[ lxxi. you're here with me ]

october 27th, 2012

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"DON'T WORRY. YOU'LL BE all right."

A broken sound escaped Astrid's lips, her eyes wide with heartbreak, as she watched Dwight and other Saviors drag a ferocious Rosita Espinosa and motionless Daryl Dixon toward the center of the forest clearing camp. With every step they took, Astrid's quivering muscles tensed with the urge to intervene, to rush forward and tear her husband free, to cradle his body to her chest, but she found herself immobilized, restrained by unseen arms that held her back.

Fueled by desperation, Astrid had managed to spit the gag from her mouth. "Let me go!"

She was promptly ignored. Meanwhile, Rosita and Daryl were unceremoniously dumped by the flickering flames of the campfire. The latter's leather jacket was bubbling with blood, the crimson strains spreading to his neck and his left arm, down to his fingertips, staining the dead leaves. From the distance she crouched, she could detect that the injury sourced from his shoulder, rather than a direct chest shot. But it did not ease her worries in the slightest. Her husband was still bleeding out.

Frantically, Astrid struggled against her unnamed captor again. "Please, Dwight!" She addressed the scarred Savior. "Let me help him! You'll kill him!"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" He snapped back. "He'll be all right."

"Look at him!" Astrid accused through a snarl. "He's dying!"

She stole another glance at Daryl, still crumpled in the leaves. Her stomach twisted further into itself as she observed his feeble movements, attempting to turn onto his back. He was awake. The sound of his breaths rattled in Astrid's ears as she recognized the trauma shock tightening its grip on her hunter. Daryl's hand clawed blindly at his own shoulder in an attempt to stem the blood, but as his fingers brushed the bullet hole, a pained yelp escaped his lips, his teeth sinking into his lower lip in agony.

"Untie me, Dwight," Astrid pleaded once more. "Keep a gun to my head. I don't care what you have to do to me—just let me stop the bleeding. You want him alive, don't you?"

Dwight's gaze bore coldly into the Dixon woman. Finally, he withdrew his knife from its sheath and approached her. As the bonds fell away, Astrid lunged forward, but Dwight's sudden catch on her jacket halted her in her tracks. "You have ten minutes," He snarled into her ear. "Then we're moving out. Whether he makes it or not is up to you."

With a shove, he then released her, sending her tumbling into the forest floor. Astrid scrambled on all fours, her heart pounding in her ears as she reached Daryl's side. The scent of cedar mingled with blood and sweat assaulted her nostrils as she knelt over him. Cupping his paling cheeks in her hands, she tilted his head carefully toward hers.

"Daryl," She called gently. "Open your eyes, honey."

A sigh of relief escaped her lips as Daryl's icy eyes fluttered open upon her command. Pain and guilt swirled within their depths. With his uninjured arm, he reached for her, his grip tight around her slender wrist. His lips moved soundlessly as he struggled to form words for her.

"Don't speak," Astrid whispered as she brushed a lock of hair from his sweat-drenched brow. "Save your strength. I'm here. You're going to be okay." Daryl's lips stubbornly parted again, and Astrid flinched at the choked, wet sound that escaped his throat. Now, her panic had surpassed the realm of soothing. All that mattered was keeping her husband alive. "I mean it, Daryl," She ground out. "Stop talking."

She carefully peeled his leather jacket from his shoulders, revealing a torn undershirt, and her breath caught at the massive amount of blood pooling against his skin. With his every tortured gasp for oxygen, the bullet wound gaped and trickled. Still, the bullet had pierced straight through, she realized, a small mercy.

Pressing her palms together, Astrid quickly began to apply firm pressure to Daryl's shoulder. He convulsed beneath her touch, another yelp flaring through his clenched teeth. "I know it hurts," She murmured. "I'm sorry. Please, hold on."

Daryl's grip tightened again on her wrist even as his fingers quivered. It was a silent promise to her, ensuring he was, in fact, holding hold. His heavy-lidded eyes watched her maddening expression as she worked on his body, a shell of what it had once been. Even with her hands clamped to his shoulder, her husband's blood still seeped endlessly through her fingers, staining her once-pale skin a violent hue of red. It clung to her arms, invading every crevice, every nail. The coppery scent wafted up, deeper into her nose, to her very brain it seemed, threatening to suffocate with its acrid intensity.

She needed to do better. He was going to die and it would be her fault.

Grasping the hem of Daryl's undershirt, Astrid's crooked fingers trembled as she tore a strip free and pressed the makeshift bandage against the wound. Biting down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted her own blood, Astrid fought to contain the anguished sob clawing its way slowly up her throat.

She could not cry. Not now.

Time seemed to distort into a frenzied whirlwind, each passing second of their dwindling chance marked by the growing presence of Dwight and his Saviors at their backs.

