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Daryl stared up at the sky. The day had started with a golden sunrise which had given way to clouds that began rolling in shortly after. The rumble of thunder could now be heard in the distance and it seemed to roll on forever. Daryl had been watching the skies all day with trepidation; his skin prickled and the fine hairs on the back of his neck and tops of his arms stood on end, a sure sign of what was to come. The day was hot and muggy and still, no reprieve of a breeze to be hoped for, almost suffocating… perfect conditions for tornadoes.
They’d been driving for days, looking for a new place to call home; somewhere reasonably close to being as secure as the prison had been, but without the psychotic neighbors. They hadn’t had much luck. Or any, really. The best thing they’d found was a bank with a decent sized vault. No one had been crazy about the idea about locking themselves in a vault though; it seemed like the sort of thing that could go wrong too easily. Too many roamers in the area anyways.
They’d finally come across a relatively secluded ranch just past noon today that seemed promising. It’d obviously belonged to some rich rancher if the stretches of black wrought iron fence, rock and mahogany stables, cobblestone drive, and the large two story house were any indication. It reminded them too much of Hershel’s farm and brought back painful memories that no one welcomed, but it was the best option they’d found since escaping Terminus. Whether they stayed or not, they at least needed a place to rest for a few days and the house was sure to have plenty of room for everyone. Daryl could tell that Rick was already making plans though, figuring out ways to secure the place. There were cows in the fields and they’d only seen one roamer in the last few miles they’d traveled; if they could secure it well enough, they could definitely sustain their growing group here.
The distant thunder cracked sharply, making Daryl jump slightly. They needed to find shelter and get their things inside as quickly as possible, just in case. With no television, no radio and no advanced warning systems, being prepared ahead of the storm was the only way to stay safe. A place like this had to have a storm shelter, or at least basement.
The air was so stifling, Daryl was finding it difficult to breathe. It reminded him of when he was eleven years old and a tornado had wiped out half of their town; Merle had shoved a flashlight in his hand and told him they were gonna go looking for shit to salvage. The rain was still coming down, though lighter than before, and sirens could be heard in the distance as they ventured out into the wreckage. They’d found an old man half trapped under a wall of his now decimated house. Daryl vividly remembered the poor man shakily reaching out towards them and begging for help. Merle had squatted down next to the man and said “looks like your trapped pretty good there” with a nasty grin on his face and then reached under the wall to grope for the man’s wallet. Finding it, he took the cash, threw the wallet onto the man’s chest and walked away. Daryl stared down at the man, who moved his hand from his obviously injured ribs to grab his wallet and toss it away, sobbing, before laying his flashlight on the ground and attempting to lift the wall off of the man. Merle had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away, verbally chiding him for actually having a heart. Daryl later saw on the news that the man had died before rescuers had reached him and felt like throwing up.
Daryl rubbed at his ribs, suddenly feeling the old man’s pain. More cracking sounds could be heard all around him, but they were much closer than before and sounded more like gunshots than thunder.
Rick fell to his knees beside him and pressed his left hand hard against Daryl’s ribs, causing a massive amount of pain to shoot though Daryl’s ribcage, and cupped the man’s cheek with his right hand. “Daryl… hey… Daryl, stay with me.”
Daryl frowned up at Rick as he mused at what an odd thing that was to say… he was right there, he wasn’t going anywhere. And come to think of it, something about the way Rick embraced him didn’t seem right either. He brought his hand up to pat at the hand on his cheek before wiping the sweat from his brow and as he brought it back down, he noticed his fingers were covered in blood. Daryl partially sat up with a start, adrenaline suddenly coursing through him, grabbed at Rick’s shirt, and began looking the man over for wounds as he said, “Rick, you’re bleedin’!”
Rick wrapped his right arm around Daryl’s shoulders, pulling the man towards him, and gave him a small, sad sort of smile. “It ain’t my blood Daryl.”
Daryl frowned again, confused, and felt dizzy; the pain in his ribs was getting worse. A short distance away, through bleary eyes, he could see Michonne pulling her katana free from the head of a man lying on the ground and Glenn and Maggie were both running towards him. This was wrong, it was all wrong. Last thing he remembered, they’d spread out in teams to make sure the buildings were clear of walkers; he and Rick had gone to check the stables. No… wait… that wasn’t right. He vaguely remembered that he’d barely even made it though the large sliding door before a man came out of one of the horse stalls at him with a shovel. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand this time and brought it down to find more blood. He guessed that must be what was stinging at the inside corner of his left eye.
“Daryl? You with me?” Rick asked, shaking him slightly.
“Yeah.” His voice sounded slurred in his own ears and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go to sleep. Some part of his brain reminded him that he obviously had a head injury and had to stay awake, but it was difficult to pay attention to.
“Daryl?” Glenn asked, sounding worried.
“Is he okay?” Maggie added, obviously panicked.
“What kinda stupid ass question is that?” Daryl muttered, letting his eyes shut and his head fall back against Rick’s shoulder.
“I think that guy clocked him pretty good with that shovel and he’s been shot… stray bullet, ricochet maybe… he was already on the ground ‘fore the shooting even started.”
So that explained the pain in his ribs… maybe it wasn’t just the hot muggy air making it hard to breathe, maybe the bullet had punctured his lung. He coughed and the unwelcome taste of copper filled his mouth, confirming his theory.
Rick gently shook him again. “Daryl? You stay with me now, ya hear? Open up your eyes. Stay with me brother…”
“’m fine,” Daryl mumbled stubbornly, cracking open his eyes before making the weak attempt to get up. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Rick held him down and chuckled. “No, you’re not. Just stay down... least long enough for us ta check ya over better.”
Thunder rumbled and Daryl watched as lightening danced across the sky overhead. His eyes no longer wanted to focus for any decent amount of time, but in the distance he could just make out a column of twisting clouds descending from the sky. “We need ta get inside,” he slurred, voice strangely calm, “storm’s a comin’.”