to hear our footsteps, craning his neck to see who it was.

"Ah, finally." He nodded to Daryl, who was still walking in front of me. I quickly swiped at my eyes, hoping they didn't look too red.

"We headin' out now?" Daryl inquired, taking his first step up to where Rick stood.

I lingered behind him, looking down at my feet as I hopped up the stairs. The porch was strangely silent when I looked up, only to find Daryl's steely eyes staring down at me, once again.

"Uh," Rick paused, following Daryl's stare. "Just go inside the house, find Andrea. I need to sort something out."

I gulped, turning to the door.

There was no way I'd ever fit in here, just another reason the nerves were piling up as I stepped cautiously towards the screen door.

The last time I had entered this door, Dale was with me. It was still so much to take on; the sadness of his loss, the anxiety I felt around these people, the slight relief of finally being assured safety. I couldn't properly weigh out these feelings, and my head felt light from the amount of thoughts and worries running through it.

After the escapade in the forest, I had almost forgot what Rick had told me just that morning.

By the time I had my hand on the screen doorknob, I could clearly hear the laughing and chattering inside the house. It was going to be strange, having so many people in one home. I slowly pulled the fly-screen door open, looking over my shoulder to see Rick and Daryl's ducked heads reviewing the map.

Before I could overthink it, which I was sure to do, I stepped inside the house and shut the door behind me, a loud clattering sound following that sudden movement.

It didn't go silent as I'd thought. Nobody stopped what they were doing to glare at me. Nobody ran at me with pitchforks and knives.

In fact, nobody was even in the hallway.

I took this time to take in a deep breath, and to reassure myself that everything was okay, even though it wasn't necessarily true. I kept walking forward, the way I had come the last time I entered the house.

As I passed that same image of the family, I couldn't help but be reminded of Dale.

It would've been so much easier with him here, he would've been the one to explain everything to me, instead of Rick's bare-minimal information. Not to mention he would've been a friendly face, one I could trust.

The dining room was cluttered
with bags and boxes, yet strangely devoid of people. I guessed everyone was in the lounge, unpacking.

A familiar pile of arrows and hunting gear was piled on the table, reminding me of a certain disagreeable Southern hunter. I had no idea why I was staring at the arrows, my heart thumping deeply. Why was I so angry at a pile of hunting equipment?