A ragged exhale cut through the stifling air as Daryl tried to clear his throat. His voice was a mere whisper strained with exhaustion. "I'm sorry," He rasped. "I'm . . ." He was losing consciousness.

He was dying.

Astrid shook her head sternly. She placed her hand against his clammy cheek and tilted his head toward her again, ensuring his eyes remained open. A crimson imprint of her palm was left behind on his skin when she withdrew it. "No apologies. No goodbyes," She insisted. "Just focus on staying awake, okay?"

But Daryl, even at Death's door, was relentless. "My . . . job . . ." He trailed off, each word a struggle as he fought to simply breathe. "I was supposed . . . to protect . . ."

"Your only job now is to stay awake," Astrid asserted. "Keep your eyes open. Keep talking. Keep squeezing my arm. Hold on to me."

Yet, even as Astrid said this, Daryl's touch slackened, his hand slipping from her wrist to the forest ground below. A visceral ache torched her very heart, sending her nerve endings alive with flaring panic, as she watched his eyes close. She instantly leaned over him, nearly straddling him, and cradled his face in her bloody hands, her touch desperate and pleading.

"No, no, no," She whispered. "You don't get to do this. Come on, Daryl." She shook her husband's limp form. "Open your eyes. Wake up!"

There was no response. No flicker of awareness behind Daryl's closed eyelids. His hands did not twitch, did not reach up for her. He was entirely still. Beneath her very hands, slick with his life, Astrid could feel him slipping away with every beat of his weakening heart.

A single, tearing cry exploded from Astrid's chest. Her shoulders caved as she leaned lower, her forehead nearly touching his. "Please, Daryl," She begged. "Please don't leave me."

A sudden, sharp, and pained gasped sounded beneath her. Astrid's watery eyes snapped downward, and through a blurry vision, she met Daryl's wild stare. Yet, before she could exhale the breath she had been holding, he attempted to rise, propelled by newfound adrenaline.

She immediately pushed him back down.

Daryl's jaw clenched as the back of his head smacked the dirt. But his eyes, gratefully, remained open. "I'm a piece of shit," He muttered to Astrid. It was the clearest his words had been since he was shot.

Astrid could only nod, her entire body trembling. "Yes," She agreed, panting. "You are."

Before she could utter another word, a hand seized her shoulder from behind. In the next breath, she was wrenched away from Daryl with a violent force that sent his bloody, fabric bandages spiraling into the leaves, allowing his blood to flow freely again. With a startled yelp, Astrid instinctively started back toward her husband, but before she could even begin to crawl, Dwight was tearing her upright.

"Time's up," He sneered. "Time to move."

"We can't!" She cried. "I haven't stopped the bleeding! He'll go into shock if he loses too much. He's getting cold."

"Then someone fetch him a damn blanket," Dwight spat back. Astrid's chest tightened with frustration and fear as she continued to pull against his grasp. But the scarred Savior only tightened his hold, his gaze dripping with malice as it flicked menacingly toward her abdomen. "Try anything funny," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "and your husband won't be the only family member you'll need to worry about." Paralyzed by his new threat, Astrid was shoved forward. "Now, move!"

Astrid had no choice. As she stumbled, she surveyed her surroundings. Glenn, Michonne, and Rosita were nowhere to be seen. That was, until she realized that they were now across the forest clearing, being forcefully ushered into the back of a white van, while she herself was being pushed towards the same destination. The van's heavy doors swung open with a droning creak, revealing nothing but darkness. Dwight's firm hand planted itself between her shoulder blades and shoved her forward again, leaving her no alternative but to fall into the blackness within.

Two leather benches lined either side of the van's back interior. Taking her place beside Michonne, she noticed the fiery glare in her friend's narrowed eyes. Across from them sat Glenn and Rosita, their helpless stares fixed upon the floor, their minds undoubtedly racing with fearful anticipation.

Astrid's attention was soon drawn towards the back exit, where she saw Dwight and another Savior dragging a blanket-covered figure towards the van. Daryl, fighting and cursing vehemently, gradually succumbed to emptying adrenaline and exhaustion—and blood loss—until his feet were dragging, and he was effectively shoved inside the vehicle. He slumped against Astrid in a heap.

"Sit tight," Dwight muttered to them. "We'll get you where you need to be going real soon."

With a resounding slam, the van's doors sealed shut and locked. Astrid could no longer discern the shapes of her husband and friends in the gloom, and despite their proximity, she felt utterly alone, the silence broken only by the rattled sound of their breathing.

Moments later, the engine roared to life, sending tremors through the confined space as the van lurched forward. The nauseating sensation of motion overwhelmed Astrid, and she hastily clenched her eyes shut as she began to feel her chest restrict again. With the sudden onslaught of pain that accompanied it, for all she knew, her sternum could have been crumbling.

Suddenly, it felt as though the very air had been sucked from her lungs.

Michonne's reassuring touch grounded her momentarily. "Astrid," she began softly, "are you alright?"

Astrid shook her head. She felt dizzy. As though her boots were glued to the floor. While the walls closed in around her upper half. Her head had begun to throb. And her ears. Now seemed to ring with disorienting echoes. A searing sting crept. Beneath her lower jaw. As if she had been struck with a. Forceful uppercut. And. Each detail was only magnified in. The suffocating, shadowy van.

"What's wrong with her?"

"I . . . I can't breathe," Astrid stammered. "I . . . Can't . . . Can't . . ." Her voice trailed. "My chest—"

Too much.

Too much chaos. Too much violence. Too much loss. Too much fear. It was all crashing. Down upon Astrid.

Too much.

It was all too much.

Only days ago. She had been snatched away by the Saviors. And thrust into a nightmare. She had fought back. Savagely taking the lives of her captors, only to find herself. Battered and broken. Her unborn child hanging in the balance. He still could be. And now. He was no longer the only one.

Denise was dead.

Daryl was dying.

And Astrid. Had been kidnapped once more by the Saviors. Torn from the woods, from Alexandria. The home and family. She may never see again.

It was all too much.

She couldn't bear it. Couldn't breathe.

Couldn't function.

Astrid's breakdown erupted. In a primal scream that tore through the darkness of the van. Her sticky, blood-stained hands flew to her temples. Fingers clawing at her skull as if trying to rip free. From the madness and panic and pain consuming her. But. There were no tears left to shed.

She screamed again.

Someone else began to shout. Demanded the van be stopped.

Glenn.

A hand found its way to her knee.

Daryl.

His blood. Seeped through the fabric of her jeans.

"Astrid. You're here. You're here. Breathe, babe."

His voice. Was soft. And desperate. Scared.

Astrid forced herself to draw in a shuddering gulp. Leaned back against the cold metal of the van's interior. She turned. Searching for her husband's gaze in the void that surrounded them.

They sat so close that she could smell his death in the air.

Daryl's hand shifted from her knee. To her stomach.

"I know it hurts. But I know you can do this. I need . . . I need you to calm down. For him, okay?"

For him.

At the mention of her baby, Astrid's head went momentarily quiet. Her body stilled.

Then she fought.

She and Daryl's unborn child. The embodiment of a future they had dared to dream of. Astrid's faraway son who had smiled at her. Her son, who as she breathed life into him, breathed life into her now.

For as long as she drew breath, for as long as her heart beat with the rhythm of hope, he would endure. Her world would not end. And that was what mattered. That was what made this life worth it. Him.

For him.

With trembling lips and tear-stained cheeks, Astrid found the strength to nod into the abyss.

"Okay," She murmured, painstakingly slow, to her husband. "I'm here."

"I know," Daryl soothed gently. His head nudged hers in the dark. "I know you are. You're here with me."

Astrid nodded again, though no one could see it. Closing her eyes, she attempted to remain oblivious to the world outside. She was unsure how little or long had passed, until the van came to a halt, breaks slamming, jolting her back to reality. The stifling heat inside the vehicle pressed down upon them, yet she clasped blindly to Daryl's hand as though it were the only truth left.

More waiting followed. Soon, time blurred and lost its meaning to Astrid again. Numbness settled in, dulling the edges of her consciousness, until she could not even think of her true predicament any longer, of her likely death, of the potential promise that she would not see much of the world beyond this van again.

Beside her, Daryl's breathing grew choppier. Carefully, Astrid turned and pressed the worn blanket looped around his neck against his wounded shoulder, hoping to ease his discomfort. Her spare hand went to his face and her fingertips brushed against what she was sure to be a feverish forehead. "You're burning up."

Daryl's response was barely audible. "I'm all right."

Astrid leaned her head back against the slick van interior behind her. More minutes passed until, outside the confines of their metal prison, the world seemed to come alive. Murmurs in hushed tones crept through the very metal of the van's walls. Astrid's furrowed brow betrayed her confusion as she sat upright again, and now strained to discern the source, but the sound of muffled voices enveloped them from all sides, defying her attempts to unravel its origins.

And then, like a harbinger of impending doom, the same man-made whistle from their afternoon trapping sounded once more from beyond the van's walls. It was impossibly loud, its eerie shrillness sending shivers down Astrid's spine.

"What the hell is happening?" Glenn wondered, voice incredibly quiet. No one answered him. Their collective breaths held in suspense, waiting.

Abruptly, the van's rear doors flung open. In doing so, a blinding cascade of pure, searing light was unleashed, and it burned Astrid's retinas. She flinched and swung back, and hurriedly shielded her eyes with a hand, only to find herself staring into the glare of car headlights that flooded the darkness. Through the haze, the silhouette of Dwight appeared.

"Come on out," He commanded.

He seized Daryl first before Astrid could react. She reached out futilely, grasping at her husband's bloody back, but he was whisked from the van completely. She could not even afford a startled cry before rough hands grabbed her next. They yanked her from the van and drove her to her knees with a harsh kick. Though the forest remained, the ground had turned from soft leaves to hardened gravel, and its pebbles now scraped at the skin of her already-injured palms.

She looked around wildly. Day had surrendered to night, and in the glow of the headlights stood a legion of Saviors. There had to be at least fifty, each cloaked in dark leather and all brandishing an array of lethal weapons.

But it was not the sight of them that truly froze the blood in Astrid's veins.

Within the semi-ring of Saviors knelt members of her own group. Her eyes swept over the familiar faces. Directly in the middle of the lineup was Rick. On his left knelt Maggie and Abraham. On his right, Sasha, Carl, Aaron, Eugene and—

No.

The one face she had not wanted to see.

A terrified cry escaped Bailey Stratton's lips. "Astrid!" She screamed.

But before Astrid could move, before she could even comprehend the entirety of their situation, the twelve-year-old girl broke ranks and hurtled towards her with reckless abandon. Yet, in that same stretch of motion, Bailey's path was violently intercepted, her momentum halted by an intruding male Savior. One of his hands clamped onto the back of Bailey's slim neck, and he threw her to the ground, her fragile form crumpling like a puppet whose strings had been severed.

The young girl began to whimper as the Savior proceeded to hover over her, a pistol pointed at her tiny head.

"Stop!" Astrid shrieked. She dove forward on her knees, hands outstretched to shield her adoptive daughter from harm.

But she did not get far before Dwight grabbed her elbow. She was callously dragged backward and shoved into a submissive posture beside Abraham. Daryl was dropped bluntly to her other side and then flanked by Michonne and Rosita.

Yet Astrid's stare never left the child who remained curled in a ball in the gravel.

Bailey struggled to rise, to crawl towards Astrid and Daryl, only to be cruelly restrained by a boot pressing down on her quivering back.

Astrid's heart shattered anew. "Please!" She begged through a pitiful wail. "Let her go!"

The Savior did not respond. That was, until another arrogant Savior strode forward with measured steps, a dark mustache framing his sneer of authority. "Let the kid go. She ain't doing no harm," He commanded with a disdainful glare. "If your mama was here, you'd be pissin' your pants and wanting to see her, wouldn't you?"

Reluctantly, the other Savior lifted his boot, and Bailey scrambled upright and dove into Astrid's embrace. Clutching her weeping girl close, Astrid braced as the final figure was soon wrenched from their van, none other than Glenn. Forced to his knees by Dwight, his own defensive snarl faltered at the sight of his wife kneeling halfway across the clearing.

"M-Maggie?" He stuttered.

Astrid's gaze swept down the line, her breath catching, too, at the sight of Maggie Rhee. The sight of her friend was a stark contrast to the morning's memory. Maggie's long locks were now shorn to her chin, framing a face drained of color. Sweat cascaded down her pallid skin in torrents, each drop only amplifying her obviously weakened state. Bent over, barely able to hold herself upright, she dry-heaved, her body trembling with the effort to reach out to Glenn.

Before their fingers could graze, Dwight intervened, his grip on Glenn firm as he forcibly pulled him away, ushering him to the opposite end of the line. Astrid's eyes followed the movement until her attention shifted to her own husband, wrapped in a blanket stained with his blood. Daryl's half-lidded eyes struggled through the tangled curtain of his dark, unkempt hair, trying to find her.

You're here with me.

A sinister chuckle cut through the tense air, drawing Astrid's attention to the head of the line where the mustached Savior now stood. With hands planted coyly on his skinny hips, and a sadistic gleam in his eyes, he surveyed the kneeling Alexandrian group. He was relishing in their terror like a predator savoring its prey.

"We've got a full boat," the Savior jeered. "I think it's time we meet the man in charge."

The words were a sure death sentence. The Savior spun on his heel and crossed the gravel clearing toward—toward their own RV? It was now parked at the head of the lineup. Astrid frowned, even as the rest of her body stiffened painfully. What horrors awaited them inside that metal trap?

Approaching the towering vehicle, the Savior delivered a single knock on its side door. Astrid watched, shoulders heaving with her weary breaths, and with every beat of her heart thundering in her ears, she clutched Bailey closer. The child's arms wrapped protectively around her middle as if to shield her unborn brother there.

There was nerve-shredding silence. Then, the RV's door finally opened.

And nothing was ever the same.

~~~~~~~~~~

and that is the end.

of book two.

i hope you all have enjoyed this story. i'd love to hear your thoughts :')